Most families don’t enter youth sports with long-term strategies or end goals in mind. They’re simply trying to offer a healthy outlet, a chance to explore, and an opportunity for their kids to form connections. I often think of those early days the same way you might think about socializing a puppy at the dog park—low stakes, lots of curiosity, and the hope that they're ready for a long nap once they get home. Early choices tend to be practical, not aspirational. Find a team

I know this landscape well because I helped shape it for 16 years. But as the system expands, it’s worth asking: are we still building pathways for kids, or just infrastructure for a marketplace? Over the holidays, I read testimony from Tom Farrey, Executive Director of the Aspen Institute’s Sports & Society Program, delivered before a House subcommittee focused on youth development. The Aspen Institute’s Sports & Society Program—best known for its Project Play  initiative—h

I came across a LinkedIn post recently that made me pause. The author laid out a framework for thinking about youth sports, dividing them into two categories: pickup  and organized . In their view, the dividing line was attendance, and whether missing a team activity without a clearly justified reason (like a wedding, funeral, or school event) led to consequences. If a player missed a session without consequence, and the absence wasn’t justified by a reason of a “higher order

Over the years, I’ve coached a countless number of  boys and young men. Some arrive joyful and eager. Others, quiet or unsure. But every so often, a different pattern emerges, one I’ve come to recognize all too well. Seems like so long ago. Nothing but joy and innocence. A kid with undeniable talent. Strong. Fast. Electric on the field. An uncanny feel for the game. But also: bravado. Guarded. Defiant. Sometimes smugness. Often un-coachable. And too often, shielded from accou

This weekend reminded me that growth isn’t linear, presence is enough, and the best thing we can do is give our kids the space to surprise us. This past weekend, I spent my time watching the boys compete in their hometown soccer tournament. Each of them played five games over a three-day stretch. For the first time in thirteen years, I wasn’t in charge of the tournament. And for the first time since 2009, I wasn’t consumed by working it. It felt different; there were no sched

Our roles in life change; they always do. The real question is whether they define us or shape part of who we are. It’s a question I’ve asked myself often over the past few years—an interesting, and at times uncomfortable, paradox. Fortunately, I’ve spent several years working with Aaron Goldman from Playfree Sports , building a mental performance coaching program for the Rogue Valley Timbers. A core part of that program focused on handling pressure in context and, more impor

Games are meant to be fun. But who gets to define what “fun” really means? We hear it all the time from coaches, parents, and even athletes: "It’s just a game, we’re here to have fun."  But whose definition of fun are they talking about? Sometimes we need to meet our kids where they're at. All too often, as parents, we view our child’s world through an adult lens, or worse, through the lens of what was fun for us when we were kids.  But do we really give our children the spac

It’s no accident that emotional intelligence is often derided as “soft.” In a culture that equates vulnerability with defeat, a man who listens deeply, shares emotions, or admits uncertainty risks being labeled less than “manly.”

Their stumbles now are what help them build the resilience they’ll need to thrive later. When Sarah was pregnant with Rocco, I came home one afternoon to find a "must-have" baby catalog on the kitchen table. We'd already ticked off the essentials: Diaper Genie, crib, fancy stroller, plus a half-dozen gadgets I'd never heard of, check, check, check. Then Sarah pointed out the one we'd missed: baby knee pads . "Why on earth do we need those?" I asked, trying to stay polite. Sar

No college scouts are watching 5th-grade games, and no one will remember that undefeated 2nd-grade season. Throughout my career, I saw it year in and year out: parents and coaches living and dying with every pass, tackle, goal, or close miss, ultimately putting undue pressure on kids to perform before they've even truly had a chance to fall in love with the game. The intense focus on winning, especially at young ages, entices parents and coaches to skip developmental steps. W

Kids need space to navigate their journeys on the field, in the classroom, and life. After years of coaching others' children, I assumed I'd naturally excel as a sports parent to Rocco and Gio. Yet, I've made my share of mistakes, and continue to learn.​ It was unreasonable of me to expect him to line up every putt. He was too young to really care about the results. I was too caught up in the competition, and I didn't realize it at the time. Just yesterday, while gathering im

I’m not sure exactly where I first came across it, but I recently read that by the time our children turn 12, we’ve already spent 75% of the total time we’ll ever have with them. Fast forward to age 18, and that number grows to 90%. That statistic hit me hard. And when I think about my own two sons, who will turn 17 and 15 in just a few weeks, it sends shivers down my spine. Sarah and I have always aimed to be intentional with our time as a family. Yet, I must admit, there we

So much fun and joy at this age. I remember this like it was yesterday. On April 2nd, I stepped down from my role as the Executive Director of the Rogue Valley Timbers. It was a bittersweet moment, stepping away from something I poured my heart and soul into. Yet, I take immense pride in the foundation we've built, evident every time I drive through town and see fields filled with kids playing soccer, proudly wearing our shield. That pride deepens when I watch my two sons re

I was 25, maybe 26, when I got my first “paid” soccer coaching job. I’d just been hired to take over the boys program at Southern Columbia High School, a small, rural school in Pennsylvania where football was (and still is) king, and soccer was still something of a novelty. The team was heading into its fourth year as a varsity program, and if memory serves, they hadn’t won a single game, or maybe one or two at best. I was young. I was brash. And I thought I had it all figure

“You Can’t Throw It That Far." Those were the words my father said one day at the local park, as I kept asking him to move farther back while tossing a football.