The improvement a team and individual players make over a season is almost completely determined by how constructively each event is handled — by players, coaches, and parents.

The operant word is “constructive,” not necessarily “positive” or “negative.”  For example, I’m not suggesting that a positive spin should be attached to every bad performance — or that negative language by a coach is always counterproductive (just most the time).

The realistic objective for every player and every team is improvement — and it is the ultimate measure of a coach.  Given the level of talent and competitiveness at the start of a season, not every team can win — and some can’t help but win.

Therefore, a coach’s job is to find ways to improve, whether it is made more difficult by disappointing losses or by too many “easy” wins.

Of course, another important coaching objective is teaching young athletes to be good people — to accept and deal appropriately with strengths and weaknesses of team-mates, opponents, officials, and of one’s self.  This is certainly not an easy job, given the level of competitiveness we encourage in our athletes.  However, that responsibility is a different topic.

Today’s question is this: how much difference does it really make to use constructive language, to search for constructive solutions to each problem?

If it is universally agreed that a coach’s job is to find ways to improve, it follows that he/she should always be searching for a constructive solution — no matter what happens.

In the heat of the battle, this is difficult, of course — probably impossible — but it is the direction toward which we must strive.  If our reaction to a bad mistake or a poor effort is to yell at players, simply because we’re mad — because we personally can’t handle the embarrassment, then we are failing, not the players.

In this, every coach will certainly fail many times, because the standard is so high and the trials so difficult.  I’ve failed hundreds of times — as a head coach and as an assistant, but if we start the season, knowing that our mission is improvement, then we must also dedicate ourselves to the difficult task of finding constructive solutions.

Maybe we have to bite our tongue — count to five — close our eyes and visualize the end result. I don’t have the answers — only the challenge, because every time I acted out of rage, I was sorry at a later, rational moment.

Sarcasm, rage, and even calm, consistent negative feedback will destroy a season.  In fact, this kind of language is likely to overcome the greatest physical efforts, even in off-ice training.

Consider — as a single example of the entire athletic experience — the effects of sarcasm in the weightroom.  A skinny, weak athlete obviously needs strength training more than anyone, but it can be very intimidating to try hard when best efforts are substandard and targeted for ridicule by friends.

This is similar to the experience of weaker players on a hockey team; but on the ice it is one step worse, because substandard performances might cause the team to lose.

Of all places where it should be obvious that ability level means nothing and improvement is everything, the weight room should be free from language that is counterproductive.  Every athlete, male or female, weak or strong, is in the weight room to get better.

In a dream world it would be totally irrelevant what others think or do, but the reality is that it matters a great deal to a teen-ager what his peers think.  And it matters on the ice as well.

The beginner needs encouragement, not sarcasm, to start his strength program. If the environment is intimidating, the natural reaction is to force a public laugh at our own weakness, then make a conservative effort, rather than go all out for improvement.  There are few athletes willing to make a maximum effort, knowing their performance will ultimately be substandard.

On the ice, a team that uses sarcasm will not improve as fast as one that creates a constructive, learning atmosphere: highlighting effort, creativity, improvement, or successful performance of ‘small’ responsibilities.

I’ve worked on teams that find fault whenever things go wrong.  After each opposition goal the coach points the finger, sometimes in an abusive or sarcastic tone, sometimes in a calm, analytical manner.  The result is predictable: the disease spreads rapidly, and pretty soon players are doing the same, ultimately becoming less willing to acknowledge their own weaknesses.

If we looked rationally — not allowing the rage of a bad moment guide our next move — we would conclude that our job, when athletes fail, is no different than that of a classroom teacher or a track coach.

When a track athlete trips on a hurdle in competition, the coach doesn’t act out of rage.  His actions are predictable: there is a constructive, logical plan to get better.  What is it about team sports that makes, or allows us to act differently?

There will be no improvement if present weaknesses are perceived as failure — if lesser-skilled players are targeted for sarcasm — if the coach hollers or gestures publicly, so everyone in the arena knows this mistake was not the coach’s fault.

Consider how devastating sarcasm or negativity can be to a team that emphasizes practicing and playing above the present comfort zone.  By definition, this type of practice is meant to expose weaknesses, attempting to execute all skills at an uncomfortable pace, so that sometime later — perhaps in the playoffs — we’ll be comfortable at this tempo.

But if sarcastic peer pressure causes us to practice or play in a shell, to withdraw a little and be conservative, we will not make progress. If we’re afraid to fall in practice attempting a corner at high tempo, we won’t push our comfort zone to new limits.  If our stick skills are weak when we attempt them while skating fast, and if our coach acts like this is a failure, we’ll just step back and practice slowly.

It takes a rare athlete to attempt uncomfortable skills or lift heavier weights if there’s a good chance that failure will lead to disparagement from peers or coaches.

Remember, sarcasm is never a meaningless, funny comment.  It always contains an element of truth.  We don’t make a sarcastic remark about someone’s skinny (or fat) body if they look like Arnold Schwarzenegger.  We don’t make fun of someone’s skating ability if they skate like Troy Riddle.

Sarcasm hurts.  Improvement stops dead when a team acquires a tone of negativity; therefore, player self-esteem is the top priority for every coach.