Foggy Isn’t Lazy & Frozen Isn’t Defiant.

I read something today that hit hard.

An Edutopia article by Clementina Jose titled Recognizing and Addressing Emotional Overload to Better Support Students explored how students’ behavior is often misunderstood. Every sentence felt like it could’ve been about us as coaches.

Especially this one:

“These assumptions, while often made out of genuine concern or exhaustion, are typically rooted in a misunderstanding of what we are actually witnessing: not defiance, not disinterest, but emotional overload.”

I’ve said those things. Heard them in film sessions. Felt them after a sloppy practice.
“He’s just being lazy.”
“He’s not pushing himself.”
“He doesn’t care.”

But what if we’re wrong?

What if that stillness, silence, or shut-down look we label as laziness… is actually the body protecting itself? A freeze response. An emotional overload.

What if motivation isn’t just mindset, but also emotional capacity?

This is where emotional fluency has to live in our programs. We’re failing our players if we don’t teach them how to recognize what’s happening inside—and how to say it out loud in ways that don’t cost them respect, playing time, or their spot.

We train them in game communication. Why wouldn’t we train them for this?

Whether it's “I’m buffering,” “I’m in turtle mode,” or just “I need a sec,” we can build program language—mantras and cues that normalize overwhelm without excusing disengagement.

Coach Prompt:
Think back to a moment this past season when you thought a player was being lazy or disengaged. Could it have been emotional overload? How might you ask differently next time?

Player Prompt:
What’s one short phrase or cue you’d feel comfortable saying when your brain feels foggy or overwhelmed? How could we all respect that signal without judgment?

Be sure to read the full article (link to in first paragraph)

"Cool Post" or Cultural Blind Spot? Why I’m Not Sold on the NFL’s Latest Leadership Clubhouse

First of all, the algorithm is EVERYWHERE. This post popped up in my Instagram scroll today—even though I don’t follow the account. And how could it not? It’s about the NFL, it’s about culture in athletics, and it’s supposedly a way to expand athlete success off the field as well. Seems like a no-brainer “cool post” for me and TeamsOfMen, right?

Not exactly.

Where I take issue is two-fold:

First, the title—“A Clubhouse for Athletes”—makes me very wary. Why? Because without intentional deprogramming and unlearning, clubhouses, locker rooms, and team rooms are often CESSPOOLS for the perpetration of violence, bullying, and Man Box posturing by the male athletes who call those places home. People tell me all the time, “We got good kids.” And while I want to believe them, I also know that if we borrowed Susan Richards’ invisible powers from the Fantastic Four, we’d be appalled by what’s said and done in those rooms when we’re not there.

So just making “a clubhouse for athletes” a goal—without naming what’s actually inside those rooms? That’s worrisome for me.

Second, the first comment by the account itself—“Athletes make better leaders”—is IFFY at best, if not just flat-out wrong. Most team rooms are full of followers or obediently silent team members. The so-called “leaders” in the space are often the ones steeped in Man Box intimidation tactics, policing others with awful stereotypes about what type of man is allowed in the room. “No pussies.” “No fags.” “No softness.” Just a few of the exclusionary phrases you’ll hear echo in sport culture’s team rooms.

Sure—there can be great leaders. There can be galvanizers in those spaces. But what they lead others toward—or demand from them in tribute—is not inherently good. And it sure as hell isn’t better than what non-athlete spaces might produce.

We’d LOVE to change that with the work we do.

But we’re not there yet.

And from what I can see, this doesn’t appear to be a program that is either.

Coach Prompt:
What assumptions are we making when we claim our team rooms produce “better leaders”? Are we mistaking silence or obedience for growth?

Player Prompt:
If someone could hear everything that gets said in your locker room, would you be proud of it—or would you be hoping they missed the worst parts?

“Support Isn’t Shelter”

Yesterday my youngest turned 13—so instead of a full blog, my energy (and reflection) went into finishing Part Six of The Mirror Project on Medium.

This piece is a response to Jessica Grose’s recent New York Times column challenging the idea of a “boy crisis.” I found myself nodding along—and also pushing back hard on the deeper problem: the outdated scripts we still hand to boys, and the assumptions we make about how to help them.

Huge thanks to Elizabeth Kennedy, prevention professional and friend, for putting Grose’s article on my radar. This reflection wouldn’t exist without that nudge.

Full piece here: https://kioane.medium.com/

Coach Prompt:

When you say you're “supporting your guys,” are you shielding them—or stretching them? What’s one way you can hold the bar with them instead of lowering it for them?

Player Prompt:

What’s something you’ve avoided trying hard at—because it might make you look soft, nerdy, or weak?
What would it look like to push anyway?

Not a Vibe. A System.

Photo caption: My literal desk yesterday — one screen with our 2025–26 Varsity/JV plan, the other with a calendar open. Printed session trackers from last season scattered below, next to shirt mockups and a Canva template for a “Meet the Moment” slide.

This was the arena yesterday as I sat down to finalize the TeamsOfMen calendar for my entire South Salem Boys Basketball program. I’m not sharing it to give you our plan session by session — I’m sharing it to show you two key things:

1. This process is intentional.

It’s informed by data (what worked, what didn’t) and structure (what every tier of your program needs next). Just like you wouldn’t roll into practice without a plan, you can’t build character without a calendar.

2. This isn’t my first rodeo.

While it’s only year two for me at South, it’s year 14 overall of building a tiered, progressive system to help young men grow a reimagined masculinity — first as a college coach, now in high school.

And yes, it takes time. Yes, it takes reflection. Yes, it takes actual building.

You have to map out what your 1st-year players need for a foundation — but you also have to make sure your 2nd, 3rd, and 4th years don’t sit through the same session three times. You have to decide when you should present… when they should lead… and when your staff should step in.

You have to think through:

• Where do peer-led presentations happen?

• What role do mantra shirts play in sparking conversations?

• Can JV2 players reflect without needing Varsity present?

• What’s the cadence? Weekly? Bi-weekly? Postgame? Pre-practice?

  You’ve asked all these questions before —when you built your offense, when you planned your travel itinerary, when you drew up your skill development blocks.

This isn’t new work — it’s just new context.
And if you're thinking “Damn… that seems like a lot…”

You're right.
It is.
But it’s what I do.

That’s why I built TeamsOfMen the business.
To do this with you — or for you — based on what you and your players need. I’ve spent 15 years designing character calendars. With a license, you don’t start from scratch. You start from what’s already proven.

Coach Prompt:

Look at your calendar.
Where’s your offense? Defense? Skill blocks?
Now show me your character plan.
If you don’t see one, your team doesn’t feel one.

Player Prompt:

Which moment last season did you fail to meet well?
How would you prepare differently if you knew it was coming again?
Spoiler alert: It is.

Want the calendar I built above?
Shoot me a message — or license TeamsOfMen and let’s build yours together.
Because character isn’t just taught. It’s scheduled.

“Chest Out. Heart Open.”

Reclaiming a Phrase. Redefining Strength.

It started with a phrase I’ve heard too many times to count.

“Say it with your chest.”

In locker rooms. On sidelines. During arguments.
It shows up as a challenge — a demand to speak louder, bolder, more aggressively. A posture meant to intimidate. A dare to escalate. And most dangerously, a test of whether someone is “man enough” to back up their words.

But what if that phrase didn’t have to mean what it always has?

What if the chest wasn’t a symbol of puffed-up pride or inflexibility, but a container for belief, conviction, and emotional fluency?

When I sat down to flip that phrase, here’s where I landed:

• The chest isn’t where we store ego. It’s where we hold heart.

• It’s not a billboard for bravado — it’s an anchor for values.

• And “saying it with your chest” isn’t about volume anymore. It’s about alignment.

I don’t want our players — or any young man in this work — thinking they have to perform manhood when things get hard. That’s the trap. That’s what leads to harm.

I want them living from a place that’s rooted in something real. Something that doesn’t need to shouted out to be true. Something that holds empathy and strength in the same space.

So we turned all that into a shirt. It’s bold enough to wear. And if you let it — it’ll challenge you to grow into it too.

CHEST OUT. HEART OPEN.
Not puffed to intimidate.
Expanded to make room for what matters: Empathy, compassion and connection.

Coach Prompt #1:

Who on your roster has already earned this shirt? Who do you want to grow toward it?
And what would it mean to order these for your whole program — and then take a moment to explain why before handing them out?

Want to order?

• Single shirts: Click here

• Bundles for teams/schools: Fill out this form

• Custom option: Add your school or program logo to the back neckline

• Prefer to talk directly? DM me with your order request

The Program Is a Family? Then Show Me the Love.

The post above from Twitter made me dig deeper into both the quote and the man behind it — and reflect hard on something I hear constantly in coaching circles:

“We’re a family.”
“These are my sons.”
“This program is my home.”

I genuinely believe that many of us mean those words. I’ll even grant that the intention behind them is often good — we get into this work because we want to provide belonging, connection, and growth for young men through the sport we love.

But if what Terrence Real says is true — that “the key component of a boy’s healthy relationship to his father is affection, not ‘masculinity’” — then we have to pause and ask:

What is the actual impact of how we run these “families”?

Authoritarian coaching might’ve felt normal to us, but the “because I said so” model isn’t raising better men. It’s just recycling harm and dressing it up in discipline.

It’s not your presence that makes you a father figure — it’s your ability to show love. To be emotionally fluent. To create safety and trust, not fear and obedience.

You yelling at him like your old coach yelled at you? That’s not preparing him for the world — it’s prepping him to repeat cycles of harm. He’ll leave your program more armored up, less connected, and with no reps in how to build a relationship rooted in care.

This realization doesn’t have to feel like a takedown. It can be the spark for a new challenge. A shift. A reboot.

Imagine building your practice plan around this question:
How did we show love to our guys today?

Imagine your staff meetings asking:
Where did we coach connection alongside correction?

That’s still coaching. That’s still calling them up to better. That’s still meaningful.

But it’s also the kind of work that might actually make your program feel like the family you keep saying it is.

Coach Prompt:

How often do we say we “love” our players — but never actually show it in a way they can recognize, feel, or carry with them into adulthood?

Player Prompt:

What kind of coaching makes you feel seen, supported, and trusted — not just as an athlete, but as a human being?

“No Disrespect” Usually Means BRACE YOURSELF for Disrespect

Today’s blog is reacting to and framing the recent controversy surrounding new FSU QB Tommy Castellanos.

He made headlines after saying of their Week 1 opponent Alabama:

“Those guys don’t have Nick Saban to save them anymore.”

The quote drew enough attention to earn a top spot on ESPN.com. When asked about the blowback, Castellanos doubled down:

“We stand on what I said… I don’t mean no disrespect to none of those guys at Alabama or anything like that. I have confidence in my guys and the work we’ve been putting in… That’s all that was.”

And when I read those words, I HEAR so many young men. I hear adult men. I hear the classic setup:

• “No disrespect, but…”

• “Not to offend anyone, but…”

• “Not to sound [insert ism you know is harmful], but…”

Before they launch straight into saying the very thing they claimed they didn’t want to do.

These qualifiers aren’t a hall pass. They don’t soften the blow — they signal you knew what you were about to say was out of bounds. Worse, they often reveal that the harm was intentional, not accidental.

And then there's this:

“I stand on what I said.”

It’s another Man Box defense mechanism. Instead of owning that we messed up, we double down — we cling to bravado instead of choosing unlearning.

But what if we did own it?

“Yes, I disrespected my opponent. I was trying to build confidence in my team, but I chose the wrong path. Next time, I’ll be direct and say: ‘I believe in us. We’re ready.’”

Say it with your chest — but don’t mistake hurtful for heartfelt.

This is an EASY TeamsOfMen session for coaches to run — both in the literal (how do we honor our opponent while still trying to beat them?) and in the broader context (do we think qualifiers erase harm or signal insecurity?). The answer should be the same in both: speak with clarity, not camouflage.

Coach Prompt:
How often do we hear our players preface a comment with “no disrespect” or “I don’t mean it like that”? What does that signal to us — and how do we coach them past it?

Player Prompt:
When have you used a phrase like “I don’t want to sound disrespectful, but…” — and then said something that clearly was? Why did you say it like that? What would ownership — real ownership — have looked like instead?

“We’re Either More Than Our Urges… or We’re Lying to Ourselves.”

I think content like this—a meme, a screenshot, a quick-hit post—is best used while standing beside or sitting among your players when you put it up on screen. That setup matters. It frames you as someone reacting with them, not at them. It helps defuse defensiveness before it shuts down the moment.

Phrases like:

• “How does this hit you?”

• “I know where I stand on this, but I want to hear from you first”

  ...can open space for them to grapple with what’s being said, instead of gearing up to dismiss it.

That said—I’m not interested in coddling our guys through these conversations. I do believe in their capacity to grow and to change. But I’m not buying the rising tide of grievance-driven male victimhood that says we have to sugarcoat basic truth. Past generations of men did cause harm. And our young men are not fragile—they’re capable of rising above the scars left behind.

In terms of the teaching point here:

• How many times have they heard someone say women are to blame for what happens to them, based on what they wore or how they acted?

• How often are they told that men are the more logical sex—that we can be trusted to remain calm and in control?

• Do they see the contradiction?

That’s when I’d say this plainly:
“I believe we are more than some Neanderthal collection of urges. I believe we are capable of being attracted to someone and still knowing how to act. And because I believe that, I expect you to live up to it—on this team and beyond it.”

Coach Prompt:
When was the last time you challenged the idea that “boys will be boys”? How do you help your players see themselves as more than just their impulses?

Player Prompt (Optional):
Have you ever heard someone say a woman “was asking for it” based on what she wore? What did you think or feel in that moment—and did you say anything? Why or why not?

If This Were Film, We’d Fix It

A lot of people might look at this mashup and say I’m “ambulance chasing” or cherry-picking headlines to prove a point. While I understand that assumption, I push back—hard.

The headlines above are all from just the last three weeks in U.S. sports news. I didn’t have to dig. I just searched “male athletes + violence + perpetration and/or victimization.” That was enough to surface five major incidents. You—or your players—probably saw them on an ESPN feed or while scrolling X. Maybe you clicked if the player or team meant something to you. But here’s the point: we’re numb to it.

We almost expect this.

If I stripped the names and just posted in bold:
RAPE.
HIT & RUN.
MURDER.
MURDERED.
ASSASSINATED.
Would that make anyone pause longer? I doubt it.

I do now. Because once you know, you can’t unknow. And what I now KNOW is this:

Men and violence are too often linked.
Male athletes are too often involved in, or victims of, violence off the court or field.
And we tend to label them “bad apples,” shake our heads, and move on.

That would never fly in practice. If you were breaking down film and saw two of your 13 defensive backs with bad footwork, would you say, “Well, most of them got it right. Good enough”?

Of course not.

You’d tag it, show it, teach it, and build a fix into the next session.

So why don’t we coach conduct with the same urgency?

I won’t launch into a full-on soliloquy here—blogs are short—but here’s the bottom line:
If you’ve embedded TeamsOfMen curriculum and sessions into your season, at the very least you can credibly say: “We tried to address this. We attempted to build people.”

Because sweating through a scrimmage doesn’t equal character development.
If you’re reading this and thinking, “What could TeamsOfMen possibly do to prevent this stuff?”
That’s the first question in a series we walk coaches through—
And it ends with you wearing our gear, reading our books, and running 10–12 minute sessions with your guys that change everything.

Keep going.

If You Don’t Know the Language, You Can’t Know the Harm

I watched this TikTok today (link here)—a dad listing slang he knows, and his teenage daughter correcting him with the new version. It’s lighthearted, funny, and honestly… revealing.

Because if I don’t know that “huzz” means “girls”
or “chopped” means “ugly” how in the world would I recognize it when my players are saying harmful things about women in front of me?

This isn’t just a video for parents. It’s for coaches, too.
Teachers. Mentors. Anyone trying to lead.

We can’t teach or unlearn with our players if we can’t speak their language.
We can’t call them up to a better standard if we’re stuck translating every sentence or pretending it doesn’t matter.

And to be clear—this isn’t about playing “Gotcha!”
It’s not about collecting slang so we can bust them for what they say. It’s about building a culture of shared understanding—where curiosity, connection, and clarity matter more than just barking rules or clinging to “what worked for us.”

Because when we understand what words mean to our guys—why they use them, what they signal—we can actually ask better questions.

• Why that word?

• What do you think it communicates?

• How do you think it lands?

• Where did you hear it first?

• Would you say it in front of your mom? Your girlfriend? Your coach?

You can even flip the script. Share some your old language and let your guys roast it. Lean into the awkward. Laugh with them. Then pivot to the real talk.

Because relationship ≠ authority. And without relationship, authority is empty anyway.

Coach Prompt:
When was the last time you asked your players to teach you something about how they talk?

Player Prompt:
What’s a word you use that you know could be misunderstood—or be hurtful to someone else? Where’d it come from?

“Men WILL Speak Up” — But Only If We Equip Them To

I’m posting this today for two reasons.

First, out of deep respect for Professor Michael Flood—someone I’ve learned from for years. His work on violence prevention, reimagining masculinity, and what it means for men to hold each other accountable is unmatched. He’s prolific (papers, toolkits, social posts), and if you’re a coach who cares about building men, you should be following him.
📌 @MichaelGLFlood on X
📌 XYOnline Author Page

Second, because this one post of his—listing five reasons why men should speak up when their friend is being abusive or sleazy—is the game.

Flood’s Five Reasons to Speak Up

1. Because the behavior is wrong and does harm.

2. Because you were there. You witnessed it.

3. “The standard you walk past is the standard you accept.”

4. You’re their friend—and have a chance to help them grow.

5. They’ll listen to you more than anyone else.

Let’s sit with #3 and #4 for a minute.

Most coaches I know have used a version of #3 to yell about locker room messes or lazy reps: “If you don’t correct it, you condone it!”

But how many of us apply that to the language our players use? The jokes in the locker room? The “she’s for everyone” comments on the bus?

And #4? That’s what friendship is supposed to mean.
Not silence. Not “I got your back, so I’ll just stand here while you say something reckless.” But support—real support—means pushing each other toward better.

Now, I’ll be honest: I don’t love every suggestion from the “Men Speak Up” handout (attached below).
The “what if it was your sister?” trope can reinforce the same possessive nonsense we’re trying to undo.
But I do love that it gives guys actual phrases to use.

Because this is where we lose the moment:

“I know I’m supposed to speak up... but I don’t know what to say.”

Let’s change that.
Find 2–3 phrases you believe in.Teach them to your players.
Role-play it. Let them try it. Let them fumble it.
And most importantly—let them see that standing up doesn’t mean standing alone.

Coach Prompt:
How do you prepare your guys to interrupt harm in the moment? What phrases have you given them to say?

Player Prompt:
What’s something you’ve heard or seen a teammate say that didn’t sit right—and how could you respond next time?

When Was the Last Time You Were First?

This one hits hard:

“When was the last time you were the first to stand up and say:
‘No. What you said—or did—was wrong.’”

Being first is uncomfortable.
Being only can feel unbearable.

After you speak out, you might not see anyone standing next to you. You might post something and hear crickets. That tension? That unease? That’s the point. It’s the cost of conviction—or the mirror you need to rethink your stance.

Too often, we claim “leadership” but only walk well-trodden paths. We ask others to be bold while we move safely with the pack.

We speak up about easy topics—and go silent when our values are really tested.

This reflection isn’t about perfection. It’s not a promise that every flag you plant is righteous.

It’s a chance to actually meet yourself. In the moment. In the discomfort. In the risk.

Coach Prompt:
When’s the last time you stood up FIRST in a team setting—and not just on a safe issue, but on something that made people uncomfortable?

Player Prompt (Optional):

Have you ever watched something wrong happen—and looked around to see if someone else would say something first?

Shared Language = Shared Boundaries

I didn’t pick this graphic just because we covered consent yesterday. I picked it because we, as coaches, already live by the rule that words matter.

We build entire systems around shared language.
• Football: route trees, blitz pickups
• Basketball: closeouts, screens, shell
• Baseball: hit-and-run, sacrifice, shift
It’s not just helpful — it’s essential. We don’t expect players to guess what we mean or hope they "figure it out." We teach it. Drill it. Quiz it. Because we know: words shape action. Verbiage fuels behavior.

So why not apply that same principle to this?

This graphic is an EASY, VITAL tool to help your players understand that these are not mixed signals, not “tests” to push past, and not phrases that a guy with “rizz” can charm his way through.

They are STOP SIGNS.
They are END POINTS.

If you’ve ever circled your team and delivered a “word of the day,” do it again. But this time, use one from this list. One a week. One minute. One word.

Teach consent the same way we teach cover-2.

Coach Prompt:
What’s one word or phrase from this list that you’ve never defined for your team — but you should have?

Player Prompt (Optional):
Have you ever been in a situation where someone said one of these — and you didn’t know what it meant, or didn’t know how to respond?

“Any Questions?” Isn’t a Strategy—It’s a Setup.

I saw this classroom graphic and immediately thought: this isn’t just about teachers—it’s about coaches. I think this is relevant to the work we do in #TeamsOfMen because as coaches we tend to use the phrase "make sense" or "any questions" (I know I always say "questions problems concerns") but then NEVER give real permission for any of those to take place with our guys.

The truth is, we often say these types of lines in timeouts or team practice right after we’ve steamrolled through 90 seconds of tactics. We don’t really want questions. We want compliance.
And if we’re doing that during something as simple as play design, imagine the message that sends when something deeper is on the line.

If our players don’t feel like they can ask about a rotation or speak up about a drill, how can we expect them to speak up about real-life stuff?

This list of re-phrased prompts isn’t just a teacher thing—it’s a list of invitations. Invitations to think, to explore, to question. Maybe they won't take that invitation at first. But if you never extend it? That’s on you.

Coach Prompt: “What’s your default phrase when you “open it up” to your players—and what would it sound like if you actually meant it?”

Optional Player Prompt: “What’s a time when you wanted to ask something in practice or film... but didn’t feel like it was really okay?”

#ThinkingEnvironment #CoachPrompt #Communication #TeamsOfMen #PracticeCulture

When Coaches Look Away (And Why Their Players Might Be Too)

There’s this quote I saved that I’ve never stopped thinking about:

“To locate the problem is to become the location of the problem.” – Sara Ahmed (via Nicole Bedera)

And in my experience as a coach for 23 years, I am FINE (maybe even eager) to use film and reflection to locate issues in our PLAY on the court. I want the film to show me who didn’t rotate correctly, who missed an assignment or why we turned the ball over.

But when it comes to character issues, we as a group tend to “choose the matrix” so to speak. Because to locate misogyny, to find racism, or to see harm being caused by our guys (or ourselves) to is to have to deal with it. And that is why this quote made our blog this AM.

What we let go—what we pretend not to hear—what we hope someone else addresses? That’s not culture. That’s avoidance.
If we want our players to grow, we’ve got to be willing to be the location. Not just for blame, but for change.

Coach Prompt: “What’s one “joke,” phrase, or behavior your team has normalized that you’ve never actually addressed?”

Optional Player Prompt: “When have you looked the other way—because calling something out felt too risky?”

#CoachPrompt #Accountability #SilenceCulture #PowerDynamics #EmotionalFluency

“Every Man Understands Consent.” Read That Again.

You ever see something online that hits you so hard you have to scroll back up and read it twice?

That was me with this:

“Touch his car. His phone. His wallet. His daughter. His ego. His reputation. His masculinity. Every man understands consent.” — Tim Gathima

Pair that with the photo of men wearing “Consent Is Simple” buttons at a rally, and you get something undeniable. Consent isn’t confusing. It’s just selectively respected.

That hits home for coaches, too. Because what we’re modeling in our programs isn’t just about dating or sexual boundaries—it’s about how we handle power, control, and respect in any context. Are we building environments where players feel safe saying “no”? To a drill? A bus conversation? A joke in the locker room?

Consent isn’t a lesson for them. It’s a mirror for us.

Coach Prompt: When’s the last time your players felt like they could say “No” to something you asked—without punishment, sarcasm, or backlash?

Optional Player Prompt: What’s one thing you’ve gone along with—on a team, in a group—because it felt like you couldn’t say no?

#Consent #CoachPrompt #PowerDynamics #EmotionalFluency #LockerRoomLeadership

“You’re Not Soft If You Say I Love You” — Lou Roe on What Calipari Gave Him

I was recently down a rabbit hole of old ESPN 30 for 30s, and got caught watching about 20 minutes of the “One and Not Done” documentary revolving around John Calipari. I watched the portion dedicated to his rise at UMASS and his time with players like Marcus Camby and Lou Roe in the mid 90s. What really hit me was the interview with Roe, where he credited his coach with teaching emotional connection and vulnerability, and he literally said “He taught us love for another man. Cal gave me this…you’re not soft if you say I love you.” While you may very well have an opinion on Coach Cal the marketer, the influencer, etc, this reflection from a former player was refreshing for me to see. It is EXACTLY what we want our TeamsOfMen partner coaches to be leaving, in terms of legacy, with their guys.

Coach Prompt:
What’s something you’ve wanted to say to your players… but haven’t, because you were afraid it might “soften” your image?

Optional Player Prompt:
What’s a time when a coach said something to you that stuck—not because it was loud, but because it was real?

#CoachPrompt #EmotionalFluency #30for30 #HealthyManhood #Calipari