When the Scoreboard Lies

Coaching Through the Hollow Win

We won 81 to 0.

That’s the score. Cold. Clean. Final.

And yet, standing on the sidelines in the second half, I felt as if I was watching something fall apart—not just for the other team, but for us. My quarterback, usually composed, shouted mid-game: “This is no fun anymore.” The frustration was genuine. It landed somewhere between boredom, guilt, and disbelief.

What happens when you win a game you never really got to play?

This was a flag football match with my U16 team—a temporary team, yes, but a talented one. And we were facing a group we clearly overmatched—not just in athleticism, but in age, experience, and confidence. From the first snap, it was clear they didn’t stand a chance.

Still, we tried. My co-coaches and I spent the game pulling levers to slow the momentum. We rotated players into unfamiliar positions. We tested plays that had failed in past practices. We broke our usual rhythms, hoping to manufacture resistance. But the gap was too wide. Even our misfires turned into points. The opponent’s own mistakes multiplied. The game spiraled, and the final score didn’t just reflect our performance—it mocked it.

I walked away with the odd feeling that nobody won.

Photo by David Lago Rodríguez from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-ball-on-the-ground-10415501/

There’s an ethical terrain in youth sports that no rulebook prepares you for. No one tells you what to do when your team’s excellence starts to feel oppressive. There’s no play call for restraint without condescension.

Should we have stopped scoring? Should we have just let them walk one into the endzone?

But even that felt wrong. Letting them score would have been another form of disrespect. A performance of generosity rather than real competition. Any point they gained because we had given up our defense wouldn’t carry meaning—they would know. Teenagers aren’t stupid. They’d see through it.

There’s no clean version of this story. It was a lose-lose in all the ways that matter: the opponent left defeated, and we left unsatisfied.

And yet, this wasn’t a story about failure. It was a story about discomfort—and what it teaches us when we stop trying to escape it.

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3 Key Takeaways

• A lopsided victory can be emotionally hollow—and offer fewer learning opportunities than a hard-fought loss.

• Coaching isn’t just about technique; it’s about how we respond to discomfort and ambiguity.

• Ethical leadership requires staying present, even when no “right” move exists.

2 Thought-Provoking Questions

1. How do you lead when your team faces no real resistance?

2. What does “winning well” look like when dominance threatens meaning?

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Echoes of a Past Defeat

I’ve been on the other side. I remember the sting of zero. I remember being a kid and watching the points pile up against us. I remember being a coach, and not so long ago, lose by plenty. I remember the silence on our sideline, the deep frustration of not being able to change the story no matter how hard we tried. Those losses stay with you—not for the numbers, but for the powerlessness they represent.

And still, I admired that other team. They didn’t quit. They came out for the second half knowing what was coming. They stayed composed. They fought to find something—a good route, an heroic flag pull, a play that felt like theirs.

Their resilience was quiet but undeniable. And that’s what stuck with me most: how they endured a game they knew they wouldn’t win.

When Coaching Has Nothing to Teach

There’s a certain irony in being a coach who can’t coach. That’s how it felt.

Usually, a game presents opportunities to instruct, correct, inspire. But what do you say when your players aren’t being tested at all? What do you teach when every challenge is too easy, and every mistake is still a touchdown?

Some of our players left that game thinking they were brilliant. They weren’t wrong. Many did play beautifully. But others—like our quarterback—left disoriented, even angry. And I couldn’t blame them. There’s a kind of emotional whiplash that happens when effort becomes meaningless. When you’re competing without opposition, you stop becoming better. You just become… aimless.

And that’s what stuck with me:

This game didn’t offer lessons in execution. It forced us into questions of identity. Who are we when no one pushes back?

Leadership in the Absence of Struggle

In youth sports, we often talk about character being revealed in defeat. But sometimes, it’s in dominance that our values are most tested.

When you’re ahead by forty-seven at halftime, how do you carry yourself? What do you model? What do you protect?

As coaches, we are custodians of more than schemes and strategies. We manage emotional tone. We interpret the moment. We’re not just calling plays—we’re shaping how those plays mean something.

But meaning is slippery in games like these. And I found myself doubting my every choice. Was I doing enough to respect the opponent? Was I doing enough to keep our players grounded? Was I doing too much?

I kept returning to this thought:

“Winning is not the same as fulfilment; competition should elevate, not crush.”

It’s the kind of principle echoed in Joe Ehrman's InsideOut Coaching and other frameworks that ask us to reimagine sport as a moral and emotional landscape—not just a scoreboard.

But that day, it didn’t feel like a competition. It felt like a test. And I’m still not sure if I passed.

Complexity Without Answers

There’s a seductive simplicity to coaching advice: “Here’s how to handle blowouts.” But that’s not this story. There is no manual for what we felt that day.

Ethical discomfort is not a flaw in the system—it is the system.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the ecological view of coaching the last couple of years. The idea that sport isn’t just about inputs and outputs but about systems—people moving within dynamic constraints, adapting and adjusting to new conditions. But what happens when the constraint is missing? When the environment doesn’t push back?

We found ourselves floating in a kind of moral vacuum. It was more complex than winning with humility or losing with grace. We were somewhere else entirely: winning without joy.

And so the job wasn’t just to manage the game. It was to sit inside the tension. To stay present. To not reach for easy resolutions or tidy narratives.

So… What Now?

We’ll play them again next week, that team.

And I don’t know if it’ll be better. Or easier. But I do know I’ll walk into it differently—not because I’ve figured it out, but because I’ve accepted that I won’t. I’ll walk in with a clearer intention: to protect meaning, even in imbalance—and to teach my players how to lead when the challenge disappears.

There are no elegant fixes here. No virtue to be claimed for trying to soften the score. There is only the work: of staying open, of asking harder questions, of protecting the integrity of both teams without pretending we can solve everything.

There’s something sacred in that: in resisting the temptation to make things neat. Coaching, like growing up, is often about learning to live in the ambiguity—and to lead from there.

The Real Scoreboard

In the days since, I’ve replayed moments from the game—not the touchdowns, but the expressions on my players’ faces. The way some of them looked confused, even ashamed. The quiet I felt in my own gut.

This wasn’t a coaching failure. It wasn’t even a misstep. It was a collision with the complexity we signed up for when we decided to guide young people through sport.

There’s a quote from Urban Meyer's Above the Line that keeps echoing in my mind:

“It’s not what happens that matters. It’s how you respond.”

This wasn’t a loss. But it was a moment that required response. Not with blame, or platitudes—but with presence. With humility. With care.

So here’s my only real takeaway, if there is one:

The scoreboard will never tell you the whole story. Some victories are hollow. Some defeats are noble. Some games don’t fit into categories at all.

And in those games—maybe especially those games—is where the real work begins.

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Rolf is a seasoned performance coach and coach developer, with a unique perspective that challenges conventional thinking. He works across both the business and sports worlds, supporting teams and individuals through change. Currently, he coaches multiple teams and provides personalized guidance to leaders in both fields.

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