Organizing a scrimmage might seem straightforward—just split the team and play, right? In my years of coaching youth and amateur squads, I’ve found it’s anything but. A poorly structured scrimmage can devolve into chaos, reinforce bad habits, and frankly, waste everyone’s time. But a well-organized one? It’s the single most effective tool in your training arsenal for building cohesion, testing tactics under pressure, and developing player intelligence. The goal isn’t just to run them ragged; it’s to create a focused, game-like environment where real learning happens. I always remember a sentiment I once heard from a seasoned player, something like: "Kahit namang sino nandu'n, lahat naman may masasabi. Ako, maglalaro lang ako para sa team ko para matulungan sila at para maka-angat kami." That translates roughly to, "Whoever is there, everyone will have something to say. Me, I'll just play for my team to help them and so we can rise up." That’s the spirit we need to cultivate—a focus on the team’s collective ascent, block out the noise, and play for each other. That doesn’t happen by accident; it’s engineered through thoughtful preparation.
First, you have to define the "why" before the "how." Is this scrimmage about fitness, evaluating new players, rehearsing a defensive shape, or practicing quick transitions? My preference leans heavily toward thematic scrimmages. For instance, if we’ve been struggling with playing out from the back, I’ll design a scrimmage where a goal counts double if it originates from our own penalty area. That immediately focuses minds. I rarely, if ever, just say "play full field." I’m a big believer in constraining the game. Use a smaller pitch, maybe 70 yards by 50 yards, to force quicker decisions. Mandate a two-touch limit in certain zones. These constraints aren’t restrictions; they’re teaching tools that amplify the aspects of play you want to highlight. I’ll often start with a 7v7 format, even with a full squad, because it increases individual touches by nearly 40% compared to an 11v11 on a full pitch. More touches, more learning repetitions.
Now, the logistics. Don’t just randomly pick teams. I’m meticulous here. If I’m working on balanced competition, I’ll use a simple numbering system to create even sides, considering positions, fitness, and skill. But often, I’ll deliberately unbalance them to create specific challenges. Maybe I put my three best defenders on one team and task the other, more attacking side, with breaking them down. This creates a clear learning objective for both groups. Equipment is non-negotiable. I always have a spare ball or two at each goal, a stack of pinnies in two distinct colors (no ambiguous "dark shirts vs. light shirts" confusion), and clearly marked boundaries. I use small pop-up goals probably 80% of the time—they’re portable, and placing them encourages shooting from different angles. A functional whistle and a watch are your best friends. I run the scrimmage in blocks: a solid 8-10 minute segment of uninterrupted play, then a quick 2-minute coaching point, then back into it. This rhythm keeps intensity high and allows for immediate feedback.
The coach’s role during the scrimmage is critical. You are not a spectator. I position myself centrally, often on the sideline, and I try to intervene as little as possible during the active play—but I’m constantly observing. I’m looking for the triggers we discussed in training. Is the center forward checking her shoulder? Is the defensive line stepping up together? I jot down one or two key moments. Then, in those brief breaks, I don’t give a lecture. I use questions. "James, what did you see when you turned into that space?" or "Back four, were we compact enough on that counter?" This guided discovery is far more powerful than me just telling them. And here’s where that player’s mindset comes back in. My job is to frame the environment so that every player, regardless of skill, is thinking, "How do I play for my team right now to help us rise up?" It’s about shifting the focus from individual glory to collective problem-solving.
After the final whistle, the work isn’t over. I always, without fail, bring them in for a 5-minute debrief. This isn’t me listing everything they did wrong. I’ll start with a positive: "The pressing triggers in the midfield were excellent for the first two blocks." Then, I’ll pose one collective challenge for next time: "We still need to work on the speed of our switch when the play is condensed." I might use a specific moment from the scrimmage as an example. This closure is vital. It connects the activity to the larger journey. I’ll sometimes even reference that idea of playing for the team’s ascent directly, reminding them that every decision in a scrimmage is practice for that exact mentality in a real match.
In the end, organizing a great scrimmage is an act of coaching philosophy. It reveals what you truly value. If you value chaotic, unfocused play, just roll a ball out. But if you value intentional growth, tactical awareness, and that unselfish commitment to the group’s progress, then every detail—from the field size to the post-game talk—matters. It’s how you build a team where players aren’t worried about who’s watching or criticizing, but are solely focused on helping each other rise. That’s the ultimate goal, and a thoughtfully organized scrimmage is a brilliant step toward it.