Let Them

What a hitting coach I do't know, Alaska, and a book taught me about coaching

When I was a young coach—probably 25—I had the opportunity to be the head coach of an Athletes in Action summer baseball team in Fairbanks, Alaska. At the time, Alaska was considered one of the top collegiate summer leagues in the country. It attracted players from big-name programs across the country.

There I was, a small-college assistant, managing guys from some big time schools—all much better players that I had been and much cooler looking physically than me. Looking back, it wasn’t one of my better coaching jobs. I didn’t handle it all that well. But that’s not the point of this post.

The general manager of that team—and also our pitching coach—was a guy named Chris Beck, who is now the athletic director at The Master’s College in California. One day, we were talking about managing egos, especially with big-time players. I’m pretty sure it was Chris who told me a story that stuck with me.

He said that when he was in pro ball—or maybe it was another summer league—there was a hitting coach who refused to coach players until they asked for help. His theory was simple: you can't coach someone until they let you.

When a hotshot rolled into the cage, this coach wouldn’t engage directly. Instead, he’d watch a few swings, then turn to the coach next to him and say just loud enough for the hitter to hear, “That’s our All-American?”—with a tone that mixed sarcasm and doubt. Then he’d sit back. His goal wasn’t to belittle (or at least for the sake of this illustration we’ll say that). It was to provoke curiosity, to open the door for a conversation when the player was ready to ask for help.

That story came back to me recently while reading The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins. The premise is simple, but powerful: If people are going to do something you disagree with—let them.

Mel Robbins shares a story about her son getting ready for prom. He and his friends wanted to eat at a trendy restaurant before the dance. As a parent, she saw all the red flags—no reservation, bad weather, overcrowded spot. She tried to talk him out of it, but it only caused tension.

That’s when her daughter said, I assume somewhat exasperatedly, “Just let them, Mom.”

So she did.

And sure enough, the night was chaotic—but her son came home smiling. The mess became a memory. And, he figured it out. That moment sparked her Let Them Theory—a mindset built on stepping back, letting others own their choices, and trusting them to learn.

And that got me thinking somehow about Chris’s story and coaching.

Because let them in sports isn’t as easy. We have teams to run, standards to uphold, championships to try to win. But still—there’s a truth to it. You can’t coach someone until they let you. You can’t force buy-in. You can’t manufacture it.

So then the question becomes:

• How do you cultivate an environment where players want to be coached?

• How do you earn the right to speak into their lives?

• And when they don’t listen, when they resist—how do you let them learn the hard way without sabotaging the team culture?

These aren’t easy questions. Especially with high-achieving athletes who have been praised and validated for a long time. Sometimes, the best (and maybe only) teacher is failure.

But as a coach, how do you walk that line between letting them learn and holding them accountable? How do you create a culture where let them doesn’t mean abandon them?

I don’t have a clean answer to this. But it’s something I’ve been chewing on. And I’d love to hear from you.

Have you seen this play out on your team? How do you build the bridge between authority and trust, between standards and freedom?

Drop your thoughts in the comments or send me a note—I’d love to keep exploring this with you.

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Things That Are Making Us Think

“Establish Trust in the Quiet Moments” — David Shapiro

“Be Demanding, Not Demeaning” — Rob Miller

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