The chlorine-scented air stings my nostrils as I catch my breath, my arms draped over the pool's edge, water lapping gently against my chest.

The sun glints off the surface, but it's not the light that's making me squint – it's the anticipation of what's about to unfold.

It's April 2013. I'm training with the Western Australian State School Boys team ahead of the National Championships in June.

It's our first session, and my coach, Andrew, is splitting the squad into two teams for a practice game.

It’s common to put the predicted starting team (the 7 best players) on one side to start playing together.

I’ve always been on the starting team in all my other teams.

My heart races as Andrew calls out A Team names. With each name that's not mine, my stomach tightens. The silence after the seventh name is deafening.

Shame and disbelief war within me. How could I not be in the top seven? The rational part of my brain tries to reason that it's just the first training session, but my ego drowns out that voice.

“I don’t want to play in the B team. I want to play in the A Team. I’m better than at least 3 players in the team he picked. This is BS. He’s made a mistake. I’m going to prove him wrong. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

I feel my eyes involuntarily roll upward and my head turning away in a childish gesture I can't stop.

The game starts and finishes quickly. I play well, objectively. Call it an 8/10. I was the best player on the B team. But, I’m still fuming inside. I don’t want to be on the damn B team. 

As we dry off, Andrew's eyes lock onto mine. My stomach drops as he beckons me over. This is it, I've blown my chance before we've even started.

“I saw you roll your eyes at me when I didn’t pick you in the starting team.”

“Oh, shit. Now I have zero chance.”

I’m standing next to Andrew, who’s at least a foot taller than me. I feel like an ant about to be stepped on by an angry toddler.

But he puts his hand on my shoulder, looks me firmly in the eyes with an uplifting smile and says, “I know you’re annoyed. I’m glad you are. If you weren’t, I’d question your desire to be here. You can get into the starting team. There’s a long way to go before the Championships. Keep at it.”

I expected a spray. Instead, I walk away feeling the most motivated I’ve ever felt.

3 months later, I’m in the starting team of the National Championships Final.

We win the gold medal, beating New South Wales, 8-6. It’s Western Australia’s first win in 10 years, and we did it without our best player who got injured in the first quarter.

We’re receiving our medals when I catch eyes with Andrew again and he looks at me with a wry smile. I smile back.

In that moment, I learned more about leadership than I ever had.

Great leaders don't just manage people – they understand, challenge, and inspire them to surpass their expectations.

He set a standard for me to meet and instilled belief that I could reach it.

He didn’t react emotionally to my rude gesture. He saw me as the immature 16-year-old I was and taught me a lesson I’ll always remember in the most noble way.