Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

I had arranged a special treat for the Pewsey juniors this morning: guest coach Jack Kapinski was coming in to work on their match play and shot development. Excitement aside, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Earlier that morning, I’d sent the parents a quick WhatsApp nudge to remind them of the big event.

I wasn’t worried about the kids—they’d have a blast regardless of who was at the other end of the table. I was far more concerned about my own coaching ability. Had I brought in a top-tier coach far too early in their development?

Having only observed the county’s elite juniors playing at Kennet Vale, I lacked a proper benchmark for my own squad. I knew they were making good progress, but compared to what? They’d only been playing since February, their entire training had been under my tutelage, and my sessions were largely built around fun games and basic racket control. How on earth would they fair under Jack’s expert eye?

As Jack and I stood waiting, the WhatsApp replies began pinging back in rapid succession. In my infinite wisdom, I’d forgotten to remind the parents that today’s session started thirty minutes earlier than our usual slot. Trying to make light of their absence, Jack and I carried on chatting while the clock ticked.

The first player eventually rolled in wearing Crocs—which were apparently an integral component of his chosen sports attire. The second had enjoyed a late night and was still fast asleep when his mum received my message; he rocked up rubbing his eyes, looking thoroughly bewildered. The third arrived looking fresh and wide awake, though I suspected a bucket of cold water had been involved in his morning routine. My anxiety peaked—I was now convinced I’d completely wasted Jack’s morning.

Jack immediately got them into some dynamic, high-energy warm-up drills across the two tables. Despite the brutal early morning wake-up call—10 AM being the equivalent of midnight for the average teenager—they hit the ground running.

To even up the numbers, I was roped onto a table. I prayed I wouldn’t let the side down, especially as my young opponent was producing some of the sharpest table tennis I’d ever seen him play.

“Close your racket face more,” Jack muttered quietly as he walked past my table.

Damn. He’d immediately spotted that I was struggling to return my own student’s shots.

“These guys are genuinely good,” Jack added as he prepped for the next drill. “Who else has been coaching them?”

The three young stars played brilliantly throughout the session. They absorbed new techniques, threw themselves into fresh drills, and demonstrated remarkable potential.

During his wrap-up chat, Jack even suggested they look into entering the Wiltshire Ranking competition. Watching them take that in, I felt an immense surge of pride. It turns out my fundamental coaching hadn’t been so terrible after all—even if the coach had to adjust my racket angle along the way.