Episode Details

Sikh Games 2026 Melbourne | April 3-5, 2026 | Interview with Major Singh, President, Sikh United Melbourne Club

Every Sunday morning at Coburg Bank, something happens that doesn't make headlines but changes lives. Fifty kids—some barely tall enough to spike a volleyball, others already towering with state-level experience—show up for training. Their coach is Major Singh, a man whose sons went from playground beginners to representing Australia internationally. His club, Sikh United Melbourne, doesn't just enter teams in tournaments. It builds a pathway.

With the 38th Australian Sikh Games less than two weeks away (April 3-5, 2026, Melbourne), Radio Haanji sat down with Major Singh to understand what it actually takes to turn community-level athletes into state and national representatives—and why this year's games will see double the expected volleyball teams competing.

The Interview: What Major Singh Actually Said About Building Champions

"My goal is simple," Major Singh told us. "A kid starts with us at the community level. They train in our Sunday sessions. Then they play for their school teams. If their basics are clear—height, skills, dedication—they represent Victoria. And from there? Australia."

It sounds straightforward. The reality is messier, harder, and more rewarding than any simple progression chart suggests.

Success Stories: When the Pathway Actually Works

Major Singh's elder son, Jaspreet (everyone calls him Jassu), started training at age 5 or 6. Not structured coaching—just showing up when his dad went to play. Watching. Trying. Failing. Learning.

By his teenage years, Jassu was representing Victoria in volleyball. Then came selection to a wing program in Canberra. Then a year representing Australia, competing in Thailand. He's now playing Under-21.

His younger brother, Jagpreet (Jaggi), is 16 and already representing Victoria at Under-17 level. Different kid, same pathway: community training → school teams → state selection → national prospects.

"I didn't train them differently than anyone else," Major Singh insists. "Same drills. Same Sunday sessions. Same expectations. The difference? They showed up every week. They listened. They wanted it."

Beyond His Own Kids: The Wider Success

Arsh, whose father Jaskaran plays at the national level as a lifter, can't even compete in the Sikh Games due to international player restrictions. His younger brother represents Australia from the USA, where he's studying on a sports scholarship.

Players from Baba Budha Ji Club and Singh Sabha Club have represented Victoria through similar pathways. The system works—when kids commit and parents support.

From Sikh United Melbourne specifically? Two of Major Singh's sons, plus one other athlete. "Three so far from our club," he says. "But many more from other clubs in the community."

The Generational Coaching Challenge Nobody Talks About

Ask Major Singh about the biggest difference between coaching his generation versus today's kids, and you'll get a surprisingly blunt answer.

"In our time, if the coach said jump, we jumped. If they said run 20 laps, we ran 20 laps. The stick was there too—literally. We respected our coaches like gurus. What they said was law."

"Here? You can't even raise your voice at a kid without worrying about complaints. Parents tell me, 'Be strict with my son, use the stick if you need to'—but the system doesn't allow that. And honestly? If a kid doesn't have interest, force doesn't help anyway."

The Paradox Parents Create

Here's the weird tension: Parents want coaches to push their kids hard. But they also want their kids treated gently. Schools don't pressure students academically the way they used to. That same relaxed attitude carries over to sports.

"Kids spend more time on social media than on fundamentals," Major Singh notes. "They're not as serious. And when the coach-player relationship