As a Coach, There Are Seasons You Wish Would Last Forever

Week Eleven | A TikTok prank, bracelets for a cause, and one flag football team that was extremely talented

Our halfback was one of the craftiest, quickest athletes I’ve ever seen. When she jumped, it was like she floated—honestly, like Michael Jordan. One of our rushers dove after flags every single play, the toughest player I’ve ever coached. She redefined toughness in my eyes. And I’ve been around seven years of college basketball.

As a coach, there are seasons you never want to end. This was one of them.

A few months back, while coaching youth basketball a colleague mentioned the assistant coach spot was open for the girls’ high school flag football team. The sport had just gone varsity last year and already won a Divisional sectional title. From the outside, it looked electric, full of energy and momentum.

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to do it, but because I wasn’t sure I belonged. I didn’t grow up playing football just a few backyard games, fantasy football (newly crowned champion), and some Sundays watching on TV. I felt like an imposter.

But I love coaching. I love the strategy, the challenge, the chess match of it all. And I love investing in young people and watching them grow.

A week after basketball season ended, I walked into the first flag football practice. No balls bouncing, no sneakers squeaking. Just cones, flags, and footballs.

For the first time in a while, I was the rookie in the gym. I immediately felt way over my head.

The girls were fearless, funny, and competitive. Many were new to the sport which takes courage so I admired anyone brave enough to try.

I quickly realized how much I didn’t know. So I went full sponge mode: I YouTube’d drills, read the rulebook (flag football is very different), watched last season’s film sessions, and scouted other teams. I asked our head coach every question even the dumb ones.

I couldn’t fake it. I didn’t want to. These girls deserved my full effort and attention.

As the season unfolded, something special started to take root.

Our seniors were talented. But more than that, they were kind. Grateful. Humble. They led without needing to be loud. They celebrated each other, played with heart, and showed what it looks like to be both competitors and teammates.

We won nine out of ten games. Most were wild, come-from-behind thrillers. It really did feel like a movie at times.

But here’s the truth: the record wasn’t the most meaningful part of the season. Not even close.

What stood out was how fun it was to coach this group. They were lighthearted and full of joy. They showed up because they loved to compete, and they enjoyed each other.

I’ve been around sports long enough to notice how things have changed. Sometimes it feels like the game gets lost behind the highlight reels and the social media moments.

But this group brought it all back into focus.

They reminded me that the heart of coaching isn’t in the scoreboard. It’s in the people. The practices. The little moments that don’t show up on stat sheets like a look, a laugh, or a breakthrough.

Like the time one of the girls pulled a viral TikTok prank on our head coach, a joke I happened to recognize right away. I overreacted instantly, yelling like I won the lotto. They lost it laughing at me because of my reaction. I’ll never live it down.

Or how they ragged on me for wearing Lululemon. Every time I showed up in joggers, I could feel the jokes coming before I even stepped on the field.

And then there was my “Yes sir” moment. One quick reply in practice on a google classroom, totally innocent. But it turned into a running bit that lasted the entire season. Every now and again throughout the season I would hear a “Yes sir” from one of the girls in an inside joke kind of way that only happens when a group genuinely enjoys being together.

But what stuck with me most wasn’t just the laughs or the effort on the field. It was the character.

One of our seniors took it upon herself to sell bracelets to raise money for a girl from a rival school who was battling cancer. No cameras. No announcement. Just quiet leadership, grounded in compassion.

We practiced and played in the rain all season. Cold, wet, gray. But they gutted it out while I complained about the cold wet rain. They just kept showing up.

We made it all the way back to the sectional championship. Halftime came and went with no score on either side. Then, with four minutes left, we took the lead.

And then we lost it.

Fourth and one. Final seconds. We needed one stop and didn’t get it.

It hurt. But it hurt because it mattered.

And isn’t that the point? To care deeply. To pour yourself into something. To take the risk of heartbreak because the alternative is playing it safe and missing the joy altogether.

Looking back, this might be the most fun I’ve ever had coaching. Not because of the wins. Though they were sweet but because I said yes to something unfamiliar and got to be part of something beautiful.

Girls’ sports are growing. Especially flag football. And not in a “nice to support it” kind of way but in a “this is incredible to watch” kind of way. These athletes are fast, tough, smart, and wildly competitive.

I still mix up a hitch and a hook. I still feel more at home on a basketball court than on a football field.

But here’s what I’ve learned: stepping outside your comfort zone has a funny way of leading you right where you belong.

At our year-end banquet, the girls didn’t talk about the scores. They didn’t bring up our great record.

They talked about the jokes. The moments in the rain. The joy they found in each other.

And in the end, that’s what lasts.

Coaching matters because people matter.

And this team reminded me of that in the best way.

See you next Tuesday.