WHO LET THE DAWGS OUT: COMMUNITY SEARCH AND RESCUE

 WHO LET THE DAWGS OUT: COMMUNITY SEARCH AND RESCUE

A Look at the Demise of Role Players in Youth Sports

“It’s nothing personal, Coach… I just want to focus on what might get me a scholarship.”
“Coach, his dad and I have been talking… we respect what you’re doing, but our son needs to prioritize his future.”
“Sorry Coach, I don’t think I’ll be playing this year. I want to enjoy my senior year without basketball.”

These are all statements I heard last season. None of these players were projected starters. But each one had value. They were role players — the hustle guys, the energy off the bench, the heartbeats of a successful team. In today’s high school sports landscape, these players — the “dawgs” — are disappearing. The question is: Why?

A Coach Who Raised Dawgs

I was lucky. I played for one of the best high school football coaches in Michigan: Bob Staskiewicz of Marine City High School. If you played for Bob, you know what I mean. He was the ultimate motivator. He had a rare gift — making every single kid feel important, no matter their role or skill level. The kind of coach you would run threw a brick wall for. The kind of coach who bred dawgs by his actions, raised them because we all felt like family.

I don’t often think about the big wins or trophies from my time there. What I do remember is the fun. I remember being on scout offense. I remember leading the “Dog Pound” — our field goal distraction crew. We’d bark, howl, and even sing Christmas carols to throw off the kicker. It was absurd, hilarious… and meaningful. We had pride in our roles — no matter how small.

Back then, being a role player wasn’t shameful. It was honorable. It was fun. You supported your team, whether you saw the field or not. But something’s changed.

Fast Forward: A New Era, A New Problem

Now, I’m the varsity boys basketball coach at Algonac High School. Heading into the season, I expected to make 5–7 tough cuts after tryouts. But when tryouts came… we barely had enough for a JV and varsity roster combined.

It hit me hard. I took it personally. I wondered: Did I fail these kids somehow? Is it me? Thankfully, a few teachers helped rally some students to come out, and we filled the roster. I was deeply grateful.

But the question still lingered:
Who let the dawgs out?

Why don’t kids want to be role players anymore? Why is being “just part of the team” no longer enough?

Searching for Answers

This isn’t just an Algonac issue. This is a national trend across youth sports. Established programs may hide it better — but they’re not immune either.

So what’s going on?

• Social Media Pressure: Kids today are constantly comparing themselves to highlight reels. Before they even step on a court, they’ve already judged themselves. If they’re not starring, they feel like they’re failing.
• More Options: Let’s be real — the world offers more now. From robotics clubs to, disc golf, to electric scooters. Look at the Olympics — almost everything is a sport. Kids can find other lanes where they shine. Kids find other ways to entertain themselves.
• Parental Expectations: This one hurts the most. I fear we’ve entered an era where parents are embarrassed if their kid isn’t the star. They don’t want to clap from the stands while their kid cheers from the bench. They want points — not hustle plays. Highlights — not heart.

But here’s the problem: in life, most of us are role players. In jobs, in marriages, in communities — we play support roles every day. If kids never learn how to do that as athletes, how will they ever learn to do it as adults?

We’re Losing More Than Just Players

We’re not just losing team depth — we’re losing teachable moments. Grit. Humility. Sacrifice. Joy in the little things. Role players who used to feel part of something now feel like they’re “less than.” So they quit. And then, years later, they wonder why adulthood feels lonely, frustrating, and unfulfilling.

I’m not going to resort to gimmicks to recruit players. This issue is bigger than any one coach or program. It’s cultural. It’s a societal problem. And we must fix it — together.

A Call to Action: Bring the Dawgs Home

We need a community search and rescue. Not just for our basketball programs, and our football fields, but for our young people.

Coaches: Keep valuing every kid. Keep fighting to make them feel seen.
Parents: Teach your children that effort, grit, and loyalty matter — even when there’s no spotlight.
Students: Don’t be afraid to be a role player. Don’t run from the grind. Sometimes the best memories are made on the scout team.

Let’s bring the dawgs home. Back to the bench. Back to the practice squad. Back to the place where purpose isn’t defined by playing time, but by pride, passion, and team.

Who let the dawgs out?

We did.
Now it’s time to go find them.

Are the Inmates Running the Prisons? The high school and youth sport dilemmas

Are the Inmates Running the Prisons?

The New Age of Coaching and the Crisis in Youth Sports

I was once stopped at halftime of a JV game while cheering on our team, waiting to coach a varsity high school basketball game. A parent pulled me aside into an auxiliary gym, visibly upset.

“Coach,” she said, “I’m ashamed you let that kid back on the team. He’s embarrassed our community enough. I thought you had more dignity than to allow that clown to play. How many chances does a kid get after being kicked off teams?”

I stood there calmly, listening. Then I smiled and asked her the first thing that came to mind:

“Did you ever watch The Longest Yard? Who did you root for — the guards or the inmates?”

That 16-year-old she was talking about? He’s been through hell. A rough home life. Constant instability. Do we punish him by taking away the one place he might find growth, discipline, and hope? Or do we give him another shot?

I chose the latter. And I don’t regret it.

I laughed on the ride home to myself, thinking of that comment made. How absurd that parent probably thought it was. It inspired me to think about and evaluate the crisis we have in high school sports. Less kids are trying out.  Varsity high school coaches are now recruiting to fill a roster in the high school hallways. 25 years ago, cuts were inevitable in high school sports. Parents are trying to control the game from the stands, pushing coaches and officials to walk away from being involved doing something they love.

Are We Losing the Soul of Youth Sports?

We hear it all the time:

• “Youth sports are burning kids out before high school.”
• “Parents are ruining the game.”
• “Kids don’t love the game like they used to.”

By the time they reach varsity, numbers are down. Kids who once begged for a ball now avoid the gym. How did we get here?

We used to develop kids. Now we market them.
We used to coach kids. Now we cater to them.
And when players become disengaged, entitled, or apathetic, many teams start feeling less like teams — and more like holding cells.

So yes — to many, comparing student-athletes to inmates might sound absurd. But when coaches feel like they’ve lost control, when kids demand the spotlight without putting in the sweat, and when adults allow it out of fear of confrontation — we’re not far off.

The inmates are running the prison.

How Do We Fix This?

It’s easy to point fingers — at parents, at youth leagues, at social media. But blame doesn’t build culture.

So here’s what I offer instead: Be G.U.A.R.D.S.
It’s a blueprint for anyone — coach, parent, or mentor — to help reclaim youth sports.

G – Genuinity

Kids can smell fake a mile away. Be honest. Be yourself. Let them feel your authentic love — for the sport, and for them. Don’t be involved just to boost your own child.

U – Unified

Youth and varsity coaches: Get on the same page. Build a pipeline, not just a program. Varsity coaches, show up for the traveling youth and middle school games.. Fist bump. Watch practice. Let the community know you're invested for the long haul.

A – Adjust

Times have changed. Your old-school mindset might have helped you, but today’s kids need something different. Shorter sessions. Smarter training. Mental health support. Adjust — without losing your standards.

R – Respect

From the earliest ages, show kids what real respect looks like. Don’t mistake discipline for yelling, or respect for fear. And stop demanding it — earn it. Relationships matter more than resumes.

D – Discipline

Kids still crave it. They want structure, they want expectations. But if you're yelling to unload your own baggage — step away. Get right within yourself before trying to lead others.

S – Success

Winning isn’t everything. At the youngest levels, we bench the “weaker” kids in favor of early bloomers. And then we wonder why those kids quit later on. Success is laughs in the dugout. Inside jokes in the locker room. Memories that shape lives. That’s the kind of win that lasts.

The Final Whistle

Maybe one day, the parents and coaches in our communities will look in the mirror and ask:
“Is this really working for our kids?”

Right now, too many are avoiding that question. They’re wrapped up in their own egos, living through their kids, ignoring the quiet damage being done. And until we change that...

The inmates will keep running the show.

To the controlling, over the top parent, you are the inmate too! 

But it doesn't have to stay that way.

Let’s take back the culture — one kid, one team, one volunteering adult at a time. A culture where everyone is on a similar page. A culture in which by the end of high school you have to hug the kid off the court because he does not want it to be the last game. A culture in which begging kids to play is a thing of the past. A culture in which parents can sit back, relax, and focus on cheering again.

Hawaiian Shirt Attitude

 “How did I get here?”

The question echoes in his head as he sits alone in the darkened gym, the scoreboard still flashing its final insult—78 to 39. Another loss. 0 and 22 now. The worst season on record.

His phone buzzes again. Another notification. Another comment on the Facebook post. Some  parent, coach, or relative giving their 2 cents.. Telling him the kids deserve better. Maybe they do.

But he won’t resign.

He won’t flinch.

He smooths out his wrinkled Hawaiian shirt.  A splash of color in a grayscale season. Players laugh at it now. At first, they rolled their eyes. Now? They wear their own versions on Fridays. Loud, clashing patterns. It started as a joke. Now, it’s a statement.

A Hawaiian shirt attitude.

Laid-back, maybe. But not weak.

“I’ve got an imaginary middle finger tattooed on my back,” he once joked to the team. But it wasn’t a joke, not really. It was a mantra. A shield. A silent vow to never let pain shape him into a person who causes more of it.

He looks up at the championship banners.  None bear his team.. Not yet.

People don’t know what’s really happening. What can’t be measured on a scoreboard. They don’t see the kid who used to get kicked out of class now running extra laps just to stay eligible. They don’t hear the team chant in the locker room that drowns out the silence of doubt. They don’t feel the culture shifting—not yet—but he does.

Because he's lived this before.

He remembers crying in silence at 11 years old, begging for help with his eyes when no one was listening. He remembers being told he wouldn’t amount to much, by adults who should’ve been his lifeline. And he remembers the coaches who humiliated his team, ran up the score when it was already over, as if breaking spirits was part of the game plan.

But he survived.

He became a man who stood in the fire and smiled through the smoke.

This—this season—isn’t failure. It’s foundation. It’s bruises becoming calluses. It’s character being forged quietly in the shadows.

Redemption doesn't announce itself. It grows—quietly, stubbornly—until one day, it's undeniable.

So let them laugh.

Let them post.

He’ll keep showing up with his Hawaiian shirt, his imaginary tattoo, and a belief no losing streak breaks a team.

Because the scoreboard doesn't tell the whole story.

But one day, it will.

This blog has been created to share stories of redemption, and how coaching has been therapeutic to myself and others.