There are coaches who win, and there are coaches who change how winning is taught. Manny Schellscheidt did the latter—patiently, joyfully, and for decades. Born in Solingen, Germany, he arrived in the United States in the mid-1960s and began a uniquely American journey: tool-and-die by day, soccer by night, and an ever-growing circle of players and coaches who would trace their understanding of the game back to him. He won as a player (two U.S. Open Cups with Elizabeth SC; a NASL title with the Philadelphia Atoms) and as a coach (ASL titles with the Rhode Island Oceaneers and New Jersey Americans), but his greatest work was cultural: reshaping American coaching around the idea that the game itself should be the teacher.

By résumé alone, Manny’s career is staggering. He led the U.S. Men’s National Team for three games in 1975 during a transition period for the federation, guided Olympic and Pan-American teams, and devoted enormous energy to youth national teams—particularly the U-14s and U-17s—where his quiet influence reached the widest audience. He was inducted into the National Soccer Hall of Fame in 1990, a “builder” whose fingerprints are still visible on how we train and talk about American soccer.

College soccer gave him a long runway to mentor future pros and coaches. Across 24 seasons at Seton Hall (1988–2011), he earned Big East championships, multiple NCAA tournament berths, and, more importantly, a reputation for forming teams that thought for themselves. Later, at the New York Red Bulls Academy, he helped wire his player-centric philosophy

The Philosophy That Changed People

Ask people what Manny believed and they’ll start with one famous line: “The game is the best teacher. The coach is really a substitute voice. We want the players to hear the silent voice, the game.” That quote—often shared, rarely bettered—captures his faith in learning through play. He paired it with other hard truths: “Judge players by their talents, not their faults.” And, with a twinkle in his eye, he’d remind coaches: “Soccer without ideas is boring. Players with skill and imagination are fun to watch.”

He didn’t just say it; he designed for it. Manny loved small-sided games with simple constraints: two-touch races to five goals, fields just tight enough that time and space had to be created, not handed out. He urged coaches to “graduate their kids from really small numbers, one step at a time,” because that was “the most potent education the players could possibly get.” For him, the sideline wasn’t a stage. It was a reminder to be quiet enough to let players solve problems.

That trust in players produced something bigger than trophies: confidence. When a player hears less directing and feels more discovery, they begin to see the field for themselves. They take risks. They improvise. And the coach’s job shifts—from delivering answers to curating questions. Manny taught that shift to thousands: in ODP Region I, in U.S. Soccer courses, at Seton Hall, and in MLS academies. The “Manny coaching tree” spans college sidelines, pro benches, and youth clubs across the country.

The Human Being Behind the Method

Manny’s story is filled with the kind of details that say more than slogans. In 1973, when the Atoms were surging toward the NASL title, he kept a promise to a youth team and missed a semifinal to take his boys on a planned trip—trusting his club to handle business without him. They won 3–0. That choice—commitment to the kids first—became a parable among the coaches he mentored.

He was a master storyteller, too. Players remember he could turn a muddy field into a lesson on resilience and creativity; he’d talk about digging stones out of the Metropolitan Oval and then laugh about how “when it’s something you love, you find the energy.” Former Seton Hall star Sacha Kljestan recalls being schooled in the lore of the Open Cup by Manny, who had lifted the trophy twice with Elizabeth SC. Their bond—coach and playmaker, teacher and believer—perfectly mirrors Manny’s influence: equal parts technique, freedom, and love for the game’s history.

Why He Inspires Us (and Should Inspire the Next Generation)

1) He centered player intelligence.
Manny’s sessions were laboratories for decisions. By stripping away the coach’s ego and building competitive constraints, he taught players to create time and space, to scan, to lead with their minds. That’s why his lines about “the language of the game is body language” and “all the questions will come from the game and so will the answers” resonate in every era.

2) He kept joy at the core.
For Manny, joy wasn’t fluff; it was performance. Risk-taking players learn faster. Teams that love the ball build better habits. He believed a coach’s first duty is to protect that love affair between player and ball—because skill grows out of it.

3) He measured success in people, not headlines.
He led the USMNT during a difficult year (1975), guided Olympic and youth national teams, and still treated a Tuesday U-14 session like a World Cup rehearsal. His humility gave permission to generations of kids—especially late bloomers—to keep growing.

4) He connected eras of the American game.
From ethnic leagues to NASL, from ASL sidelines to NCAA runs, from ODP to MLS academies—Manny lived the full American soccer story and linked its chapters. When we celebrate the modern pipeline of homegrown talent, we’re walking a path he helped pave. New York Red Bulls

What He Contributed

• A player-first, game-centered methodology. The now-standard emphasis on small-sided, decision-rich training owes much to Manny’s advocacy and example. He challenged coaches to design games, not just drills.
• Institutional impact across levels. Seton Hall, the USMNT, Olympic and youth national teams, and the Red Bulls Academy—Manny’s values were stitched into each layer of the pathway.
• A living legacy of mentors. Ask around: from Bruce Arena’s praise to the many college and academy coaches who use “the game is the best teacher” as a north star, his influence is active, not archival.

A Lasting Standard

Great coaches don’t just accumulate wins; they multiply understanding. Manny Schellscheidt showed us what that looks like: a coach who believed in players enough to let them discover, who believed in the game enough to let it speak, and who believed in the long term enough to ignore shortcuts. At US Club Soccer, we see his example as a challenge: build environments where kids own their learning, protect their creativity, and measure progress by how bravely and intelligently they play.

If we can do that, we’ll honor him the right way—by raising a generation that doesn’t need constant instruction to play beautiful, fearless soccer. As Manny would put it, the answers are already on the field if we have the courage to listen.

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