This question may seem odd, but it’s one I wonder about with athletes, and, increasingly, with students.
When I was in 10th grade, our football team went undefeated in the regular season, with multiple shutouts. Those guys were GOOD. Me? Not as much. I was a 10th grader, and on that team, it would have been unusual for me to get much playing time.
That year, we played a great Lynn Bears team and beat them 31–0 in the regular season.
We won the area and the County, but our goal was a state championship, and we thought this was the year. Then we met Lynn again in the fourth round.
That game is part of Winston County lore. We remember it as the “Firecracker Bowl.”
It was personal. Two Winston County teams were fighting for a spot in the state championship game, where the winner would face Maplesville.
The crowd was enormous. After a slugfest, the mighty Addison Bulldogs, who hadn’t lost to Lynn in almost 2 decades, fell 7–6.
The crowd TORE DOWN THE GOALPOSTS and marched them around the field. I remember fences being pushed over as pandemonium ensued.
For me, it was the first time I had ever been on the losing end of the scoreboard. Until that night, I had never lost a football game.
I remember thinking two things.
First, I didn’t know how to feel after a loss or what to do, but I hated it.
Second, I would do everything I could to NEVER lose to LYNN again.
Every rep in the weight room, every lap on the track, every sprint, it was all about beating Lynn. I hated the feeling that someone could believe they had our number.
I was never an all-star, but whatever good I did on the field came from preparation. I prepared because I never wanted to be on the losing side of that scoreboard again.
It was personal to me for my personal pride but also the teams and the schools.
Looking back, losing gave me a reason to work harder, but believing we could win gave that work a purpose. If I had thought we were going to lose no matter what, would I have worked as hard?
That fire, that intensity, that desire to accomplish something difficult is what I want every student in our schools to feel. I know everyone can’t win every time, but everyone can strive. Everyone can believe.
For some students, that means winning on Friday night. For others, it means passing a class they thought they couldn’t pass, mastering a skill, or being the first in their family to graduate.
The goal may be different, but the belief matters just as much: What I do today can change what happens tomorrow.
So where does that belief come from?
Does believing you can win drive you to prepare? Does that preparation lead to success, which strengthens your belief and starts the cycle again? Or do you have to experience winning before you can believe you’re a winner?
I don’t know which came first for me. I was surrounded by winners. There was no other way to believe.
But what about the student who hasn’t experienced much success? The one who has worked hard and still fallen short? The one who has started to believe that winning is something other people do?
That’s where we come in as teachers, coaches, and parents. We can give them something within reach to work toward, help them prepare, and make sure they recognize their progress. A small success can give a student a reason to try again.
I often hear people say, “When I played football, we believed we could beat the Green Bay Packers.”
That’s the spirit that makes sports magic.
Never say die. Win or die trying. Win for six seconds at a time. Do your job. Find a way.
That’s the attitude I want every student to experience—the willingness to prepare, compete, and keep going when things get hard.
Belief can get you started. Preparation gives that belief something to stand on. And when you fall short, both can help you get back to work.
That’s something you can carry with you long after the last game.
I can’t promise every student a win. But I want every student to believe there is something worth preparing for, and that their effort can make a difference.
It was 1996, and I still don't love Lynn!