What do high-performing athletes talk about in meetings, trainings and dressing-rooms?
Well, similar to conversations that typical co-workers would have. Often light, functional, task-driven. The next game, injuries, analysis, tactics, recovery, holidays, x-box, other sports, banter. Perhaps some passing references to family or friends. All valid and important dialogue to keep the ship and crew humming along. Due to their low-risk, almost automatic nature, we can call them surface level conversations.
However, I believe if teams operate at this level, week-on-week, season-on-season, they miss a trick. As explored in part one, there is an abundant well of potential that awaits right beneath the surface. Here, real trust and connection is built. Jurgen Klopp said it best, "What a footballer can do in and out of possession is easy to establish, but the deeper layers like who they are, what they believe in, how they’ve reached this point, what drives them, what awaits them when they depart training, are the real details."
'Who they are, what they believe in, how they’ve reached this point, what drives them, what awaits them when they depart training, are the real details.'
Of course connection can be fostered organically in time, through the ups and downs, through sheer time on the road together. But there's a degree of luck involved here. Connection building workshops aim to remove the luck element. It's more deliberate and concentrated. Just as the gym is for building the physical strength, a connection session is for building the collective strength.
Facilitating a connection building workshop is a complex, delicate process. Workshop aims, themes, and exercises are selected purposefully. Fostering psychologically space is a must for players to fully engage. Framed exercises in a way that isn't naff or cliched, but compelling. Knowing what questions to ask, to who, when, and how. Adding layers of context to help the group make sense of what's unfolding. Gathering the threads of conversation and weaving them into one tapestry of shared meaning. These are all parts of the skill set.
It's not about plunging headfirst into the depths of the iceberg, rather, ‘lowering the waterline.
Another skill is knowing the time for lightness and 'craic', and the time to guide the conversation deeper. The idea of this can be scary for some. ‘What if it goes too deep?’ As a facilitator, the well-being of participants is paramount. It's not about plunging headfirst into the depths of the iceberg, rather, ‘lowering the waterline’, with skill and care. The facilitator's job is to be a steady anchor as they wade into more meaningful depths. By someone 'holding' the conversation, the individuals are freed up to chat, listen, learn, feel, and be outside their comfort zones with more ease ('facilitator' comes from the french word 'facile', meaning 'to make easy').
Gathering the threads of conversation and weaving them into one tapestry of shared meaning.
‘But surely athletes don’t talk!’ people often say. An understandable misconception, but the opposite is true in my experience. When the right conditions are created, athletes will welcome the invitation. In fact, they are hungry for it. Hungry to try on another way of being, to relate with teammates on a more human level. All the better if these interactions elevate their on-field performances.
Owen Eastwood is a pioneer in this field, working with the Ryder Cup team and the England Football team. He once said, “I feel that a Rory McIlroy or a Harry Kane, they want to be connected to something bigger than themselves and to have a special bone-deep relationship with people around them. And I’m yet to find an example where that’s not true.”
By someone 'holding' the conversation, the individuals are freed up to chat, listen, learn and feel.
In the past few years I worked with a men's football team called The Shamrocks (team & individual's names are changed). After some poor results, the coach expressed concerns about ‘lack of cohesion’, ‘egos’, and ‘lethargy’. One Saturday morning, after a light field session, I met with the squad. As all forty of them filtered into the stadium function room, the banter was flying, yet there was a clear underlying tension.
Once seated and settled, I introduced the theme of motivation. I led them through a guided visualisation which dug deeper into their ‘why’ for showing up each week. Once they opened their eyes, I invited them to share at the top of the room.
Micko, a joker of the squad walked up first, to an echo of nervous laughter. “Well. My little sister has special needs. She is my biggest fan. She is always asking me about you all, what you are all like, and who’s in the team. I am playing for her.” You could almost hear a pin drop as he sat back down. The waterline lowers.
As twenty hands raised, the connection bound tighter. With each person's turn, the room felt warmer.
Next, Tony, the stoic enforcer of the team jumped up. After clearing his throat, he said "I suppose mine is a little selfish”. ‘I’m playing for myself. I struggle with my head sometimes. It can get tough. When I’m here training, playing games, and having craic in the dressing room, I feel free of it all. So thank you all.’ Silence again. Out of curiosity, I asked if anyone else had ever 'struggled with their heads?’ As twenty hands raised, the connection bound tighter. With each person's turn, the room felt warmer.
Rory, a well-respected team stalwart went last. “As you all keep reminding me, I’m the grandad of the group! It's crazy how fast it passes by lads! I told my wife last week that this season is my ‘last dance’. I am playing to leave the jersey in a better place for you all, and the next crop of youngsters.” Unprompted, lads voiced what a role model and inspiration Rory has been to them. Something it seemed, they'd waited years to express.
‘Spirit, belonging, energised, fearless, power, focus, galvanised, present, belief, respect, relief, legacy, brotherhood, it's bigger than us.'
Once everyone had their turn, we sat in a circle. I asked them for one word each. As the words popped from around the room, I filled the whiteboard. ‘Spirit', 'belonging’, ‘energised’, ‘fearless’, ‘power’, ‘focus’, 'galvanised', 'present', ‘belief’, ‘respect’, ‘relief’, ‘legacy’, ‘brotherhood’, ‘it's bigger than us’. Rory the stalwart called out, ‘the most powerful thing I've experienced’.
At this point, a deep calm had envelope the room. Almost like they were all breathing in sync. It was as if the diverse stories shared knitted into one shared team story. Like they had transcended ego, salary, age, fear, squad number, and coalesced into one unit. Like they were tapped into something bigger than themselves. As Eastwood says, ''Building a champion team is a spiritual exercise.'
'Building a champion team is a spiritual exercise.'
Hurling was central to my life from knee height until my mid-twenties. I poured a lot in to it, and it gave me much more back. Some of my closest friends stem from teams growing up. I had the honour of captaining my club Bishopstown to senior grade. I pulled on the Cork jersey at all levels and shared a dressing-room with some of my idols during a stint on the Cork senior hurling squad. On paper, all was sweet, yet I struggled in the latter years.
'On paper, all was sweet, yet I struggled in the latter years.'
Glandular fever and recurring groin injuries hampered my flow. However, my main struggles were mental and emotional. Self-doubt and negative self-talk weighed heavily, and I bottled it up. I felt like a boy in a man's body with little idea of who I was beyond 'the hurler'. My self-worth heavily tied to how many points I scored at the weekend. There was a constant nagging in me, like Ronan 'the person' craved to be more deeply understood or expressed. A low hum of anxiety replaced the joy of the game. Oftentimes, I had one foot in and one foot out, to the confusion of teammates, coaches, and even myself.
If someone was to ask me back then, 'what do you need?', I'd have had no idea. Nor would I have had the words to express it. Not knowing how else to navigate the stress and demands of it all, I eventually drifted away from the sport.
Almost two decades later, things are a bit clearer. I believe I needed to feel more rooted; to trust myself; for a space to explore and voice what was rumbling beneath the surface; for skills to deal with the doubt and stress; to know I wasn't the only one; perhaps to drop the deflection and banter, even for a bit, and be real with teammates. I suppose I was looking for a deeper connection to others, to the sport, but ultimately to myself.
I was looking for a deeper connection to others, to the sport, but ultimately to myself.
In 2012, I quit my tech job and moved to Dublin to study psychology. I started a new job with The Soar Foundation, where for 7 years, myself and my new teammates travelled the country facilitating emotional intelligence programs in schools.
In college and facilitation training spaces, I got to lower my own waterline, and sit amongst others as they did the same. I explored the complexities of my own inner world - the feelings, thought patterns, triggers, limiting beliefs, insecurities, anxieties and doubts. The parts of myself that previously I kept in the shadow.
It was raw, exhausting and scary as hell at times, but worthwhile. In witnessing others' inner nature, I got to know my own. I experienced the power of vulnerability and what it's like to be 'held' in and by a group. It felt like shedding a skin, and bit by bit the real me was emerging. Over time, I found tools and practices to help steady my own ship. To remain present. To feel more at home in myself. To trust myself more. To trust life more.
I experienced the power of vulnerability and what it's like to be 'held' in and by a group.
*It's worth saying that the above process continues to this day. All is not resolved, nor will it ever be. I still feel anxious, low, insecure, overwhelmed, and feel lost at times. That's ok. It's being a human. Now at least, I've more of a capacity to hold myself in what arises. And for that I'm grateful.
Shared spaces are sacred and in our DNA as humans. When held right, they can create real alchemy.
Since finishing up with Soar, I returned to the high-performing sport environments. This time in the role of performance coach. What I offer teams feels like the piece of the puzzle that my twenty-year-old self was missing, but didn't even know - connection. As my old friend Tony Griffin once told me, "we give to others what we most crave ourselves".
Between school classrooms, corporate boardrooms, prison landings and sporting dressing-rooms, I've had the fortune of working with and learn from over 20,000 people. It's been like a masters degree in the human condition - human needs, human surviving and thriving, group dynamics and culture. Some glaring truths that have emerged for me in this time are as follows:
Individuals being their full self, at ease, energised, and motivated by something bigger.
Connection workshops with sports teams are transformative containers. Yet, the real gold is discovered beyond the workshop walls. Like with the Shamrocks, you get to see athletes expanding as people, equipped with new skills, and ways of relating with themselves, teammates, coaches, fans and the sport. Lads becoming healthier brothers, parents, partners, and friends in their own lives. In their team environment individuals being their full self, at ease, energised, and motivated by something bigger. In clutch moments in games, amidst the roars of the crowd, they perform as one, united, almost telepathic. Connected.
In clutch moments in games, amidst the roars of the crowd, they perform as one, united, almost telepathic. Connected.
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- Jurgen Klopp Quote. Goal.com
- Lowering the Waterline. Mike Robbins Ted Talk.
- Owen Eastwood Quote. Belonging
- Owen Eastwood Quote. Guardian Interview