09/20/2026
For the love of sports 🙌
I am seeing coaches trip kids on Facebook sports postings
Coaches get into fights in the middle of the game of young youth sports
Coaches not controlling their temper in front of young kid
Parents hurting kids physically over a game
Parents attend every practice and yell at their children.
Parents scream from the stands.
Adults lose control over a game that is supposed to teach our children some of life’s greatest lessons.
And before I point a finger at anyone else, I have to point one at myself from
Years ago
I have made plenty of bad calls as a parent, coach, and leader. I am nowhere near perfect.
There were times I became too emotional. Times I was too hard on my own kids. Times I let what was happening in a game affect me more than it should have.
But at some point, instead of justifying my behavior, I decided to look at myself.
I started trying to understand the psychology behind my actions.
And I had to ask myself a difficult question:
Why was I so angry? What was going on with me
Because underneath that anger was something else.
I wanted better for my kids.
I wanted them to succeed.
I wanted them to work hard.
I wanted them to reach their potential.
I wanted to protect them from disappointment, failure, unfairness, and missed opportunities.
Those sound like good things.
But somewhere along the way, wanting better for our kids can turn into wanting something from them.
Their performance starts affecting our emotions.
They make a mistake, and we feel embarrassed.
They do not hustle, and we take it personally.
A referee makes a bad call, and suddenly we feel as though our child has been wronged.
Another kid gets the starting position, and we feel as though something has been taken away from our child.
Before we realize it, the game is no longer theirs.
It becomes ours.
I knew putting my hands on someone was not the answer.
Hurting another child was not the answer.
Fighting another coach was not the answer.
Screaming at an official was not the answer.
So again, I had to ask:
Why was I so angry?
Sometimes anger is not really about what just happened on the field.
Sometimes it is fear.
Fear that our child will not make the team.
Fear that they are not getting a fair opportunity.
Fear that they will not reach the potential we see in them.
Fear that all the practices, travel, money, time, and sacrifice will not lead where we hoped.
And sometimes, if we are willing to admit it, it is our own ego.
Our child’s success can start to feel like proof that we are succeeding.
Their struggles can begin to feel like our struggles.
That is where we have to be careful.
Because while we may tell ourselves, I am doing this because I love my child, our child may be experiencing something completely different.
They may be hearing:
“You are not good enough.”
They start looking into the stands after every mistake.
Not for encouragement.
To see our reaction.
Think about that.
A kid misses a shot, strikes out, drops a pass, or makes an error—and their first instinct is to look at Mom or Dad’s face.
Or at their coach.
Are they mad at me?
Did I disappoint them?
Am I going to get yelled at?
And when that happens over and over, something changes.
They stop playing freely.
They become afraid to make mistakes.
They play tight.
They start measuring their worth by playing time, points, goals, wins, starting positions, scholarships—or whether Mom, Dad, or Coach is happy with them.
Eventually, the sport they once loved can become something they fear.
Our Children Are Watching
There is something else we need to understand.
Our children are watching us.
If they watch parents coaches n leaders who cannot control their emotions, what are we teaching them?
If they watch coaches scream, lose control, disrespect officials, fight with other coaches, or humiliate players when they are angry, what do we expect our children to learn?
We can tell a child a thousand times:
Control your emotions.
Respect the referee.
Respect your coach.
Be a good teammate.
Handle adversity.
Do not blame other people.
But if they watch the adults around them do the exact opposite, which lesson do we think they are going to remember?
What we model will always speak louder than what we say.
When a child repeatedly watches adults respond to frustration with anger, they may begin to believe that is simply how people are supposed to respond when things do not go their way.
Someone disagrees with you?
Yell louder.
An official makes a bad call?
Lose control.
A teammate makes a mistake?
Blame them.
You are embarrassed or frustrated?
Explode.
Then one day we see that same behavior coming from our child and ask:
“Where did they learn that?”
Sometimes the uncomfortable answer is:
From us.
That is why emotional control is not weakness.
It is leadership.
Imagine the lesson when a child watches their coach receive a terrible call and remain composed.
Imagine watching their parent strongly disagree with something but still handle it respectfully.
Imagine seeing an adult become angry, recognize that anger, and choose not to let the emotion control their actions.
Now we are teaching something bigger than sports.
We are teaching self-control.
We are teaching respect.
We are teaching resilience.
We are teaching them that emotions are real, but emotions do not have to control our actions.
Isn’t This Why We Put Them in Sports?
We say we want sports to teach our children confidence, discipline, teamwork, accountability, resilience, and how to handle adversity.
But sometimes we are the ones taking those opportunities away from them.
We scream at the official.
We confront the coach.
We blame the teammate.
We criticize every mistake.
We try to fix every problem.
We try to control every outcome.
But maybe one of the greatest gifts sports can give a child is the opportunity to struggle safely.
To sit on the bench and decide to work harder.
To lose and learn how to come back.
To make a mistake and discover that the world did not end.
To have a coach they do not always agree with and learn how to communicate respectfully.
To learn that sometimes life is not fair—and still choose how they are going to respond.
Those lessons are bigger than any trophy.
I also had to learn something else:
My child does not need me to experience every emotion with them.
When they are frustrated, I do not have to become furious.
When they are disappointed, I do not have to find someone to blame.
When they fail, I do not always have to fix it.
Sometimes my job is simply to be steady.
To be the person they can look toward after striking out, missing the shot, dropping the pass, or getting taken out of the game and know:
I am still loved.
I am still safe.
One bad moment does not define me.
That does not mean we should not advocate for our children.
It does not mean coaches should not be held accountable.
It does not mean officials are always right.
And it certainly does not mean inappropriate behavior should be ignored.
It means we have to learn the difference between advocating for our child and reacting through our own emotions.
Before yelling at the referee, confronting the coach, criticizing another child, or unloading on our kid during the ride home, maybe we need to ask ourselves:
Who is this reaction really for?
Is this helping my child?
Or is this helping me release my frustration?
So What Are We Going to Do Differently?
Recognizing the problem is only the beginning.
The real challenge is what we do the next time our emotions start taking over.
Because they will.
There will be another bad call.
Another mistake.
Another game where our child does not play as much as we think they should.
Another coach we disagree with.
Another moment when we feel that anger rising inside us.
So what are we, as coaches, leaders, and parents, going to do differently?
We are going to stop asking only, “Did we win?”
We are going to start asking:
“What did our children learn?”
Did they learn how to handle disappointment?
Did they learn how to respond to mistakes?
Did they learn how to respect others when they disagreed?
Did they learn that their worth is greater than their performance?
Did they learn that the adults around them can be trusted to remain calm, fair, and supportive?
Those questions have to matter more than the scoreboard.
Before the Game, Remember Whose Game It Is
Ask yourself:
What does my child need from me today?
Probably not another coach.
Probably not someone analyzing every mistake.
Probably not someone putting more pressure on them.
They need a parent.
Let the coach coach.
Let the officials officiate.
Let the players play.
And let yourself be the person in the stands your child is happy to see.
As coaches and leaders, we also need to ask:
What do these athletes need from me today?
Maybe they need instruction.
Maybe they need accountability.
Maybe they need encouragement.
Maybe they need to be challenged.
But they never need to be humiliated, threatened, or made to feel that their value depends on their performance.
During the Game, Do Not React to Every Emotion
You can be angry without acting angry.
You can disagree without becoming disrespectful.
You can believe a call was terrible without screaming at the official.
When you feel yourself getting worked up, ask:
“Will what I am about to do help my child or my team?”
If the answer is no, do not do it.
Take a breath.
Step away if necessary.
Lower your voice.
Wait before responding.
Sometimes leadership looks like saying nothing.
Sometimes the strongest person in the gym, on the field, or in the stands is the person who has every reason to lose control but chooses not to.
Parents, Stop Coaching From the Stands
Our children do not need multiple voices telling them what to do.
They need one coach during the game.
They need a parent who supports them.
Cheer for effort.
Encourage teamwork.
Celebrate improvement.
Avoid criticizing mistakes, directing every play, or reacting dramatically to every call.
If your child looks into the stands, let them see encouragement—not disappointment, anger, or panic.
After the Game, Do Not Make the Car Ride Home Another Practice
Is this something you do to your kids
We think we are helping.
“Why did you not do this?”
“You have to hustle more.”
“You should have taken that shot.”
“What was your coach thinking?”
But imagine being a kid.
You have already practiced.
You have already played.
You have already heard from your coach.
You have already replayed your mistakes in your own head.
And now you are trapped in a car getting another evaluation.
Maybe instead we say:
“I loved watching you play.”
Then we let them decide whether they want to talk about the game.
Maybe the ride home does not need to be a film session.
Maybe it can just be a ride home.
Coaches, Create Accountability Without Creating Fear
Coaches, we have to hold athletes accountable.
We have to demand effort.
We have to teach discipline.
We have to correct mistakes.
But accountability should help a child grow, not make them afraid to fail. Coaches should not be fist fighting each other in a kids game
Correct the behavior without attacking the person.
Explain what needs to improve.
Give athletes a path forward.
Do not use humiliation as motivation.
Do not make an example of a child for the sake of control.
Do not confuse fear with respect.
A player may obey because they are afraid, but that does not mean they trust you, respect you, or are learning the lesson you intended to teach.
The goal is not simply to produce athletes who follow instructions.
The goal is to develop people who can think, respond, communicate, and grow.
Leaders, Set the Standard
Leaders cannot demand emotional control from everyone else while excusing it in themselves.
If we want parents to behave respectfully, we have to model respect.
If we want coaches to communicate appropriately, we have to hold ourselves to the same standard.
If we want athletes to accept responsibility, we have to accept responsibility when we make mistakes.
That means creating clear expectations for parents, coaches, officials, and players.
It means addressing inappropriate behavior instead of ignoring it.
It means protecting children from adults who cross the line.
It means understanding that winning does not excuse abuse, intimidation, disrespect, or unsafe behavior.
A healthy sports culture does not happen by accident.
It is built by leaders who are willing to say:
“This is not who we are.”
If You Are Angry With a Coach, Do Not Have the Conversation While You Are Angry
Wait.
Go home.
Think.
Sleep on it if necessary.
Then ask yourself:
“Am I trying to solve a problem, or am I trying to prove that I am right?”
Those are two very different conversations.
If there is a legitimate concern, address it respectfully.
Use facts instead of accusations.
Ask questions before making assumptions.
Focus on the child’s experience instead of your own frustration.
And whenever possible, as kids get older, help them learn how to advocate for themselves.
Because one day we will not be standing beside them when they have a difficult boss, professor, coworker, or situation.
Sports can be where they learn how to have those conversations.
Coaches, Remember the Power You Have
A coach may forget something they said five minutes after practice.
A child may remember it for twenty years.
Correct them.
Challenge them.
Hold them accountable.
Demand effort.
Teach discipline.
But never confuse humiliation with coaching.
Never use fear as your primary leadership tool.
And never forget that the kid standing in front of you is somebody’s child before they are your athlete.
Your players are watching you too.
They are watching what you do when the official makes a bad call.
They are watching how you treat the kid who makes the game-losing mistake.
They are watching whether your standards change depending on how talented a player is.
They are watching whether you take responsibility when you make a mistake.
We talk so much about developing athletes.
Maybe we need to remember that we are developing people.
And When We Get It Wrong, Own It
Parents will lose their temper.
Coaches will say something they regret.
Leaders will make poor decisions.
We are human.
But one of the greatest lessons we can teach a child is what accountability looks like.
“I was wrong.”
“I should not have acted that way.”
“I am sorry.”
“I will do better next time.”
Imagine what our children learn when they hear an adult say those words.
They learn that strength is not pretending you never make mistakes.
Strength is having enough humility to own them.
And when we apologize, the apology should be followed by changed behavior.
Not just:
“I am sorry.”
But:
“Here is what I am going to do differently next time.”
Maybe I will step away before responding.
Maybe I will stop coaching from the stands.
Maybe I will wait until I am calm before speaking with the coach.
Maybe I will ask my child what they need instead of assuming I know.
Maybe I will focus on effort, growth, and character instead of only results.
That is how accountability becomes real.
What Will They Remember?
Years from now, most of our kids will not remember the score of a random game.
They probably will not remember the questionable call in the third inning.
They will not remember every tournament, every statistic, or every starting lineup.
But they may remember looking into the stands after making a mistake.
They will remember the ride home.
They will remember the words we used.
They will remember our faces.
They will remember whether they dreaded seeing us after a bad performance—or could not wait to find us.
They will remember the coach who believed in them.
And they may remember the coach who made them feel as though they were never enough.
They will remember whether sports were a place where they learned courage, confidence, discipline, and resilience—or a place where they learned to be afraid of failing.
I cannot change every moment I got wrong.
None of us can.
But I can own mine.
I can learn from them.
I can apologize when I need to.
And I can choose differently the next time.
So for the love of sports—and more importantly, for the love of our kids—maybe all of us need to remember something:
The uniform belongs to them.
The game belongs to them.
The journey belongs to them.
The dream belongs to them.
Our job is not to live it for them.
Our job is to guide them, protect them, teach them, model the behavior we expect from them—and love them while they live it.
Let them compete.
Let them struggle.
Let them fail.
Let them grow.
Let them love the game.
And when they look into the stands after their biggest mistake, let them find the same person they would have found after their greatest victory:
Someone who loves them.
Because long after the final whistle blows, the trophies collect dust, and the uniforms are put away, the person they became through the experience will matter far more than the player they were.
And whether we realize it or not, we are helping teach them who that person will be.
So I ask you what are you going to do differently and are you willing to look at yourselves?
Written by Jamie Kubina
