Someone Has to Win It—Why Not Us?

For 30 years, I’ve had the privilege of serving as a head coach and athletic director in Texas, and I’ve learned that one of the most powerful things a coach can do is push athletes beyond what they believe is possible. It’s not just about drawing up plays or organizing practices—it’s about reshaping a young person’s mindset and helping them discover that their limits are far beyond what they’ve imagined.

The scoreboard doesn’t lie—but neither does effort, growth, or belief. And if you can teach an athlete to get comfortable being uncomfortable, you’ve unlocked something more powerful than any trophy.

I learned this lesson early in my career from one of my first mentors, a coach who believed we could—and should—win every game. He used to say, “Someone has to win a state championship—why not us?” At the time, I thought it was just a motivational line. But I’ve carried that question with me ever since. It wasn’t just about winning. It was about raising the standard of what we believed was possible.

I began to realize that athletes often put ceilings on themselves before they’ve even begun to stretch. They tell themselves:
“I’m just a role player.”
“We’re just a small school.”
“That kind of success is for other people.”

But the truth is, the only thing standing between a team and something great is belief—backed by relentless work.

Pushing athletes means challenging them to step into the unknown. It’s running sprints after they think they’ve got nothing left. It’s demanding better body language when they’re frustrated. It’s asking them to lead when they’d rather follow. And sometimes, it’s holding up a mirror and asking, “Are you really doing everything you can to reach your full potential?”

That kind of coaching isn’t always popular. It’s uncomfortable. But growth lives in discomfort. When you’re tired, when you’re doubting, when you’ve failed—that’s where real development happens, if you’re willing to lean into it.

I’ve seen it time and time again:
An athlete who started the season unsure becomes the one the team counts on most.
A group of kids who thought just making the playoffs would be a dream end up playing deep into March.

That doesn’t happen because the stars align. It happens because someone believed in them more than they believed in themselves—and then held them to that higher standard every single day.

Athletes don’t rise to the level of their potential. They fall to the level of their training. Our job as coaches is to raise that training—and those expectations—so high that eventually, their “normal” becomes elite.

The great ones aren’t just physically gifted. They’re mentally tough. They’ve learned to live outside their comfort zone. They know what it feels like to be pushed past their breaking point—and to come out stronger for it. That kind of toughness doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built, rep by rep, challenge by challenge.

I’ve always told my athletes: if you’re comfortable, you’re not growing. Comfort zones are where dreams go to die. We’re not training to be average. We’re training to be exceptional.

That requires embracing pain, fatigue, adversity—and yes, even failure. It means doing what few others are willing to do.

Over the years, I’ve coached kids from every background. Some were blessed with natural tools. Others had to scrap for every inch. But the common denominator in every success story? Mindset. When we taught kids to think bigger, to dream without fear, and to chase those dreams with discipline and grit—that’s when the magic happened.

My mentor’s words still echo in my mind:
“Someone has to win it—why not us?”

That kind of thinking takes courage. But once an athlete starts to believe in the possibility of more, they become dangerous. They stop playing not to lose—and start playing to win.

Our 2024 run to the Texas State Championship game was both magical and methodical. Magical, because we had no business getting there based on the talent we had to go through. Methodical, because we truly believed we could find a way to win every game—and we did.

As a coach, don’t let your people settle. Don’t let your team coast. Push them—gently when needed, firmly when required—but always in service of their growth. Hold a higher vision for them than they hold for themselves, until they’re strong enough to carry it on their own.

Each year, a team’s ceiling changes.
Overachieving one year might mean simply making the playoffs with a young roster.
The next year, it might mean advancing to the regional tournament.

Your job is to push them to think bigger—and do more—than they ever thought they could.

At the final buzzer, if you’ve done that, you’ll have built something that was both magical and methodical.