Lessons I wish I knew as an aspiring footballer

1.     No one cares about your future as much as you do. Be your own advocate.

2.     Team trainings are not enough – deliberate practice is a must.

3.     Find what works for you – gym, pilates, swimming, boxing, yoga, tennis, etc.

4.     Keep your name known. Look up ‘The Matthew Effect’.

5.     Loyalty comes at a cost (literally, it’s called ‘the loyalty tax’)

6.     No journey is linear. Popcorn pops at different times despite the same heat.

7.     Intent. Intent. Intent. What are you trying to improve? Watch football. Study football. Be thirsty for knowledge. Learning comes from consciousness.

8.     Become a coach. Become a ref. Learn to respect the challenges of each.

9.     Play different positions. What do you hate as a defender? Go do that as a striker.

10.  Go in the middle of ‘rondos’ – less time, less space = quicker on the ball

11.  Be a good teammate. Encourage. Be intentional. Support.

12.  Environment is everything – choose it wisely.

13.  Most coaches (and people in their professions) will be average (look up: normal distribution curve).

14.  You cannot have a standout game every week – regression to the mean. Look to improve your ‘average’.

15.  Work on your strengths more than your weaknesses – this is what sets you apart. Working only on your weaknesses will make you average.

16.  You cannot control performance – only attitude, body language, and work ethic.

17.  Never give the coach a reason not to play you – see #16.

18.  The squeaky wheel gets the oil. See point #1. Ask difficult questions but do so from a growth mindset – what can I be doing to get more playing time?

19.  Self-awareness. What’s your super power? What can you do better than anyone else? What can you do? What can’t you do? What could you do with some training/coaching?

20.  There are many paths to achieve the same goal – no journey is the same. Can’t align the dots looking forward.

21.  Your greatest ability is your availability. See point #3.

22.  Injuries are setbacks for great comebacks. Use the time to become smarter and stronger. They seem like the end of the world, but in your playing career, they’ll just be blips on your résumé.

23.  Football is just a game – keep perspective in life and explore other interests. Who are you outside of football? Needed to get through point #22.

24.  Know what motivates you. Money? Friends? A challenge? Being appreciated? See point #12 and use these values as a guide.

25.  Winning is great, but no one cares. Stay humble. Winning looks good on your résumé, but connections look better on your eulogy.

26.  Find a mentor. Or a coach. Someone who knows more than you and can challenge you. Someone who believes in you. Someone who is invested in you.

27.  Ask to go to trials. Or train with boys. The worst they can say is ‘no’. Only way to bridge the gap is to train in a quicker environment.

28.  Versatility is a strength – don’t be fixated on specialisation. Play other sports – cross-learning. See point #9.

29.  Running makes you good at running. Lifting weights makes you good at lifting weights. Train with a ball as much as you can. Train what matters. See point #2.

30.  Don’t forget to have a life – go on that family holiday.

31.  Sleep and stress are extremely important for performance (and availability). See points #21 and #3.

32.  Your worth is not dependent on a team selection. Read that again. You are enough, but maybe you aren’t what the coach wants. Coaches all want different things, find one who values you.

33.  Know your role on a team. Every team needs substitutes, maybe that’s you for a short time. See point #11.

34.  A coach will always have their favourites. Sometimes it will be you. Sometimes it won’t – you can’t change that. Coaches aren’t perfect, they get things wrong, rarely is anything personal. See point #8.

35.  People aren’t against you, they’re for themselves. People want to avoid suffering and pursue happiness. A coach wants to win. See point #34.

36.  Every experience either fulfills a desire or enhances it – it is never in vain. Sometimes you need to learn what you don’t want to learn what you do want.

37.  What makes you the best version of yourself? Do more of that. Be aware when you stray – is it time for a break?

38.  Sharpen your axe – two people are trying to cut down a tree. One works tirelessly without taking any breaks, the other stops regularly, refuels, and sharpens their axe. The person who sharpens their axe cuts down the tree quicker.

39.  Sacrifice is just commitment rephrased.

40. Motivation will come and go. Discipline is the habit that will keep you showing up even when you don’t want to. Nurture it.

41.  Confidence is not ‘I won’t make a mistake’ – confidence is, ‘I know I’ll fuck up, but I back myself to do it right next time.’

42.  Hard work is important, but it’s not the only thing you’ll need. You’ll also need a little bit of luck and an opportunity. See points #1 and #26.

43.  Seasons are long. The team that starts the first game of the season isn’t always the team that starts the last game of the season. Be patient.* Injuries happen. People leave. Players go on holidays. Your time might come. *See points #12 and #18.

44. Learn to pivot. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

45. You can’t trick physiology. It will take time when you return from injury, or from a break, to become your best self again. Be patient. Don’t overtrain. Listen to your body. See points #21 and #43.

46. How you do anything, is how you do everything. The quickest way is the long way – do it right the first time.

47. Trials are daunting. Most of football is what you do without a ball. How can you stand out when you’re not on the ball? Be loud. Give direction. Encourage. See point #11.

48. ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks’ is a lie. You’re never too ‘old’ to improve or change habits.

49.   ‘Making it’ looks different for everyone. See points #6 and #20.

50. Most importantly? Be someone your grandma would be proud of.

2025, the year that was, and wasn’t

2025 has probably been the hardest of my life. it’s been a year of grandiose loss and significant change. a year that still breaks me upon reflection.

it started at the end of 2024. for reasons that go beyond what i wish to share online, i was conflicted about playing one more year at a club i had ingrained myself into for the past 6 seasons. a routine surgery to clean out my knee and trim my meniscus turned into a stern warning about the severity of my arthritis – a warning i was not comfortable gambling upon and would later discover, i couldn’t even if i wanted to. just as i felt lost and torn, an incredible opportunity arose – to be the men’s senior assistant coach at one of the most successful npl clubs in SA. so my decision had been made – i chose to end my career on the highest of highs. player of the match in a back-to-back grand final win. a decision that wasn’t easy to make, but one in which i was at peace with. and so began the start of my losses for the year.

saying goodbye to playing was hard, but i accepted it because i physically wasn’t able to continue. post-surgery complications meant i was unable to run even six months after surgery. it wasn’t until i sought another, non-invasive treatment that i would begin to have any alleviation from the constant pain i was experiencing. what i wasn’t prepared for though, was saying goodbye to my community. saying goodbye to my friends. saying goodbye to my teammates. all of which were not on my terms. my decision to retire, a decision i was forced to make, resulted in me feeling like i was blacklisted from a club i spent six years pouring my heart and soul into. six years building relationships, environments, and a community that valued humanness and connection. something that was taken the minute i chose to retire.

fortunately though, i was able to thrust myself into a new environment. one in which required all of my passion, attention, and professionalism. i was valued for what i had to offer. i was valued for who i was. and i didn’t have to fight for any of it – it was a given. this occurred concurrently with another club that i asked to run some academy sessions for. from one simple question, came an array of coaching opportunities. opportunities that allowed me to influence young girls whilst honing my skills as a coach. these, were the start of my big wins.

fast forward a few months and the first loss occurs. my parent’s cat, Millie, who i brought into the family home in late 2011, finally succumbed to her health battles. losing a pet is like losing a part of yourself. it never gets easier, only harder, with the attachments we form and the joy they bring.

in May, the loss of one of our dearest friends, Jude. we had only crossed paths a year earlier, but we had shared some of our fondest memories with her – Danny and Bec’s wedding, New Year’s, and many, many football games. she was a constant at Metro. she was the team’s biggest fan. she was her son’s biggest fan. she was our biggest fan. she loved ‘her girls’. when we met her, we didn’t know how sick she was. we didn’t know she had cancer. i remember getting the call at work and immediately breaking. she was 61. she had so many years, so many stories left to live. getting through training that night seemed improbable. how could i possibly hold myself together for these boys when everything at the club served as a reminder of her? of the times we had together?

just over a month later and the doctors at my Oma’s aged care facility suggested we start the end of life care for her. Oma had been living with dementia for years – unable to recognise much of anything and limited only to her ‘princess chair’. only a few weeks after seeing her other grandkids and daughter, something she was miraculously awake for, she stopped eating and stopped drinking. the next week was torturous. i’ve never seen a dead person before. and admittedly it’s not an experience i would wish upon anyone. my Mum and i stayed with her on the Tuesday night, knowing that her breathing was becoming even more exasperated. and at 7:01am on June 11^th, she took her final breath. the only solace is she wasn’t alone – my Mum and i were both there, holding her hands.

no matter how sick someone is, or how inevitable their ultimate demise, nothing prepares you for the finality that death brings. the huge, gaping loss that person’s existence leaves within you. Oma was my best friend. she was the person i was closest to growing up. i’ve written previously about how i always felt like a third (fifth?) wheel growing up – my brothers had each other, my parents had each other, and then there was me. but i wasn’t always alone – because quite often i had my Oma. i had someone who understood me. who valued me. who loved me. and losing her (physically), has meant losing the comfort she brought. losing one of the best parts of me.

that night, after hardly sleeping, and witnessing the passing of my Oma, i still showed up to football. it was our cup semi final game against Comets. i don’t remember much from the game, i just remember fighting back tears the entire time. trying to be happy for the boys whilst my entire internal world had been shattered.

the role of a coach is vastly different than the role of a player. a player has the support of their peers, the coaches, the club, whereas coaches only have the support of other coaches. and even then, quite often we don’t know what’s going on in their lives. no matter what was thrown at us coaches during the year, there was an expectation that we overcome and show up to get the job done. the extent of individual tragedy that we all experienced as coaches, to be honest, is a miracle that we were all able to achieve what we did.

whilst still very much grieving the loss of my Oma, the demands for the football season ramped up with multiple mid-week games and interstate travel. the grief was put on hold. well, not on hold. but it was compartmentalised. it was expressed only in the moments of solitude – on my drive out to football. in bed before i fell asleep. i couldn’t afford to break down – i had too much work to do.

shortly after this, my partner’s Grandad passes away. he too had suffered from dementia for many years. my partner and her family all flew back to be there for family and the funeral. i was left to hold down the fort at the café – working 16 days in a row and preparing for some of the biggest games in our season. on top of all of this, some significant family turmoil boiled behind the scenes. sleep was sacrificed to ensure the safety of one of our own. my days consisted of only one thing: survival. get through the day. for months, this was all i could salvage. a survival mindset.

the ending of the season didn’t leave any time for a break as we qualified for the inaugural Australian championship. an incredible achievement on top of some already incredible achievements throughout the year – third year in a row winning the league, federation cup winners, quarter-finalists in the Australia cup, and then finishing the season quarter-finalists in the Australian Championships. a season that started in November 2024 and ended in late November 2025. a whirlwind of a year.

the year that was didn't end there though. upon returning from one of our interstate trips i was greeted by the news that my Dad had just suffered a significant medical episode. news that simultaneously terrified me and broke me. neither of which i could afford to feel.

so where to from here? in simplest terms, i need a break. 2025 brought much loss, much of which i am not sure i have fully had time to process but one in which i have sought a psychologist to help me process. i have learnt so much from my year working at metrostars and have loved every minute – it’s been the change i needed in my life. so many people have commented on how much happier i was talking about football than when i was a player, and i suspect a lot of that is due to the high performance environment Danny has created. it’s an environment that better matched my personality, values, and abilities. i owe so much to Danny and his belief in me as a coach.

in the interim, until i figure out what i want to do, i plan to spend time with family. to travel. to be free. to experience things i have never been able to because i’ve always been committed to a team. always put football first. i plan to explore – different opportunities, different paths, different people. see what sticks and what doesn’t. football will always be there, but right now, i need to give myself a degree of separation. to grieve, to mourn, and to heal from everything that 2025 was.

rust in vrede Oma

today is not a good day. yesterday wasn’t either. i think that’s what happens when you’re finally left to sit with your sadness – there’s no escape. no distractions. there’s nothing but you and your feelings. it’s been two months since my Oma passed away and instead of it getting easier, it’s getting harder. harder because the reality of never seeing her again is sinking in. harder because the reality of never talking to her again is sinking in. harder because i’m not only grieving the loss of her, but i’m grieving who i was when i was around her; the person she made me feel i was and could be.

i’ve wanted to write about her passing for a while now but i didn’t know what to say. so instead, i’ll attach the speech i gave at her celebration of life on the 29^th of June.

Oma,

How fortunate to have had a grandparent you never dreaded seeing, but always looked forward to seeing. That’s how I felt with you. You living around the corner was the best thing for us growing up because we got to see so much of you. I know Mum appreciated the spontaneous visits (and cleans!) as did I…even though it would quite often be accompanied with a phone call… “Oma…where’s my soccer shorts?!”

I always looked forward to Friday nights – chicken soup, omelette, a glass of milk and some chocolate followed by a sleepover where I always found myself rolling into you because of the small weight difference.

You were always heavily involved in my life – helping out at school and coming for craft days with Mum or even ironing every piece of clothing that was washed, yes even undies. You really did take care of us didn’t you?

You loved your routines. Cards in Glenelg. Hair cut at Clipjoint in the city. Catching buses everywhere. Who needed Google Maps when there was you?

I loved how easily you ‘moved’ mentally when things were explained logically. You never seemed too concerned with gossip and didn’t take anything too seriously.

When I lived in the US, it was you who I missed the most. We used to have the ‘you hang up’ ‘no you hang up’ kind of love. Every time I came home to visit, I wanted to spend most of my time with you. Taking you out for lunch, going for beach walks – Wednesdays became our day. I loved talking to you and I think you enjoyed talking with me because it was always about things of substance, never about nonsense. I asked difficult questions. You answered. I wanted to get to know you, and you me. And get to know each other we did. You became my best friend Oma. My person. You’re the first person who I felt really got ‘me’. That’s why I always wanted to sit next to you at family dinners – we could talk about things that mattered or we could laugh at the ridiculousness of each other. You were my pal. My comfort. My safe space. You brought out the best in me, as childish as it would be at times, but I was happiest when I was with you. 

You were adored by everyone. Neighbours, loved ones, and strangers alike. You had a warmth and a smile that instantly made people feel at ease. I think that was my favourite quality about you – your total acceptance and absence of judgement. You loved people as they are. As you loved me for me. Every weird, quirky, stinky facet. How lucky I was to be loved by you.

The one thing that always stood out to me though was your unwavering strength. You survived World War II, immigrated to a foreign country whilst leaving your lover behind, suffered devastation and heartbreak in more ways than one, yet you could never tell that’s what you’d been through. Your scars were hidden. Instead of bitterness and pain, you had forgiveness and openness. You accepted Opa back into your life when you had no reason to. But that was how you loved – unconditionally and selflessly.

We had so many great memories. I used to love the way you would dance to my music. Or we would dance together. I loved the way you would say ‘I’ve never tried this before’ even though you most certainly had. But I think that was your secret. You got excited over the boring. The mundane. The everyday things. You saw them with the novel excitement of a child and I loved that about you.

Covid hit and that was so hard for you – a once always sociable and integrated person, you suddenly became isolated and I think that is when your demise really started to hasten. Falls became frequent. Pyjamas your daily outfit. Your new home became Rembrandt where the beautiful Sanju became your adopted granddaughter. How thankful we are for her.

I’m so glad I had the time with you that I did – we had fun. Even though you didn’t like how fast I would drive. You were my favourite part of my childhood and even adulthood. I got to experience some very special time with you. And you? 90 wonderful years on this Earth.

I love you. We love you. Rest easy Oma. Everyone’s Oma.”

as the initial shock of her passing wears off, what’s left is the gaping hole she’s left in our lives. i’ve always been petrified of death, and i still am. i’m terrified by the finality of it. by the reality that there’s nothing else once we pass. but if there is at all a chance we might reunite with those who have passed, then perhaps dying wouldn’t be so bad. to be with my Oma again, to go for one of our walks, to have one of our chats, those are the moments i miss, cherish, and long to experience again.

grief is hard. and yes, it is a universal experience; we all go through it. but the commonality of it doesn’t take away from the difficulty of it. and this year has certainly been rife with it. first the passing of one of my parent’s cats – Millie, a beautiful old soul of a cat, then the passing of our dear friend Jude – someone we only met within the past 12 months but had an impact of a lifetime. shortly after, my Oma’s end of life care was initiated, and more recently, my partner’s granddad passed away. i know grief isn’t linear, and i also know it isn’t practical to grieve 24/7. instead, it appears in moments of solitude, either at home or in the car, or in moments of remembrance wherever that might be.

i know there’s no ‘fix’ for grief; there’s no before and no after, there’s just the during. and during that process you’ll have good days, and you’ll have bad days. and at the moment, i’m having a few bad days. i miss her. i miss everything that she was. i miss her smile. her laugh. her warmth. her comfort. she was my person. although we can never bring back those who have passed, they can live on in our lives. i suppose that is why i feel so committed to visiting Holland – to see where she lived and grew up. to experience the Dutch culture. it’s also why i’m learning Dutch at the moment too – although i realise it’s perhaps a few years too late.

i never wanted to experience a world without my Oma in it. which is how i feel about my parents too. i know these things are only inevitable, but it doesn’t make the inevitable any easier to accept. i suppose the only thing that can come of this inevitability is the desire to appreciate the present; to always say ‘yes’ to experiences involving those dearest to you. to live not as though you will die tomorrow, but as though those closest to you will. because for many of us, that’s a reality we will have to face at one or more points in our lives.

so here’s to living for those now - to live without regret of wanting more time with them or having had done more with them. i often think my obsession with death and obsession with my own mortality isn’t healthy, but in some ways it allows me to live with perspective. to live with an acute awareness of our finiteness. to live with an urgency to make the most of those around me whilst i still can. to in essence, live.

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