The game had just wrapped up.

As the coach of the YMCA Hornets, I was doing a quick post-game recap—just taking a moment to reflect on how things went. The effort. The execution. What we did well. What we could improve.

And then—out of nowhere—

I got stung by a hornet.

Not once. Twice.

Now here’s the kicker—

Who are we?

Hornets.

What do we do?

Hustle hard.

That’s our team mantra. That’s our identity. That’s our culture.

We’re usually the ones doing the stinging.

But today? I got stung. Twice.

And it wasn’t subtle either.

If you’ve ever been stung by a hornet, you know—it hits hard. Hornets are aggressive predators, and their sting leaves a lasting impression.

But after the pain faded, I couldn’t help but pause and ask:

Why?

Not just why did I get stung—but what could it mean?

Because it wasn’t just about the pain. It wasn’t about the irony.

It was about the message behind the moment.

Why Did I Get Stung?

I saw it as a metaphor—getting stung by your own.

And to me, that’s a symptom of a much deeper issue:

Why do you coach?

Not what you coach.

Not who you coach.

Why.

Because that question—your why—is often the root cause of teams imploding from the inside.

You’ve heard the phrase, “All good things must come to an end.”

But why? Why do good things fall apart?

I believe it’s because we lose sight of our foundation.

You see, as the coach of the YMCA Hornets, we’re currently undefeated in our third season—defending back-to-back championship and now, after today’s game against the Lakers, standing at 5–0, pursuing a three-peat.

So yes—that phrase is something I think about often.

Because it will happen.

There will come a time when this team loses.

And the foundation of transformational coaching—especially in youth sports—is your why.

When? How?

That’s the question.

And it’s not fear that drives the thought.

It’s responsibility.

Because part of leading well is preparing yourself—and your team—for the moment when the momentum fades, when the bounce doesn’t go your way, when the streak ends.

It’s the kind of reflection that nudges you deeper into your why.

And the foundation of transformational coaching—especially in youth sports—is rooted in that purpose.

If your why isn’t rooted in growth, empathy, and long-term impact, then everything you build on top of it is eventually going to collapse.

And if you haven’t established a real culture—good luck trying to create one mid-season.

Whether you’re winning or struggling, the sting will come. The moment will arrive.

And when it does, you’ll be forced to face it:

Were you coaching from urgency… or from intention?

The Gym Floor Memory That Changed Me

Before I ever carried a clipboard or called out plays, I sat in the stands—just a dad, just a fan, watching a local coach guide a group of kids.

What stuck with me wasn’t the scoreboard.

It was the moment he put his hand on a kid’s shoulder after a missed free throw and said:

“You’re more than this moment. Keep going.”

I never forgot that.

And years later, when I had my own team, I realized:

That’s the kind of coach I want to be.

Not the one who barks orders or obsesses over the score.

But the one who sees something in kids—even when they don’t see it yet.

That’s the heart of transformational coaching.

What Are You Really Teaching?

When you yell, is it because a kid let you down?

Or because your expectations were misaligned with their current capacity?

When you demand perfection, are you coaching for the scoreboard—

Or are you shaping a life?

When you lose your composure, do you still expect your players to keep theirs?

These aren’t criticisms.

They’re questions.

And the right questions bring us back to our why.

Because coaching youth—especially in this generation—isn’t just drills and hustle.

It’s presence.

It’s emotional intelligence.

It’s remembering that these kids are still becoming who they are.

One phrase I come back to again and again is:

“They’re not there yet.”

And that truth shifts everything.

It reframes the purpose of youth sports.

It shifts the focus from frustration to formation.

From “Why aren’t they better?” to “How can I help them grow?”

When I say, “You’re not there yet,” to a player, I’m not pointing out their flaws—

I’m speaking belief over them.

I’m saying:

“You’re on the way. Keep working. Keep pushing. You’ve got this.”

And it reminds me of something simple I used to read to both of my kids in a book called Pinkalicious:

“You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”

It stuck with me. Because it teaches something we all need to remember—especially as coaches:

You don’t control every outcome.

But you do control your response.

And you do control the environment you create.

If we help players understand that effort and belief lead to progress,

Then we’re building something far deeper than wins.

You Might Think They’re Not Listening… But They Are

They’re listening when you speak—

Even if they don’t show it.

They’re watching how you handle pressure—

Even when they look distracted.

They’re absorbing your tone, your urgency, your calm, your chaos—

Whether you realize it or not.

Because coaching isn’t just what you say.

It’s what they feel when you say it.

It’s what stays with them when the season ends.

That’s the part we can’t afford to overlook.

This Isn’t Just Youth Sports. This Is Leadership.

Yes—it’s a game.

Yes—it’s recreational.

Yes—it’s meant to be fun.

But if they call you “Coach,”

You’ve been given one of the most sacred leadership roles on earth.

And no, that role doesn’t require perfection.

It requires purpose.

So let me ask again:

Why do you coach?

If it’s to control—they’ll resist you.

If it’s just to win—they’ll feel the pressure.

But if it’s to see them—really see them?

To understand where they are, what they need, and how they grow?

They’ll follow you.

They’ll trust you.

And they’ll grow into something greater than you ever imagined.

They’ll become better versions of themselves—

Because you saw that version before they did.

That’s Why the Sting Mattered

I could’ve brushed it off. Laughed about the irony.

But I didn’t.

Because I needed that sting.

Not for the pain.

For the reminder.

The reminder that leadership demands regular reflection.

The reminder that coaching isn’t about control—it’s about connection.

The reminder that someone is counting on you to get it right.

So I’ll ask it one last time—

With sincerity.

With conviction.

And with the humility of a coach who’s been stung by his own:

Why do you coach?

Answer that.

Live that.

And everything else will follow.