Put your quarters up next to play, Reader...
There was a stretch of time in the early '90s when I was convinced I was that guy in the arcade. You know the one. The quarter-dropper. The trash-talker. The “sure, pick Raiden, but you’re still going down” kind of guy. Whether it was Street Fighter II or Mortal Kombat, I had enough combos memorized to make you question your life choices. I could throw a hadouken before you even figured out which button jumped.
But one day, I got greedy. I wasn’t just trying to win anymore, I was trying to dominate. So I changed how I played. Got flashy. Tried to master the elaborate fatality finishers. Even bought a magazine to study them. (Remember magazines?)
That’s when it all fell apart.
I became too focused on getting it perfect. I stopped reacting and started overthinking. I froze up trying to pull off a six-button combo instead of just landing a punch. So, naturally, I overcorrected. Next time I played scared, passive. Didn’t want to take a risk. Played it safe.
Lost again. Brutally. No “Finish Him.” Just “You Lose.”
And it got me thinking...
We love to talk about Icarus and how he flew too close to the sun. But the part we always leave out is this: Daedalus warned him not to fly too low either. The sea would ruin the lift in his wings. He would lose altitude and crash just as hard.
The myth isn’t just about arrogance. It’s about balance.
And balance is something we are missing badly in youth sports.
We push kids to go all in: year-round training, private lessons, early recruiting, and the “if you are not grinding, you are falling behind” energy. Then we wonder why they burn out, melt down, or lose their love of the game. But when we pull back too far, remove pressure entirely, lower all the standards to avoid discomfort, and hand out trophies for existing, we are robbing them of growth. No challenge, no stretch, no reason to try.
Flying too high leads to burnout.
Flying too low leads to boredom.
Both are crashes. They just look different.
The hard part is that the “right height” looks different for every athlete. For one kid, it might be playing on the top team and dreaming of scholarships. For another, it might be scoring one point and getting a high five from Dad. But both deserve a chance to thrive.
As coaches and parents, we need to stop measuring success by extremes. The high fliers are not always winning. The low fliers are not always protected. Our job isn’t to force altitude. It’s to help them navigate it. To teach them when to push, when to pull back, and when to level out.
And for the athletes: trust your own instincts. You know when you are coasting and you know when you are spiraling. Learn how to check your own altitude. Develop awareness of when you need a challenge, and when you need a break.
Let’s be honest, there’s a little Icarus in all of us. We want to soar. But sometimes we play it so safe, we forget how to fly altogether.
So maybe that old arcade lesson still holds up: play smart, play loose, and don’t overdo it trying to impress the crowd. Nobody wins when you are frozen between a jump kick and a fireball combo.
Thanks for riding along,
~Dan
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