Dear Coach,

You probably don’t hear this often enough.

Thank you.

Thank you for setting your alarm on a Sunday morning when everyone else is enjoying a lie-in.

Thank you for standing in the freezing rain, the pouring rain and, occasionally, the blazing sunshine.

Thank you for giving up evenings that could have been spent with your own family.

Thank you for planning sessions long after everyone else has gone to bed.

Thank you for pumping footballs up in your garage.

For washing bibs.

For loading goals into your car.

For marking pitches.

For chasing registrations.

For replying to messages at 10 o’clock at night.

For wondering whether you’ve picked the right team.

For worrying about the child who’s gone quiet recently.

For making sure every player gets home safely.

For doing a hundred jobs that nobody ever sees.

Most people only notice coaches for ninety minutes on a Sunday.

What they don’t see is everything that happens during the other six days.

They don’t see you ordering kit.

Booking pitches.

Organising referees.

Completing safeguarding courses.

Updating Full-Time.

Attending league meetings.

Checking weather forecasts.

Cancelling sessions.

Rearranging fixtures.

Finding volunteers.

Organising presentations.

Applying for grants.

Fixing broken nets.

Finding spare shin pads.

Replacing forgotten water bottles.

Trying to make football affordable for every family.

The truth is, you’re often the first person to arrive and the last person to leave.

And you do it because you care.

Not because anybody pays you.

Not because anybody makes you.

Because somewhere along the line, you decided children deserved the opportunity to enjoy football.

That decision matters more than you probably realise.

Because while you’re teaching passing, shooting and defending…

You’re also teaching something much bigger.

Respect.

Teamwork.

Resilience.

Confidence.

Kindness.

How to win with humility.

How to lose with dignity.

How to encourage a teammate.

How to keep going when things don’t go your way.

Children won’t remember every drill you set.

They won’t remember every scoreline.

They won’t remember every league table.

But they will remember how you made them feel.

They’ll remember the coach who believed in them when they didn’t believe in themselves.

The coach who gave them confidence to try again after making a mistake.

The coach who noticed when something wasn’t quite right.

The coach who celebrated effort just as much as goals.

Years from now, they’ll remember your encouragement far more than your tactics.

Of course, coaching isn’t always easy.

Sometimes you’ll question yourself.

Sometimes you’ll drive home wondering if you got everything wrong.

Sometimes you’ll read criticism online.

Sometimes you’ll receive messages that knock your confidence.

Sometimes you’ll lose players.

Sometimes you’ll lose matches.

Sometimes you’ll wonder whether it’s worth carrying on.

Those days happen to every coach.

But here’s something worth remembering…

For every complaint you receive, there are dozens of parents quietly grateful for what you do.

For every difficult conversation, there are children who can’t wait to see you at training again.

For every frustrating Sunday morning, there are hundreds of memories you’re helping to create.

Grassroots football isn’t built by television money.

It isn’t built by famous players.

It isn’t built by expensive facilities.

It’s built by ordinary people doing extraordinary things every single week.

People like you.

The volunteers who never ask for recognition.

Who quietly unlock the clubhouse.

Set out the cones.

Collect the corner flags.

Pack everything away again.

And then do it all again next week.

Without you, there are no teams.

Without you, there are no matches.

Without you, there are no football memories.

So if nobody has said it recently…

Thank you.

Not because you’re perfect.

Not because coaching is easy.

But because you keep turning up.

Week after week.

Season after season.

Changing lives in ways you may never fully realise.

You may never manage at Wembley.

You may never lift a major trophy.

You may never become famous.

But somewhere, years from now, an adult will smile when they remember their childhood football coach.

And there’s every chance that coach will be you.

That’s a legacy few people ever get to leave.

Thank you for everything you do for grassroots football.