Climbing up the Slide
Rob Newson • 20 March 2026
Children know creativity, but are we "teaching" it out of them?
An idea taken from watching my children in Hong Kong when they were much younger.
With so many playgrounds in HK we were at the park almost everyday. One thing I noticed very early on was how much they would enjoy running up the slide, instead of using the stairs.
In Hong Kong there are a lot of ex-pats working highly-paid, but demanding jobs. Over the years it has become the norm to hire some help with household tasks, as well as taking care of the children. So in many of these parks, you'll find small children brought there by their "helper". That relationship is a strange one, as the helper is not the parent of the child but is clearly responsible for their well-being whilst taking care of them in the absence of the Mum or Dad. The helper's are probably fearful of reprimand from their employer should the child they are caring for get injured doing something mildly dangerous at the park, so the attitude taken by helpers by-and-large is to follow the children around and "help" them navigate the playground equipment. There are so many problems with this, but I just want to discuss one here in this post.
The helper chaperones the child around the playground preparing to catch him or her in the event of any kind of slip or fall. There are often things in the playground that require some skill and/or practice to navigate in order to unlock certain other areas of the apparatus, but if the child is not able to climb the stairs or a small wall with holds to gain access to the slide, the helper will simply lift them up to it. For me this is problematic. It's quite clear that some thought has gone into these pieces of equipment and it is quite impressive - if you're not able to navigate the climb then you're probably not ready for the challenge that awaits at the top either. So by bypassing the initial challenge, children are now faced with a height and next step that they're very unlikely to be able to navigate without more help. The "helper" then continues to guide the child through the labyrinth of challenges until they return safely to the ground and the whole thing starts again.
Why is this a problem, you might ask?
It's the adult involvement in a children's activity that is the problem. That's really what it comes to down to. It opens up a number of problems that wouldn't be there if the adults weren't involved at all. You see, when the adult gets involved they often chastise the children for "going the wrong way" and send them back down the slide so the little child perched at the top can be escorted safely down. Even if the adults are not directly interfering in the children playing, you will often hear them telling a child to get down once they see them going "the wrong way up the slide".
Who said it was the wrong way? Don't you understand that many of the greatest inventions have come from somebody who dared to look at the World in a different way to everyone else?
> "Innovation comes when the wrong things are used in the wrong way at the wrong time by the right people,"
> Niels Bohr
What happens if you leave children alone? Aah, that's where the magic is.
I've seen it play out and it's beautiful. Let's say you've got several children playing in the playground. Different ages and physical abilities, but in the case of the slide, all are able to navigate the necessary obstacles to get to the top. So you've got some children who are using the apparatus in the "correct" way, and others, like my own children, who are climbing the slide the "wrong" way.
One coming up the slide meets one getting ready to come down. There's a moment of confrontation and tension. Then dialogue and some kind of a resolution. Play then continues. Sometimes certain children will make allowances for others. At other times, the child at the top will assert their authority and the child climbing the slide will have to retreat.
As an observing adult things don't always get solved in the manner that we think they should be solved in. But if you leave children alone, they will sort it out. There may be discussion, even arguments amongst them. But they will figure out a way to co-exist and have fun together. This is what children do, and they have much to teach us adults if only we will pay attention.
But we won't let it happen, we're too busy being right and telling the children what to do. But they don't need us to do that.
This isn't just about playgrounds. This is school. This is youth sport. This is parenting. We lift children past the struggle, escort them through the challenges, tell them which way is the "right" way — and then wonder why they grow up unable to think for themselves, unable to handle confrontation, unable to navigate the space in their own lives.
The slide isn't the problem. We are.
If we want children who are creative, resilient, and capable of finding their own way — we have to stop showing them ours. Step back. Let them climb. Let them fall. Let them figure it out.
They will. They always do. If we let them.
"I'm just a basketball coach" is the most dangerous thing a coach can believe. When you say that, you're capping your own impact. You're telling yourself the game is the ceiling, when it's actually the floor. Basketball gives you something almost nobody else gets: young people's attention, their trust, and their time. That's extraordinary access. And if all you do with it is teach them how to run a pick and roll, you've wasted it. I'm not saying the basketball doesn't matter. It does. It's what earns you the right to be heard. It's the credibility. It's the language you speak together. But through basketball you can teach someone how to deal with failure, how to commit to something bigger than themselves, how to actually figure out what they want from their life. I was talking to a young coach recently and I realised halfway through the conversation that we weren't really talking about basketball at all. We were talking about purpose. About what it means to show up for other people. Basketball just happened to be the language. And that's the thing. The game is not the thing. It's the vehicle. It's what gives you access to people. What matters is what you do once you're through the door. There's an old idea that your practice — whatever it is — is a vehicle to something greater. Something you can only get to through deep work, reflection, and actually caring about the people in front of you. For me, that vehicle is basketball. It's how I connect ideas, bring people together, and help them see that there's more going on here than just putting an orange ball into an orange hoop. Every coach has this opportunity. Most don't take it. Not because they don't care, but because nobody told them the game was a doorway, not a destination. So here's the question: where is your vehicle taking you?
It's the end of the season and our teams have just played their last competitive games, missing out on opportunities for promotion in two separate competitions. In the space of a week, hope has turned into despair. It's time to regroup. It's also Friday, and instead of practicing, we scrimmaged for the last hour of training today. Three teams; games to 7; 1's & 2's; winner stays. Nothing else was said, players picked their own teams. With about 15 minutes left of the hour, my colleague asked if we should stop the scrimmage and talk to the kids. A lot of the possessions were of poor quality, in our judgement. Constant pull-up 3's, lots of possessions with no passes before a shot, 1-on-1's with poor spacing, and a lack of cohesion between team-mates. Maybe we should stop it and remind them how to play the game. I suggested that we leave them to it. It was revealing. For me it wasn't something to fix, but something to observe and take note of. We thought that our players understood the game better than this. We thought they appreciated the art of ball movement, of searching for high quality shots, of collective defensive unity. We thought they enjoyed those aspects of the game, or at the least appreciated their importance. Alas, it seemed like it was every-man-for-himself. It didn't look fun to us, but this is where they were at. They were still very inexperienced basketball players, still quite immature young adults. It struck me that without the structure of drills, sets, and a coach's active presence, this is how they played the game. In that moment I realised why our teams weren't ready to reach new levels yet, and a quote came to mind: "It doesn't matter what you teach, It's what they learn that matters most" Maybe it's disappointing to see this happen. You work hard all season and you think you're moving in the right direction, helping the athletes improve and giving the team a chance to be successful. Then you see the athletes relax back into their default patterns and realise that a lot of what has been taught throughout the year is yet to be integrated. But disappointment is borne out of expectation and expectations can be very dangerous. I thought about this on the long drive home, not for the first time. I talk about expectations quite a lot with the athletes, many of whom have struggles with losing games. Usually their negative reaction to losing is due to the unrealistic expectations. If your expectations are high and reality doesn't give you what you want then you have a hard time coping. There's disappointment, anger, frustration, bitterness, sadness. Athletes experience this a lot, but it's problematic in the middle of an important game. When the game is in the balance and you pick up your 4th foul due to a "bad call" there may still be time to act and make plays to win the game. But players too-often get side-tracked by the injustice of reality. They're emotions overwhelm them and they block themselves from performing at their best when it matters most. It's my opinion that it's the expectation that is to blame, not reality itself. After all, reality can only ever do what it does. So what are we to do? Analyse your own expectations. Ask yourself if they are useful. Make an attempt to drop as many of them as possible. Consider an alternative: Setting Standards. "Standards are not rules imposed by coaches — they are behaviours the team agrees to live by every day." Albert Enoka Become Unstoppable We're interested in is athletes playing the right way, improving everyday, and acting in such a way that makes winning inevitable. Creating and maintaining explicit standards, in my view, is key to making that a reality. It also brings to light any individual expectations from coaches and ensures that athletes are aware of these, largely because they themselves will be the ones to decide the standards. The difference between expectations and standards then, is about clarity and ownership. - Expectations set you up for disappointment / Standards set your team up for success - Expectations are often discrete and internal, sometimes even secret / Standards are guides for behaviour and are openly communicated - Expectations are often our own / Standards are set together So, Instead of expecting your players to act in a certain way, set the standard for behaviour Instead of expecting to win games, set the standards of play that leads to success Instead of expecting people to treat each other with respect, set and communicate the standards for relationships in your team Instead of expecting things to be different than they are, set your standards and work tirelessly with your team to maintain them. Drop the expectations, set the standards. Standards are not rules. If a standard isn't met, that's not necessarily negative. It's an opportunity for dialogue. It's a chance to ask: why isn't this standard being met? - Is the standard too high? - Has it been communicated effectively? - Is there a disconnect with certain individuals? - Is it related properly to what we're trying to achieve? Setting and upholding standards is an ongoing process of refinement. It's a collaborative process that brings internal expectations out into the light and offers a voice to everyone in the room. Work together to set the standards that you think will lead to success. When you do this collaboratively, something magical happens. Successful behaviours are more easily adopted. You get buy-in. No-one wants to be told what to do. We want to own our success. When you set the standards in a collaborative manner, everyone owns them and will fight for them. If you expect things to be a certain way, you'll always be disappointed.
We're always teaching and coaching the game, whether it's with 8 year olds who are just starting or professional players trying to win a Championship. But it's rarely, if ever, about just the game. It has to be about something more than just putting the orange ball into the orange hoop. If that's all there is to it, then I'm out. It's about discipline, team-work, communication, effort, responsibility, courage, leadership, belief, problem-solving, co-operation. It's about holding a space for people to have a dream, to own it, pursue it, fail, and start all over again. It's about running forwards and backwards, jumping, landing, throwing, catching, and lateral movement. It's about time management, dealing with adversity, managing difficult emotions, engaging in difficult conversations, getting up early, staying late. It's about balancing academics. It's about love, joy, and fun. It's never just about basketball. But it's always basketball. And that's why we love it.
Coach, I’m going to say something that might make you cringe: You are a salesman. I know, I know. You didn’t get into youth basketball to "sell" anything. You got into it to teach the game, develop players, and maybe win a few trophies along the way. But here is the hard truth: if you’re coaching, you’re in sales. Every time you ask for a defensive rotation, a 6:00 AM workout, or a specific style of play, you are selling an idea. And your players? They are your customers. The Authority Trap The biggest mistake we make as coaches of under-18s is leaning on the "Whistle of Authority." We think because we’re the adult in the room, we’re always right and they have to listen. We treat it like a dictatorship rather than a choice. But buy-in is always a choice. When we hide behind our title, we stop doing the one thing great salespeople do better than anyone else: Relationship building. On the court we're yelling feedback in the middle of play expecting players to listen and implement. Outside of practice we’ve become too comfortable with WhatsApp and SMS. It’s "efficient," right? Wrong. It’s safe. It allows us to avoid the friction of real conversations. If you want to build a real program, you have to be comfortable talking—face to face and on the phone. Every time a parent shows up to watch a session, that isn’t a distraction; it’s a lead. It’s an opportunity to understand what’s happening in that kid’s life outside the gym that might be affecting their performance on the floor. The "Pain" of the Phone Call I talk to coaches who are terrified of calling a parent "out of the blue." They don't want to be "annoying." But let’s be honest: Are you afraid of being annoying, or are you afraid of what you might find out? Picking up the phone to ask for feedback is risky. You might find out something important that forces you to change how you operate. The "pain" of making those changes is often why we choose to do nothing. We stay in the dark because the light requires us to grow. The Principle: Authentic coaching is an ongoing sales process rooted in the courage to prioritize human connection over the safety of perceived authority. What it looks like in practice: DO: View every pre-practice chat as "renewing the contract" of trust with your players. DO: Ask parents for feedback. Even the negative stuff is vital data that helps you serve them better. DON'T: Rely on "Because I said so." If they aren't buying what you're selling, you haven't explained the value well enough. DON'T: Use text messaging to avoid uncomfortable conversations. If it matters, use your voice. Why it matters The customer is always right. Whether that’s the player or the parent paying the fees, our job is to serve them. If you aren't selling, you aren't listening. And if you aren't listening, you aren't coaching—you’re just talking to yourself in a gym full of people. Pick up the phone this week. Ask a parent how they think things are going. The answer might be exactly what you need to hear to take your team to the next level.
