The Man Box Loves “Gladiators.” Our Teams Don’t Need It.
Dan Hurley gave another classic postgame soundbite last night. Asked about the Kansas crowd unloading chants at him, he said: “The chants? Yeah, I wasn't expecting that… If that’s how people want to carry themselves in a game. It’s sports. We’re all fucking gladiators, right?”
And I picked this for today’s blog for a few reasons. First — Dan Hurley is always entertaining. Second — every HS coach in Oregon is gearing up for opening night, which means student sections, emotions, and distractions are about to be back in play. Third — because Hurley’s comment (whether tongue-in-cheek or not) exposes something I think is deeply embedded in our coaching culture.
We’re competitive people. We’re excited to be “back in the arena” — bands playing, gyms shaking, scoreboards lighting up. Our blood will get going. It’s supposed to.
But we are literally playing a sport. We are not gladiators. Our physical lives are not on the line. Convincing ourselves otherwise is not just silly — it’s unhealthy.
This is exactly how Man Box framing creeps into our worldview.
We start with: sport = physical.
Then: physical = combat.
Then: combat = war.
Then: war = manly.
And suddenly a Tuesday night game in [Insert Random Town, USA] becomes “this is war” theater — and we act shocked when someone crosses a line in the second quarter.
We are not in Rome. We’re in a high school gym. Settle down.
Our players don’t need us to model “gladiator energy.” They need us to model composure, clarity, and competitive fire without the delusion that we’re stepping into battle.
Healthy men can compete without becoming caricatures of toughness.
COACH PROMPTS
What language do you use on game night that unintentionally shifts players into “war mode” instead of “compete mode”?
How do you bring intensity without borrowing toxic metaphors that distort what sport actually is?
When the crowd heats up, what version of yourself do your players see?
PLAYER PROMPTS
Do you play better when you feel like you’re in a war… or when you’re locked in and composed?
What message are you sending when your emotions spill over the line?
How can you bring fire without losing your identity?
If You Want Better Men, Give Them Better Words
I picked this post today because it’s either #1 or #2 on my list of things I feel most urgent about delivering to male athletes. I know they’re going to be in circles with one another — locker rooms, huddles, hallways, group chats — and in those circles someone is going to say something hurtful disguised as “just joking.” And in that 2–5 second window, the real work of TeamsOfMen is needed.
That’s the moment a teammate has to choose: Do I laugh nervously? Do I let it slide? Or do I say something that actually reflects who I want to be?
This is the pain point young men name for me more than any other:
-“What am I supposed to say, Coach?”
-“I still want him to be my boy… but I don’t agree with what he said.”
THIS list — from @notyouraverageschoolcounselor — is exactly the kind of tool we need to put in their pockets. Not because every phrase will feel natural. Not because they’ll all work in every scenario. But because they give young men options. They help them find language to match the character they’re trying to build.
Which ones feel most natural for your guys? Which ones don’t? What variations can they create that sound like them? That’s the work.
And honestly, this should be up on a wall in every team room in America. I’m kicking myself — we just rebranded our hallway and I love what we used, but I should’ve posted something like this somewhere too.
If we want young men to stand for something, we have to give them the words that help them stand.
COACH PROMPTS
When your players hear something harmful, do they have actual language ready — or only silence?
What phrases from this list fit your team culture, and how will you practice them?
How might posting this visual in your team room shift your locker-room norms?
PLAYER PROMPTS
Which comeback on this list feels most natural for you to say in the moment?
What stops you from speaking up when a teammate crosses a line?
How would your friendships change if honesty and care were normal — not exceptions?
The Lesson Isn’t the Fake Story — It’s How Fast We Believe It
I got duped.
I saw the original post above about NYG DE Abdul Carter and, like the two million people before me, took it as fact. I even sent it to the Giants fans in our locker room with a “Look at this ish” reaction. A couple hours later, it came out the post was from a parody account. Not true. Not even close.
And I felt like a fool.
Not because the original claim sounded impossible — I know enough about the spread of porn use among men (especially young men) to know nothing surprises me anymore — but because I ran with something I should’ve double checked.
That’s the real lesson here: social media is designed to fool us.
AI deepfakes.
Engagement algorithms that reward outrage.
Content farms pumping out believable garbage.
Rabbit holes that look like research but are just traps.
I’m 46. I’ve got a master’s degree. I use social media every single day.
And I STILL fell for it.
So imagine the opportunity the internet has to deceive our players — who scroll faster, trust quicker, and are targeted more aggressively than any generation before them.
If we’re not teaching them to slow down, question, verify, and think…someone else is teaching them not to.
COACH PROMPTS
When’s the last time you taught your players how to verify information, not just react to it?
How can you build digital literacy into your program the same way you build film study?
What systems or habits in your team encourage players to pause before they share?
PLAYER PROMPTS
What’s one post you believed this week that you never double checked?
Who benefits when you react instantly instead of thinking critically?
How much stronger would your decisions be if you slowed down before you clicked?
“Alpha Energy” Isn’t Leadership — It’s Lazy Coaching
My good friend Greg Plater sent me a post today with his classic “Thoughts on this -ish” prompt — and my response was instant: big nah from me. The same tired “alpha” language, the “be an a-hole” bravado, the idea that being “nice” disqualifies you from competing. It’s the same Man Box nonsense dressed up as hoop wisdom.
Sure — you can’t be timid. You can’t be indecisive. Playing with force matters. But running around like a jerk? That guarantees nothing.
Isaiah Stewart and Ron Holland try to fight somebody every other game — and the Pistons got bounced early. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander doesn’t start anything with anybody — and he’s a champion. It’s not complicated.
“Play with rage and fury” sounds cool on a hype edit. But in real basketball? It’s the fastest route to two charges, three missed kickouts, and a dumb foul 90 feet from the rim.
And here’s the bigger problem: this mindset isn’t rare. Too many coaches, parents, trainers, and players have convinced themselves that “go hard” means “turn off your humanity.” As if shutting your feelings off magically produces better decisions, better reads, or better leadership.
It’s the opposite.
-You can’t reach clarity if you don’t know what’s happening inside you.
-You can’t find intent if you’re drowning in unmanaged emotions.
-You can’t compete at your highest level if your only gear is “anger.”
You don’t suppress emotions. You channel them. You process them. You become fluent in them and what they are signaling about yourself.
And the cherry on top? The guy also said “trainers don’t care if you eat.” Science, performance research, and basic biology all say the exact opposite. Fuel matters. Energy matters. Recovery matters. That line alone should disqualify the whole message.
We can do better than rage-bait masculinity disguised as player development.
COACH PROMPTS
Are you teaching players to feel their emotions or to fear them?
Where in your program is “toughness” actually harming decision-making?
What would your team look like if emotional fluency was trained as intentionally as physical skill?
PLAYER PROMPTS
Do you play better when you’re angry — or when your mind is clear?
Which emotions do you avoid that you actually need to understand?
What would happen to your game if you learned to channel your feelings instead of stuffing them?
The Hardest Part of Break Might Not Be Leaving…the Hardest Part Might Be Going Home
Thanksgiving is nuanced. I’ve got decades of warm memories tied to the day — growing up in Montana, and then as an adult spending almost every Turkey Day since 1997 away from home. Food, Cowboys football, and a game-night atmosphere around a table laughing. All of that is real for me.
But as time has passed and the truth around the origins of the holiday has become clearer, the reverence has shifted for me. I’m not telling anyone how to feel — just being honest about how I do.
There were years in college coaching when I wasn’t home at all. Thanksgiving happened in restaurants, in host-family living rooms, at tables filled with people I barely knew but was grateful to sit with. Different rituals. Different food. Cowboys always on.
I’m writing this today because coaches default to one script this week:
“Be thankful for your family. Be thankful for the food. Share what you’re grateful for.”
That’s not wrong. But in 2025, we can do better.
Some players don’t love going home. Some families don’t celebrate the traditional version — no turkey, no pilgrims, no curated Hallmark vibe. Some players don’t have traditions of their own at all.
Some dread the tension waiting for them.
So when your guys come back from break, don’t limit the conversation to highlight reels.
Ask: “What was hardest about being home?”
Bonding isn’t built from forced happy stories.
It’s built from the courage to share struggle — and the willingness to hear it.
COACH PROMPTS
Do you create space for players whose holiday reality doesn’t match the “thankful and blessed” script?
What questions could you ask next week that invite honesty instead of performance?
How might your team culture shift if vulnerability was a norm — not a surprise?
PLAYER PROMPTS
What part of break was actually the hardest — and why?
If you could rewrite one Thanksgiving expectation, what would it be?
Who on your team do you trust enough to tell the truth about home?
Reflection Only Works If We Use It Everywhere
Sometimes you watch your guys on the field or the court and they do something that is so close to the version of them you know they can become. You point it out to your staff, you tell yourself, “There it is. He’s right on the edge of getting it.” That’s the feeling I had reading this post.
I love what Coach Lanning is doing — having his players write down what they did well and what they need to improve before any coach gives feedback. That’s real self-awareness work. That’s reflection as a tool, not a buzzword. It even made me think of our own TeamsOfMen mantra shirts — Self Reflection + Self Interrogation=Self Awareness— because that’s exactly what this is.
But here’s the part I can’t shake: How many coaches will repost this and completely ignore the next logical step?
If reflection and self-awareness help solve problems and unlock growth on the field, why wouldn’t the same be true for everything else in a young man’s life?
Why aren’t we carving out space for reflections in the team room about their humanity — not just their performance? Why aren’t we asking them to journal about their day as a man, not just as a player? Especially at the Power 4 level, where coaches already control 12–14 hours of these guys’ daily schedule. We can’t find ten minutes a week for them to check in with themselves?
If we really believe reflection drives ownership, then it has to expand beyond football.
Otherwise we’re just teaching them to solve problems on the field and stay lost everywhere else.
COACH PROMPTS
If you value reflection, where in your program do you provide structured time for it outside of performance feedback?
What’s stopping you from asking your players to reflect on their humanity as intentionally as they reflect on their game?
How might a weekly self-awareness routine change the emotional climate of your team room?
PLAYER PROMPTS
When’s the last time you thought about your day as a man, not just your performance as an athlete?
What did you learn about yourself this week that no box score could ever show?
How much better could you get — on and off the field — if reflection became part of your routine?
Feeling After a Loss Isn’t Weakness — It’s Humanity
This post is exactly why coaching can feel impossible — and why so many coaches end up passing down the same emotional pain we get hit with from the outside world.
Kansas State’s Chris Klieman tears up after a 51–47 roller coaster of a game — momentum swings, big plays, heavy pressure, questionable calls, the whole thing — and somehow the reaction from fans is… “weak-minded.” As if money makes a person immune to emotional overload. As if a man’s only acceptable response to heartbreak is stoicism.
This is socialization in real time. The world literally telling a man: don’t feel, don’t express, don’t show anything real unless it’s victory.
And here’s the connection that matters for coaches: when we’re trained to numb ourselves, we end up training our players to numb themselves too.
Which is why moments like this are perfect teaching clips. Because in our program — from head coach to manager, starter to scout — we feel all the feels. We don’t shame it. We don’t hide it. We make space for fluency, growth, and connection, scoreboard be damned.
That’s the work. That’s the antidote to this nonsense.
COACH PROMPTS
When’s the last time you modeled emotional honesty for your players — not just emotional control?
What expectations have you internalized from fans, boosters, or culture that end up hurting your team?
How would your program shift if players saw vulnerability as competence, not weakness?
PLAYER PROMPTS
Who taught you that feeling something after a loss makes you soft — and were they right?
How do emotions actually show up in your game: do you bottle them, or use them?
How would your team change if everyone felt safe being real after big moments?
Toughness Isn’t a Cotton Sweatshirt
I watched this clip today because I’m a big Ducks fan — excited for the USC matchup and genuinely impressed with a lot of what Dan Lanning has built. And I get the bit: the host doing a Lou Holtz impression, Coach Lanning playing along, everyone keeping it light.
But when we see performative manboxing, we have to call it out — even when the stakes are low.
Coach Lanning froze his ass off in the rain at Iowa a few weeks ago, and somehow that moment has now become a rallying cry for the “toughness = suffer loudly” crowd. The narrative became: Look how wet he got. That’s leadership. That’s why they won.
Except… Oregon’s players — the ones who actually blocked, tackled, caught passes, and competed in a downpour — wore Nike’s best rain-proof gear, rotated coats between drives, and stayed functional. That doesn’t make them soft. That makes them prepared.
An umbrella doesn’t make you weak. Not enjoying being drenched doesn’t make you less of a man. And being miserable on purpose doesn’t make you a better coach.
This clip is another low-hanging example of the Man Box selling the same tired message: real men suffer, real men reject comfort, real men tough it out because their mama “didn’t raise…” — you know the rest.
Coach Lanning and his staff did a great job with the football in that win. Being soaked had nothing to do with it. We’d all be better off if we stopped confusing avoidable discomfort with real toughness, and stopped pretending theatrics equal leadership.
COACH PROMPTS
Where in your program are you modeling “toughness” in ways that don’t actually help your players?
Do you ever reward suffering more than preparation — and what message does that send?
If your definition of leadership requires performative pain, who’s being left behind?
PLAYER PROMPTS
What’s the difference between real toughness and just trying to look tough?
Have you ever pushed through something just to match an image — not because it made you better?
Which teammates earn your respect through consistency, not theatrics?
Have You Outgrown Fun As A Coach?
I watched the Joe Mazzulla clip above yesterday and had to shake my head. It’s gone viral because it’s coach-bait: a big-time coach, NBA pedigree, championship résumé, saying something that looks great on a poster. But sit with it longer than a scroll — especially considering the question came from a kid — and it gets murky fast.
What is he actually saying?
That fun doesn’t exist in the adult world? That’s a recipe for mental health problems.
That sports aren’t supposed to be fun? That’s burnout waiting around the corner
Or — maybe — he meant something more nuanced about players using “I’m not having fun” as an escape hatch when the work gets hard. I could see that interpretation… but notice how much heavy lifting I had to do to get him there. Coaches forget this way too easily: we didn’t fall in love with our sport because it was serious. We fell in love because it made us smile. Because it gave us joy. Mazzulla gets paid to turn that joy into wins for a billion-dollar franchise, but the essence hasn’t changed.
It’s still a game.
And if the adults in the room can’t talk about fun without flinching, our players won’t stand a chance of keeping theirs.
COACH PROMPTS
When did you start acting like “fun” was something players earn instead of something that fuels their effort?
How often does your language treat joy like a distraction instead of a competitive advantage?
What would your practice look like if you built it the way you loved the game at 12 years old?
PLAYER PROMPTS
When’s the last time you let yourself actually enjoy the sport you’re grinding for?
What’s the difference between “this isn’t fun because it’s hard” and “this isn’t fun because it’s unhealthy”?
Who on your team brings joy to the gym — and are you one of those people?
If You Can Script “Down 3”… You Can Script This
I saw a post today about coaches using playing-card “special situations” to prep for late-game chaos. I used to do the same thing — random cards, random scenarios, one pulled each week. Great coaching. It proves what we already know: guys need reps in hard stuff if we expect them to succeed when hard stuff hits.
But here’s the miss: We’ll script “down 3, five seconds left,” but we won’t script the situations that actually put our players’ lives, futures, and relationships at risk.
What about:
“Your group chat is blowing up after a big Friday night and you know the plans could go sideways.”
“You are sitting in the car after a date and you know what your boys will say if you don’t ‘make a move’.”
“Your best friend is a ghost for a month on text, on video games and rarely at school…and you know something at home isn’t right.”
These are special situations too. Higher stakes. Zero do-overs.
The question isn’t whether we know how to teach situations — we clearly do. The question is why we won’t bring that same intentionality to the ones that matter most.
If we can carve out five minutes for a baseline inbound, we can carve out five minutes for the moments that could cost them far more than a possession.
COACH PROMPTS
What “off-court special situations” do your guys already face every week — and when’s the last time you walked them through one?
Where in your practice plan can you consistently carve out five minutes for life-prep?
What’s one scenario you could script this week that speaks directly to your team’s reality?
PLAYER PROMPTS
Which off-court moments feel hardest to navigate — and why?
When have you wished you had a “replay” or a second chance in real life? What would you do differently now?
Who on your team could you talk to when things start to get sideways?
What Are Your Guys Really Laughing At?
In every team I’ve coached — and in the teams I grew up in — laughter was the soundtrack. We treated it like a sign of connection, chemistry, even culture. But I’ve been realizing something uncomfortable: not all laughter builds a team… and a lot of it breaks boys down in ways we never see. Last week I wrote about the ways humor becomes both the shield boys hide behind and the sword they swing at each other — and why coaches can’t afford to ignore it anymore.
If you work with young men, this is one you’ll want to read.
COACH PROMPTS
Where in your program does humor go unchecked — and what’s the real message players are learning from that silence?
When’s the last time you interrupted a laugh that didn’t sit right? What stopped you the last time you didn’t?
If your players were asked what kinds of jokes a teammate can “get away with,” what would their honest answer be — and what does that tell you?
PLAYER PROMPTS
Think about the last time everyone laughed in the locker room. Was the joke about something true — or something someone was trying to hide?
Whose feelings are easiest to ignore when the laughter starts? Why is that?
What’s one joke you laughed at this week that you wouldn’t want someone using on you?
When the Odds Always Win: A Lesson for Teams
I picked this topic today — and am pushing out this Against the Rules episode by Michael Lewis (Episode 5: “The Mule”) — because the conversation around sports gambling has exploded lately. Between the NBA and MLB betting scandals and how often I hear “my parlay” in team conversations, it feels unavoidable.
I’ve had to stop more than one locker room conversation with:
“Guys, we can’t be throwing our money away like this.”
“Are you even old enough for that?”
Usually I get, “My dad/grandpa/uncle does it for me, Coach.”
So instead of just lecturing with “don’t do it,” I shared this podcast episode with our entire team — and even one of our staff members who loves to bet on games. Lewis lays out how the system actually works: even if you’re good at it, companies like FanDuel, DraftKings, and MGM Bet will throttle your account the minute you start winning too much. You literally can’t win big.
The game is rigged. Not emotionally, not morally — mathematically.
And that’s the point I want our players (and honestly, us adults) to understand. Saying “don’t gamble” without explaining why doesn’t land. But understanding that the system is designed for you to lose? That’s a real conversation worth having before or after practice — when “I hit the over” inevitably comes up.
Coach Prompts
Have you ever discussed gambling as a system designed against players rather than a moral issue?
What parallels exist between gambling odds and the illusion of control athletes crave in competition?
How might explaining why a system preys on people help your players make stronger choices in other parts of life?
Player Prompts
Why do you think gambling ads always show people winning?
What’s the difference between confidence and control — and which one does betting really offer?
If you knew the game was fixed against you, would you still play?
Showing Up Isn’t Extra Credit
I came across this video of a young person lighting up when they spotted their dad in the crowd at a school event — it’s an awesome, heart-melting moment. You can literally see the joy burst across their face in real time.
But it also got me thinking about something deeper. The caption says, “Shoutout to the dads who show up.” And while I get the sentiment, it immediately brought to mind Chris Rock’s line: “You don’t get a cookie for doing shit you’re supposed to do.”
Because honestly…aren’t we supposed to show up? Isn’t that parenting 101?
Now, full transparency — I’ve absolutely caught myself feeling proud, even self-congratulatory, for showing up at a game, practice, or school pickup. That’s not evil, but it’s revealing. Somewhere along the way, many of us men were conditioned to think being present and emotionally available was extra credit. That’s the Man Box at work.
So no, this video isn’t a call-out — it’s a call-in. It’s a reminder to normalize being awesome at fatherhood. To make showing up the baseline, not the breakthrough.
And the best place to start that work? In your team room. Helping your players — many of whom are watching and learning what “manhood” means — see that being consistent, caring, and present isn’t something to brag about. It’s just what real men do.
Coach Prompts
What do your players see modeled by you about presence and consistency?
Do you ever treat “showing up” as something special instead of standard?
How can your staff normalize presence — not praise it as rare?
Player Prompts
Who are the people who consistently show up for you — and how do you show that back?
How would your teammates describe your reliability off the court or field?
Do you only value people who show up for the big moments, or the daily ones too?
When the Film Session Is About a Friend
This article from ESPN about Mike McDaniel and Dan Quinn deserves to be shared far and wide — not because of a play call, a strategy, or a championship moment, but because it’s a story of coaches doing what we always say we want our players to do: notice, care, and act.
In 2016, Quinn, along with Kyle Shanahan and Raheem Morris, sat McDaniel down and told him he was drinking too much. It wasn’t a “none of my business” moment. It wasn’t brushed off as “he’s just being him.” It was a moment of seeing someone fully — and stepping in with love, honesty, and courage.
We often use this space to hold coaches accountable for failing to model what they teach. But this one is different. This story is a reminder of what we’re capable of at our best.
These were friends and colleagues who noticed need, joined together, and took action.
They didn’t wait for a crisis. They didn’t protect comfort. They prioritized care.
That’s the work. That’s TeamsOfMen.
This is proof that our ability to notice doesn’t have to stop at 3rd-down technique or end-of-game execution. It can reach into the personal lives of the people we lead and work alongside.
Because the sport itself is neutral. The people are what make it matter.
And moments like this show that our real wins don’t happen under the lights — they happen in private rooms, when we have the courage to tell someone we love that we see them struggling.
Coach Prompts
When’s the last time you noticed a colleague, player, or staff member struggling — and actually said something?
What’s stopping you from turning “noticing” into action in your program?
How can your staff normalize checking on each other beyond performance?
Player Prompts
Who’s someone on your team that might need you to notice them right now?
What’s one way you can show care for a teammate that has nothing to do with basketball?
How would you want someone to approach you if they saw you struggling?
“When ‘Stay Present’ Becomes Emotional Avoidance”
I first pegged this post as a reax piece because anytime I see someone equate emotions with weakness, my TeamsOfMen radar lights up. The caption — “Emotions beat teams more than their opponents do” — immediately triggered that response.
It’s a common refrain in coaching circles, and one that’s drenched in ManBox thinking: the idea that we should train our players to become emotionless machines, perfectly composed and fully detached. But that’s not strength. That’s suppression.
So I clicked the video expecting more of that “stoic equals strong” messaging — and what I found instead surprised me.
There’s nothing in the video about emotions. No actual mention of “emotional control,” no insight into emotional fluency. Just the usual motivational buzzwords:
Be where your feet are. Attack every rep. Win every possession.
And while those might sound good on a T-shirt or locker room wall, I think they also raise an important question:
At what point does “staying present” become just another way of avoiding presence—of never allowing yourself to actually feel?
If we train athletes to constantly “attack the next moment,” when do they get to feel joy? When do they reflect? When do they recover?
“Zero-zero mentality” might win games. But if that same mindset leaks into how they process life, it can lead to numbness, not resilience.
Coaches — let’s teach focus, yes. But let’s also teach humanity.
Being present doesn’t mean shutting off emotion. It means noticing it, naming it, and then choosing your next step with intention.
Coach Prompts
When do you catch yourself using language that sounds like “attack the moment” or “next play”? What tone does it set for your team emotionally?
Does your team know the difference between composure and suppression?
How can you model being emotionally honest without losing competitive edge?
Player Prompts
When’s the last time you celebrated something fully — or admitted you were frustrated — without fear of being judged as “soft”?
How does staying “locked in” help you… and when does it start to hurt you?
What’s one emotion you’ve learned to name this season that used to just show up as anger or silence?
Boundaries Aren’t Soft — They’re Structure.
This post from Jen Fry is something every staff should grapple with before bringing it to their team.
Why? Because I don’t think boundaries get anywhere near the attention they deserve in most programs.
We spend a ton of time building “standards,” defining “expectations,” and deciding consequences for when those aren’t met. But how often do we talk about boundaries—what they mean, where they are, and how to honor them?
For a lot of coaches, the word boundaries instantly triggers thoughts of consent—and that’s where the discomfort shows up. Some avoid it out of fear or lack of knowledge. Others assume it’s “not our lane.”
But boundaries live everywhere in our programs. They show up when:
A player decides how much pain or exhaustion they’re willing to push through.
A coach gives a correction and the tone crosses a personal line.
Teammates interact in the locker room, on the bus, in the weight room.
“Who can say what to me?”
“What kind of physical contact is okay?”
“When does intensity become disrespect?”
These are all boundary questions. If we as a staff aren’t aware of what we’re asking our players to accept, endure, or ignore, we risk crossing a line that damages trust—without even realizing it.
I’m not saying we can’t set high standards. I’m saying we need to define them clearly and make sure they’re not mistaken for ownership of someone else’s limits.
Boundaries don’t weaken a team.
They protect it—from confusion, from conflict, and from harm we didn’t mean to cause.
Coach Prompts
When’s the last time your staff named specific boundaries—between players, between coaches, or between the two?
What behaviors or language do you consider “normal coaching” that might cross a player’s personal boundary?
How can you model holding firm standards without blurring those lines?
Player Prompts
What are examples of boundaries you want respected in your team environment?
How do you respond when a boundary of yours is crossed—by a teammate or coach?
What’s one way you can help others feel safe setting their own boundaries this season?
If It’s Not on the Calendar, It’s Not a Priority
A personal share today: Like many of you, I’m closing in on the start of high school hoops season and deep in prep mode. Between practice, film, weights, scouting, travel, games, and grade checks, there’s no shortage of processes to plan and calendar for the next 4–5 months.
While I love the prep work, it can get overwhelming — the sheer volume of planning can eat up your entire headspace.
One thing I started seven years ago, though, was mapping out my #TeamsOfMen calendar back in August. Back then it was at the college level; now, it’s part of our high school rhythm. I knew that if I waited until the season rush, it would be too easy to push those sessions aside — or drop them altogether. Because when you’re staring down a Wednesday during conference play, and you’re fuming over a blown pick-and-roll coverage, it’s easy to say, “we don’t have 20–30 minutes for character work today.”
So instead, as I sit here in full prep mode, what I claim to value most — building space for young men to grow in their humanity — is already set in stone. It’s on the calendar. The time is protected. The stress about whether it’ll “fit in” is gone.
Coach Prompts
Do I schedule character work with the same discipline I schedule practice?
What parts of my “values” are actually visible in my team calendar?
If I looked at my season plan, could anyone tell what I say I care about most?
Player Prompts
What are the things in your week that you claim to care about but don’t actually make time for?
How could scheduling time for self-reflection or growth make you a better teammate?
When the season gets stressful, what helps you keep your priorities straight?
Man Up or Grow Up? The Fine Line in Coaching Language
I’ve been paying more attention than ever to the Memphis Grizzlies this year, mainly because one of my former players was drafted by them, and I love seeing his name in the box score.
But when you study the Grizzlies, it’s clear the entire franchise orbits around Ja Morant. Recently, the team suspended Morant for one game for conduct detrimental to the team — reportedly stemming from his verbal and physical reaction to in-person criticism from the head coach.
The screengrab above is from Hall of Famer Carmelo Anthony and his attempt at “speaking” to Morant, offering advice on how to move forward. What stands out to me, through a TeamsOfMen lens, isn’t Melo’s intention — which is clearly to help a younger player refocus and grow — but the language he uses to try to get that message across.
“Ja has to man up.”
“Own up, man up.”
“Put your big boy pants on.”
I’ve said those same things before, and I’m sure many of you have too, all with good intentions and a desire to inspire accountability. But right alongside those tired tropes of masculinity are phrases like “testing,” “look yourself in the mirror,” and “take ownership” — all of which we can agree are legitimate life skills.
Words matter. Melo’s message is close to being spot on — it just needs an adjustment in language, a removal of the clichés about “manliness,” to make the transformation complete.
Coach Prompts
How often do I use outdated or gendered phrases when I’m actually trying to teach accountability?
What’s my go-to language for calling players up instead of calling them out?
Could I replace “man up” with something that reflects growth rather than toughness?
Player Prompts
When I hear a coach or peer say “man up,” what do I think it means?
Do I equate accountability with emotionless toughness, or with learning and self-reflection?
How can I “look in the mirror” without letting shame or defensiveness take over?
Coach Cronin’s Confession — and the Lesson for All of Us
Coach Cronin has never been one to hold back. After reading the full transcript of his postgame press conference, I’m glad I didn’t just react to the clip that went viral. Because while the short version screams “angry coach meltdown,” the full context reveals something more layered: a frustrated leader who saw arrogance coming all week, tried to intervene, and still couldn’t stop it.
Originally, I thought this would be a post about practicing what we preach — that if we accuse players of arrogance and a lack of humility, we’d better #MirrorTrain and check our own tone first. But after reading it all, I see a man who already did that. Cronin repeatedly blames himself, admits failure to reach his team, and holds himself accountable in a way few coaches ever do publicly.
That said, there’s still something here worth examining: our emotional pause button.
Because even if everything he said was true — and maybe it was — the question remains: Does saying it publicly help his players grow, or just protect his pride?
I’ve said versions of what he said behind closed doors to my own staff. Most of us have. The difference? There wasn’t a camera there to catch it.
So maybe the takeaway isn’t about whether Cronin was right or wrong, but whether we as coaches can model one more step of emotional fluency — the moment we feel that surge, can we pause, breathe, and decide if our truth serves anyone but ourselves?
Coach Prompts
When’s the last time your frustration was valid but your delivery wasn’t?
What’s your personal “pause button” look like in high-emotion moments?
Would your players say your postgame comments help them or haunt them?
How often do you debrief your own behavior after a loss?
Player Prompts
How do you want your coach to hold you accountable after a bad game?
When you’re frustrated, do you look to vent or to learn?
What’s your version of a “pause button” when your emotions spike?
Do you hear critique differently when it’s public versus private?
The Marginal Returns of More Assistants
In some ways, this post speaks for itself. With the sheer number of coaches making up big-time college hoops staffs these days, much of what they do just isn’t repeatable at the high school level.
But what I want to call attention to is the inefficiency of sheer numbers when all those people are devoted only to scheme and skill work.
My degree’s in Business Economics, and the concept of diminishing marginal returns absolutely applies here. There are only so many sets of eyes you can have on the same film before everyone becomes noise, not signal.
My counter argument isn’t fewer people — it’s new tasks.
When I scroll a program’s staff directory — like Florida’s, where this image came from — I see plenty of titles: assistants, analysts, directors of player development, quality control. But not one says Character Development Coordinator, Mental Health Access Lead, or Emotional Fluency Coach.
You’re telling me that wouldn’t be more conducive to winning than another set of scout notes?
We’ve dramatically overvalued film work and undervalued people work.
Coach Prompts
If you could add one non-tactical role to your staff tomorrow, what would it be?
How much of your staff meeting time is spent on who your players are vs. what they run?
Do your assistants know the emotional temperature of the locker room as well as they know the scouting report?
How would your win total change if your players felt seen as much as they’re analyzed?
Player Prompts
How would you describe the “non-basketball” parts of your program?
Who on your team knows when you’re struggling — and what do they do with that info?
What’s one way your team could get better without touching a basketball?
Would you rather have a coach who knows your stats or your story?