Sometimes the smallest changes make the biggest difference.
At a recent match, I introduced something new to our bench. Nothing revolutionary, there was no fancy equipment, no complicated process, no new fantastic tactical system. Just an empty chair.
I put it next to mine and explained to the players that whenever they came off court, I'd like them to sit beside me for a moment. We'd have a quick conversation about what they'd experienced, what they'd noticed, and what might help when they went back on. And whenever someone was about to go on court, they'd take the same seat for a brief conversation about what we needed from them.
That was it.
I explained it once, and then something lovely happened. They just started doing it. Nobody needed reminding, nobody needed directing and that one empty chair became part of how our bench worked.
And it got me thinking about what we sometimes overlook in coaching.
A seat, not a summons
Benches can be strange places.
There's the game happening in front of us, the decisions we're making, the score, the substitutions, the tactical adjustments, the constant movement between watching, thinking and communicating.
And somewhere in the middle of all that are people.
People who've just come off court, perhaps disappointed or frustrated. People preparing to go on, perhaps excited or nervous. People who have questions, who need reassurance, or who simply want to know what we're seeing. It's remarkably easy to forget that what feels like a routine substitution to a coach can feel like something much bigger to a player.
Why am I coming off? Did I do something wrong? What do they want me to do? Am I doing enough?
We might think we're communicating clearly. But shouting a few instructions down a bench while keeping one eye on the court isn't always the same thing as having a conversation.
The empty chair gives us a moment to do that differently. It says: come and sit beside me. Not in front of me. Not standing there while I deliver a verdict. Beside me, because we’re on the same team.
Feedback is a conversation
One of the things I've been thinking about recently is how differently players experience coaching.
Some thrive when you give them freedom and ask questions. Others find that uncomfortable, particularly if they're used to being told exactly what to do. Neither response makes someone a better or worse player. It tells us something about what they need from us.
During that same match, I saw a player make an error and immediately respond by getting back into the contest and winning possession. It was exactly the sort of response we'd been talking about and the important thing wasn't that they'd made the mistake. It was what they did next.
A glance towards the bench, a thumbs-up, a few words of recognition - a small moment, but a meaningful one and that's the sort of communication I want more of.
Not a running commentary on everything a player does. Not a list of instructions disguised as feedback, but a conversation that helps someone recognise what they're doing well, understand what they might change and feel confident enough, and brave enough, to try again.
Everyone gets a seat
There's another reason I like the chair - it belongs to everyone. Not just the starting seven, not just the players having a difficult game, not just the people who need something correcting - everyone.
If you're coming off, there's space for us to talk and if you're going on, there's space for us to prepare. And if the conversation is simply, "That was really good. What did you notice?" then that's absolutely fine too.
Because feedback shouldn't only happen when something has gone wrong, and a player's value to a team should never be measured solely by the number of minutes they spend on court. Sometimes being seen, being listened to and knowing that your contribution matters can make an enormous difference.
Making space
Of course, that one chair doesn't solve everything. It doesn't remove difficult selection decisions. It doesn't guarantee that every conversation will be easy. It doesn't mean that players will always agree with us.
And it certainly doesn't mean we can stop paying attention to what's happening on court. But it does create a little structure around something I think matters enormously: making time for the people we're coaching.
The funny thing is that I introduced it as a practical way to improve communication during a match but what I hadn't quite anticipated was how naturally the players would take ownership of it. One explanation, one empty chair and a seat for everyone. And suddenly, conversations had a place to happen.
I've always believed that we don't coach netball players, we coach people who play netball. Sometimes we need to make that belief visible in the way we work. Sometimes all it takes is a chair.
And everyone gets a seat.
