When Adults Fail, Kids Pay: The Crisis in Youth Sport

I had a conversation this week that’s been sitting in my chest like a brick.

A client reached out about their kid. Not about playing time, not about stats, not about scholarships. About safety. Emotional, mental, and physical safety.

Bullying in the locker room. Harassment in group chats. An adult threatening a minor. A system that shrugged and hoped it would disappear. A whole bunch of adults who want the title of leader but not the responsibility.

And I wish I could say this is rare. It’s not. This week was just another reminder of how far we are from where youth sport needs to be.

I’m not naming the sport. I’m not saying boys or girls. Because this’s not a sports issue. It’s a human issue. A leadership issue. A values issue.

You see it in every arena and every community across the country.

There’s a level of aggression in sport. It’s needed. But at what cost

Sport’s supposed to teach controlled aggression. Discipline. Grit. Physical courage. Competitive fire.

But it’s incredible how many adults can’t tell the difference between teaching aggression and teaching kids to be assholes.

Aggression’s a skill. It can be trained, shaped, and channelled.
Cruelty’s a character flaw.
Bullying’s a weakness hiding in strength’s clothing.

Kids need to learn how to be physical. They need to learn how to push. They need to learn that effort is non-negotiable.

What they don’t need is an environment where the tough kid becomes the weapon and the quiet kid becomes the target. That’s not sport. That’s cowardice disguised as competitive culture.

The dads with the high school rings

Let me say something that’ll make some men uncomfortable.

The dads who still wear their high school championship ring, still talk about that one big game from 1996, still walk around the field like they’re Al Bundy reliving four touchdowns from Polk High, should be the first ones cut from any coaching selection.

It’s tired. Nobody cares.

I’ve done big things in my life. Pro baseball. Championships. International competition. Stuff I’m proud of. You know how many times it’s helped me coach a kid or lead a team?

Zero.

The only thing that matters is this:

What value can you bring today?

Not what you did. Not who you used to be. Not the version of yourself you keep trying to resurrect through your kid.

If your identity’s stuck in your own past, you shouldn’t be anywhere near shaping a young athlete’s future.

Parents without core values wreck environments

There are incredible parents in sport. Parents who truly get it.

Then there are the ones who never did their own work.

The dad who’s still mad about being average at seventeen and wants redemption through his kid.
The mom who needs her kid’s highlights to fill a personal hole.
The parent who coaches in the car, complains about everything, and treats sport as a place to dump all the frustration from their own life.

They become loud. They influence the room. Their energy infects the team.

And the kids feel all of it.

Kids always know when a parent’s pushing from love or pushing from ego. One builds confidence. The other destroys it.

Cutting players, benching stars, and choosing standards over wins

People think I glorify these stories. I don’t.

But I’ve cut elite players because the culture demanded it. Fired Coaches that had all the right intentions but couldn’t control their ego.
I’ve benched kids who’d help us win because we refused to reward behaviour that was rotting the team.
I’ve backed the quiet kid who finally spoke up.
I’ve supported a staff decision that cost us games because keeping the wrong player would’ve cost us our integrity.

Winning with the wrong people teaches the worst lessons imaginable.

You can win a banner and lose the room. You can win the season and lose the kid. You can win the game and lose the culture.

That’s a bad trade.

Where everything starts to fall apart

Most kids start sport with joy. Pure joy.
Then, adults twist the environment.

The kid gets bullied.
The group chat turns toxic.
The star player becomes untouchable.
The quiet kid becomes disposable.
The parents become divided.
And the board steps in only when their own reputation’s on the line.

You want to know why kids quit sport?
Not because it’s hard.
Because it stops feeling safe.

Some kids harden up and become the thing that hurt them.
Some shrink and withdraw.
Some spiral into self-doubt.
Some get to the edge of self-harm because they feel like the adults don’t care.

People talk about mental health like it’s a slogan.
For these kids, it’s real. It’s personal. It’s silent. It’s heavy.r

The ugly truth about boards and committees

Boards are supposed to protect kids.

But too often they protect themselves.

Parents sit on boards while their own kids are at the centre of issues.
Conflicts of interest everywhere.
Decisions made in side conversations.
Protocols created that look good on paper but don’t require accountability.
Everything swept under the rug to avoid drama, emails, or losing registration cash and volunteers.

This’s happening across the country.

And the kids pay the price.

A system can’t be fair when the people making decisions are also the people benefiting from those decisions.

You can’t self police a conflict of interest. You can’t referee your own kid’s situation. You can’t be objective if your own reputation’s tied to the outcome.

The worst of the worst: the cowardly coaches

Let me get very honest about a type of coach that drives me insane.

The coach who cuts a kid by text.
The coach who sends an email instead of having a conversation.
The coach who gets management to deliver the news because they’re too soft to do it themselves.

These little bitch ass coaches shouldn’t be in leadership positions.

If you want the title, you take the responsibility.
You handle the tough conversations.
You sit with the uncomfortable moments.
You look the kid in the eye and explain the decision.
You own the weight of being in charge.

Being a coach means being a leader.
Leadership means courage.
If you’re scared of a thirteen-year-old’s reaction, you’re not a coach. You’re a spectator with a clipboard.

Grow up. Be a man.
If you want to be the guy, do all the stuff that comes with the role. Not just the fun parts.

All of this happened this week

And it’s been happening forever.

This stuff’s not new. It just keeps getting normalized because nobody wants to face the uncomfortable truth that youth sport in Canada’s built on outdated thinking, fragile egos, and systems that protect themselves more than the kids.

People keep saying, “It’s just the way it is.”

And I’m saying:
It’s not ok.

It’s never been ok.

It’ll never magically fix itself.

Why this matters

Sport shapes identity. It shapes self-worth. It shapes resilience. It shapes how kids see leadership, communication, conflict, and community.

If we let bullying slide, we teach kids that the loudest voice wins.
If we let threats slide, we teach them that safety’s a privilege.
If we let conflicts of interest run the show, we teach them that fairness is optional.
If we let cowardly coaches make tough decisions through text, we teach them that adults can’t be trusted.

We can do better.
We should do better.
We have to do better.

Because one day the jerseys come off and the results don’t matter. All that’s left is the message we gave them about who they are, what they deserve, and how the world works.

This’s not just sport.
This’s life.

And we don’t get to pretend anymore that the way things have been is good enough.

It’s not.

So what’s the answer

Blow the whistle.

Stand for something.

Stand for the kid who’s scared to check their phone.
Stand for the parent who feels alone in the system.
Stand for the coach who actually cares but feels outnumbered.
Stand for the future of sport in this country.

If you see something wrong, say something.
If you feel the culture shifting in the wrong direction, push back.
If you know the decision being made isn’t about safety or values, challenge it.

Silence keeps the cycle going.
Courage breaks it.

And it’s time.

Hey Curtis.. tell us what you really think :-)

If you’re going through this, please reach out.. Happy to give direction.