As a 20-plus-year veteran of this industry, I’ve been around the proverbial cheerleading block. Like most people my age, making a career out of cheerleading was never the intention. The exit plan was scarier than the comfort zone, so many of us just stayed. Had I planned for a cheer career, I’m certain I wouldn’t have invested the time and money into a master’s degree I don’t use. But here we are—now in our 40s with bad knees and unexplainable work schedules.
By most standards, my time in the cheerleading industry has been successful. I cheered and coached in college, owned a gym and now serve as a full-time scoring director for a large event producer. I’ve sold uniforms and equipment, traveled the world and touched nearly every facet of this sport—even writing for Cheer Daily.
The irony? I’ve never coached a winning program. Not once.
Years ago, I accepted that my place in this world is rallying the underdog. I built a competitive college team from students who had never seen a blue mat. I choreographed for teams with no skills. At my gym, I created teams of athletes with little to no experience in cheerleading, let alone all star cheerleading.
Even earlier, in Little League softball, my dad—who was also my coach—intentionally drafted the girls no one else wanted. We celebrated single runs, not wins. A player making it to first base was worth ice cream. Girls standing upright in right field instead of picking flowers was a victory. One teammate got hit by pitches so often that we nearly cried every time she lived to see the next inning.
I come from a long line of underdogs. I wouldn’t know what to do with a world championship.
Now, as a “washed-up” coach, I find myself helping younger coaches more and more. I started a Junior Coach Academy and occasionally assist a local school team with its growing competitive program. One of my closest friends juggles a small gym, and I’m her regular sounding board. Time passes, but the stories stay the same. Coaching is still coaching. Kids are still kids. Parents are still parents.
And the underdog is still the underdog.
My favorite lesson to teach—yet the hardest lesson to learn—is that more often than not, losing is winning. There is more long-term value in losing than in winning. Look at lottery winners, child celebrities or athletes who jump to the pros too early. While not universal, the pattern is clear: early “winning” can lead to long-term struggle, while many of the most successful people lost repeatedly before they ever won.
As cheerleading evolves, we’re seeing a generational shift that didn’t exist when I was coming up. When I owned my gym, almost no parents had been a part of competitive cheerleading because it simply wasn’t available. Today, many of our coaches grew up in competitive cheerleading and have never known the industry any other way. A growing number of parents did too. My hypothesis is simple: people raised in winning programs want to be associated with winning programs. To them, winning equals success.
But each weekend, in each division, there is only one winner. So where does that leave everyone else?
(I use the word “loser” dramatically here, but I do not consider any athlete a loser. It’s simply the opposite of “winner.”)
The word “coach” comes from the idea of a vehicle that carries someone to a destination. Before the 18th century, a coach was literally a horse-drawn carriage. If we apply that imagery, our job is to carry athletes toward their destination—or their goal. That requires thinking beyond winning as the only goal. Winning is a great goal, but it can’t be the only goal.
