How Do We Right the Ship?

when should we take time out

If you coach, you know things go wrong. And often they go wrong in bunches. The “oh shit” timeout is probably the most common use of a timeout — to stop momentum, to reset, to try and grab something before it gets away from you.

For most of my career, my theory has been this: show confidence in your team by letting them play through it. Don’t panic. Let them solve it.

I’m thinking that might be wrong.

My ex-wife and I had a rule: don’t go to bed mad. It sounds wise. If something is wrong, fix it right away. Don’t let it fester. Clear the air.

In practice, I think it was more problem than solution.

When people get really upset — not mildly annoyed, but actually triggered — it takes time for the body to settle. Heart rate up. Thoughts racing. Defensive posture. You are not rational in that moment, no matter how articulate you believe you are. But our rule didn’t allow for that. We had to solve it before sleep. So two dysregulated people kept pushing at the problem, and the momentum of the disagreement built. What may have been solvable at 7:30 p.m. became unsolvable at midnight.

We weren’t wrong about wanting resolution. We were wrong about timing.

In my best relationship, I learned something different. We were allowed to say, “I’m too upset to talk about this right now. Can we try again tomorrow?” That pause changed everything. I could calm down. I could examine what had actually happened to me. I could see where I wasn’t communicating clearly, or where I was simply protecting myself. When we returned to the conversation, it was smaller. Manageable. Much easier to apologize and forgive.

The issue hadn’t grown overnight. It had shrunk.

Ok, back to the match.

Most of the time we call timeout because execution is lacking. Occasionally it’s tactical. Sometimes it’s about standards. But more often than not, it’s execution. Balls sailing long, sideways passing.

My instinct has been to let them battle through it. I’ve told myself that shows confidence. That stopping play might signal doubt.

What if I’ve had it backwards.

When execution drops, it’s rarely just mechanical. It’s nervous system. Shoulders tighten. Breathing shortens. Internal dialogue becomes “don’t mess this up.” And once a player is in that “I stink” loop, the game speeds up even if the tempo hasn’t changed. Every mistake confirms the story they’re telling themselves.

If that’s true, then letting them “play through it” isn’t empowering them.

It might be stealing their confidence.

Maybe the timeout is about giving the body a chance to reset. Separating the player from the last mistake. Reminding them of what is stable and true about them. Allowing heart rates to settle and vision to widen again.

In other words, maybe the timeout is less about correction and more about regulation.

We don’t tell the couple to fix everything at midnight anymore. We tell them to pause. Sleep. Return when they are themselves again.

Maybe the same is true for teams.

This is just a theory — one I’m going with this coming season. Not to rescue. Not to overcorrect. But to recognize when momentum isn’t tactical, it’s physiological. And to give my team what I’ve learned to give in relationships: space to calm down, and a chance to come back to themselves.