Hey there Reader.
This week, I was messaging with my friend Dennis, a high level coach. He’s stepping into a huge role: Director of one of the largest volleyball clubs on the East Coast. A big job, with even bigger challenges. The kind of opportunity that looks exciting on paper, but behind the scenes? It comes with a long to-do list, a few bruises, and more than one mess to sort out.
I wanted to check in, so I sent him a quick message:
“Thoughts and prayers 😉”
He responded right away:
“Come on, be positive — your next topic should be on Dan Mickle negativity and how to fix it.”
I laughed and replied:
“Sadly, it’s not your abilities I worry about.”
And his message back stopped me.
“It’s about everything else.”
And it got me thinking...
He’s not wrong.
Somewhere along the way, my push for improvement started sounding more like frustration than fuel. I never set out to be negative, but I can see now how my words, my tone, even the timing of when I speak up, could be read that way. I have a tendency to see all the cracks, and instead of shining a light gently, I sometimes swing a spotlight with the intensity of a stadium lamp.
And to be clear, there are times when I am negative. Times when disappointment gets the better of me. I’ve burned my fair share of bridges with clubs, coaches, and officials. That was never the goal, but I can’t pretend it hasn’t happened. I don’t wear it as a badge of honor, but I don’t ignore it either. It’s a reminder that intent and impact don’t always line up the way we hope.
The funny part is, I truly do believe in what’s possible. I believe youth sports can be better, kinder, and more sustainable. I believe we can create environments where kids want to grow, where coaches want to stay, and where clubs feel more like communities than corporations. That belief has never left. But I forgot that belief needs to be heard, too. Not just the part where I point out what’s broken, but the part where I talk about why it matters.
It’s easy to focus on what isn’t working. Anyone can do that. The real challenge is offering criticism with care. To lead without losing your patience. To fight for change without becoming the storm everyone is running from.
I realized that it’s not just about what I say, but how I say it. My tone. My timing. My presence. And if I want to have a lasting impact, I have to make sure I’m being heard for the right reasons, not just the loudest ones.
And while this is a personal lesson I’m sitting with, I think it’s something all of us in youth sports can consider.
Coaches, your passion is powerful, but if it’s always packaged in sarcasm or fire, your players might start tuning it out. Or worse, fearing it.
Parents, I know the late practices and missed dinners are exhausting. I know you see things you wish were better. But when frustration replaces curiosity, the conversations that need to happen won’t.
Club directors, administrators, officials; everyone is under pressure. But when feedback is always labeled as complaining, you risk missing the insights that could actually make things better.
We all play a role in how things are framed. We all decide whether we approach with curiosity or critique. Whether we listen first, or assume we know the whole story.
But for me? I need to own this one. I need to do a better job of showing the hope behind the honesty. To let people see that I’m not attacking, I’m investing. I’m not tearing down, I’m trying to build something stronger. I just sometimes get that part backwards.
So yes, Dennis, you got me. I’ll take the note. Loud and clear. I’m working on it. Because passion should never sound like complaining. It should sound like belief. And I still believe.