Leading a school is nothing compared to coaching an under 8s football team, although the similarities are striking.

You can’t win...

It’s a funny old game. The phrase could refer to life generally, I suppose – leading a school, certainly. But it was originally coined by Jimmy Greaves to describe football. Not having grown up sufficiently to lose my childhood passion for sport, and still being a football fan, though I’m old enough to know better, I often reflect on the similarities between school leadership and football management.

My leadership team have stopped telling me they’re too busy because they know I’ll tell them they’re paid to be busy. Nothing wrong with that. After all, the great Bill Shankly once said of the off side rule “If you’re not i interfering with play, what are you doing on the pitch?”

My own legendary hero, the uniquely idiosyncratic Brian Clough, provided endlessly quotable comments about how to lead others. “If I had an argument with a player we would sit down for 20 minutes, talk about it and then decide I was right,” is how I’ve always attempted to deal with union reps.

At last year’s performance management review with the governors, “I wouldn’t say I was the best manager in the business, but I was in the top one,” proved quite useful. Probably the most pertinent comment of his at the moment is: “I’ve decided to pick my moment to retire very carefully – in about 200 years’ time.”

Early in my career I was daft enough to run school football teams, but back then my experience of whole school leadership was too limited to appreciate the similarities. This year however, I’ve had an opportunity to reflect more closely on the various demands.

A couple of years ago, my then six-year-old son rushed excitedly out of school clutching a letter announcing training sessions for the local club. Another of the dads, Geoff, agreed to run a team in the under 8s league the following season. He did a good job, and the kids had great fun even though they lost more than they won. My son even ended up player of the year.

But this year Geoff wanted an assistant, as every other team had two coaches. By the time I realised everyone else in the line had taken a step backwards, I’d been appointed – a process slightly less arduous than my three-day headship interview.

The most menacing and overprotective of parents complaining about lack of homework or unjust detentions is nothing compared to the wrath of the mother whose son doesn’t get his fair share of time on the pitch. Splenetic hadn’t entered my vocabulary until Elaine strode over at the end of one match to berate me for daring to suggest that her precious Cameron might run back occasionally to help out the defence. Gove’s vexatious rants about school leaders seem mild by comparison.

And the man from the county FA who turned up one rain-lashed Sunday morning, unannounced, to observe how Geoff and I were running the team could teach Ofsted a thing or two about no-notice inspections, raising the bar and publicly humiliating feedback.

I responded strategically: A Toy Story clipboard, borrowed from the toy box in the lounge, on which were logged substitutions and rotations every six-and-a-half minutes to make sure that everyone got an equal amount of game time. Instructions about who should take which corners, throw-ins, goal kicks; who should stand on the keeper, hang back at the edge of the box, go short for the pass and when to kick it long – it made our school improvement plan look amateur.

We played our last game of the season this week. The boys turned up tired after a school trip, too interested in discussing what they’d seen the daddy lion doing at the safari park to listen to the tactical masterpiece that was my team talk. No wonder we lost 8-0 to the team at the top of the league.

Later that evening I empathised with Pep Guardiola as his celebrated Barcelona were outfought by Chelsea’s brave heroes and wondered if either of us had made the obligatory three levels of progress this year.

Three days later, Pep announced he was leaving Barcelona. Too much pressure, too intense – just because he lost a couple of games. But his team didn’t lose 8-0 on Tuesday. And he didn’t have to run a school the next morning. And I don’t get paid €5 million per year.

It’s tough at the top, Pep. In the words of Michael Gove, if you want to stay in the game, you’ll have to man up...

The author must retain anonymity while confidential negotiations take place with an unnamed European club.

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Last Word always welcomes contributions from members. If you’d like to share your humorous observations of school life, email Sara Gadzik at leader@ascl.org.uk ASCL offers a modest honorarium.

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