Maybe I Care Too Much

The uncomfortable truth about expectations, doubt, and refusing to settle for average

Tomorrow, October 5, high school basketball gets going again for us.

Another season.

Another group.

Another opportunity to see exactly what we are made of.

Since the last time I wrote, I have thought a lot about basketball, coaching, expectations, and probably more than anything, why I care about all of this as much as I do.

And I keep coming back to a question that I am not sure has a simple answer.

Is it possible that I care too much?

Maybe wanting to compete in every offseason, every practice, and every game makes me annoying.

Maybe expecting people to take our program seriously bothers some people.

Maybe constantly asking, “How can we get better?” gets old to the people around me.

I can accept that possibility.

But I also know myself.

I am not chasing perfection.

I am chasing our best.

There is a difference.

I Want Us to Be Taken Seriously

This is probably one of the harder things for me to admit.

Sometimes I still feel a lack of respect.

Sometimes that feeling comes from outside our program. Sometimes it feels closer, from within my own community or even from people I work alongside.

Maybe some of that is real.

Maybe some of it is my own competitive nature.

Either way, I feel it.

And I would be lying if I said it never bothered me.

I want our athletes to walk into a gym knowing they belong there.

I want opponents to prepare for us.

I want people to know that when they play one of my teams, they are going to have to compete.

Not because we talk about how good we are.

Because of the way we prepare.

Because of the way we play.

Because of the standard we set.

I want our program to be taken seriously because I take what we are building seriously.

There Is More to Life Than Winning

I know what someone reading this might be thinking.

They are teenage girls.

It is just basketball.

And they're right.

There is more to life than winning basketball games.

Much more.

I tell my players that. I believe it.

Basketball eventually ends for everybody.

But here is where the conversation gets complicated for me.

Somehow, I have made a life out of trying to win basketball games.

I played this game.

I competed in this game.

I have coached this game for more than two decades.

This will be my 23rd season coaching.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that while basketball might only be a game, what happens inside that game is very real.

Discipline is real.

Confidence is real.

Handling failure is real.

Sacrifice is real.

Learning to trust people is real.

Getting knocked down and deciding whether you are going to get back up is real.

Learning how to be part of something bigger than yourself is real.

So yes, there is more to life than winning basketball games.

But I also believe there are lessons hidden inside the pursuit of winning that prepare young people for the rest of their lives.

That matters to me.

I Refuse to Let Them Be Average

This might be the part that makes some people uncomfortable.

I refuse to let my athletes settle for average.

That does not mean every player has to become an All State player.

It does not mean everybody is going to play college basketball.

It does not even mean every player will love basketball the way I do.

They probably won't.

What it means is that if you walk into our gym, I am going to ask something of you.

I am going to challenge you.

I am going to coach you.

I am going to tell you the truth when you can give more.

I am going to expect you to work.

And I am going to believe there is another level inside of you even on the days when you might not believe it yourself.

Because I believe that is part of my job.

I am not designed to watch a kid give 60 percent of what she is capable of and pretend that is good enough.

Not because I am angry with her.

Because I see more.

There is an important difference.

The Hard Part About Standards

Everybody loves standards until the standard requires something from them.

We love talking about winning.

We love talking about championships.

We love talking about college opportunities.

We love putting the final result on social media.

What we do not talk about enough is what those things cost.

Early mornings.

Late practices.

Repetition.

Being corrected.

Sitting on the bench sometimes.

Working when your friends are somewhere else.

Coming back after a bad game.

Being tired and competing anyway.

Doing something over and over again until something that once felt impossible starts feeling normal.

That is the part people do not always celebrate.

But that is where players are made.

Twenty Three Seasons In, I Still Have Doubt

You would think after coaching for this long that doubt disappears.

It doesn't.

This will be my second year as a head coach and my 23rd season coaching basketball.

And I still ask myself questions.

Am I doing enough?

Did I handle that situation correctly?

Should I have pushed harder?

Should I have backed off?

Are we practicing the right things?

Am I reaching this player?

Do my players believe in what we are doing?

And probably the hardest one:

Am I good enough to do this?

Twenty three seasons.

And that question still shows up.

Maybe that surprises people.

It probably shouldn't.

Because the more this matters to you, the easier it becomes to question whether you are giving it everything it deserves.

I have learned that confidence does not mean never doubting yourself.

Sometimes confidence is having doubts and showing up anyway.

So I Put My Head Down and Work

That has become my answer.

Work.

When I feel respected, work.

When I feel disrespected, work.

When people believe in what we are doing, work.

When they don't, work.

When we win, figure out how to improve.

When we lose, figure out why.

When I feel confident, work.

When I wonder whether I am good enough, work.

At some point, you have to stop trying to convince everybody.

You have to stop explaining yourself.

You have to put your head down, do the work, and let the chips fall where they may.

That does not guarantee success.

I wish it did.

But it guarantees something that matters just as much to me.

We will find out how good we can become.

Not Everyone Will Understand

One of the hardest lessons basketball has taught me is that not everyone is going to believe in you.

Not everyone is going to understand you.

Not everyone is going to agree with how much you care.

And not everyone is going to see the vision before the results arrive.

Maybe that is okay.

I spent too much time in the past thinking that if I could just explain it correctly, everybody would understand.

I'm beginning to realize that they don't have to.

The players in our program do not need everybody to believe in them.

They need to learn how to believe in themselves.

And they need people around them who are willing to hold them accountable to the things they say they want.

Sometimes that means encouragement.

Sometimes that means an uncomfortable conversation.

Sometimes that means telling a player that where she is right now is not where she is capable of being.

That is coaching.

What I Want My Players to Know

I hope my athletes understand something about me.

When I push you, it is not because winning means more to me than you do.

It is actually the opposite.

I push because I care about what you could become.

I know basketball will end.

But someday you will face something much harder than a full court press.

You will have a bad day at work.

Someone will doubt you.

You will fail at something you thought you were prepared for.

You will have to make a difficult decision when nobody is there to make it for you.

You will discover that life does not always reward talent.

In those moments, I hope something from basketball comes back to you.

Keep working.

Compete.

Adjust.

Do the hard thing.

Believe that you can get better.

Those lessons matter long after the scoreboard turns off.

Here We Go Again

Tomorrow we start again.

New season.

New challenges.

New personalities.

New expectations.

Some of the same doubts.

Some of the same people who may not understand.

And probably plenty of moments when I will wonder whether I am getting any of this right.

But I know what I am going to do.

Put my head down.

Work.

Coach the players in front of me.

Demand their best.

Give them mine.

And let the chips fall where they may.

Maybe wanting more makes me difficult sometimes.

Maybe caring this much about basketball is hard for some people to understand.

Maybe I do care too much.

But after 23 seasons, I have learned something about myself.

I do not know how to coach any other way.

And I am not sure I want to.

Basketball rewards the people willing to do hard things.

This season, we are going to find out how willing we are.