Blood, Turf, and Legacy: A Middle-Aged Coach’s Look at the 2025 Lacrosse Final Four

Let’s be honest. If you’re a lacrosse coach who’s logged a couple decades on the sideline, Memorial Day Weekend doesn’t sneak up on you—it calls to you. It’s church. The Final Four is where the chalkboards meet the battlefield. It's not just about who's faster, who's flashier, or who has the fanciest gear. It’s about which program can withstand the storm, and which coach built something that actually lasts.

This weekend, four teams step into that crucible: #2 Maryland vs. #6 Syracuse and #1 Cornell vs. #5 Penn State, battling it out on May 24 with the title game looming on May 26. And for guys like us—middle-aged, knees a little creaky, but still wired to the rhythms of spring practice and postgame huddles—this Final Four hits deeper.

It’s not just a tournament. It’s a reminder of where we’ve been, who we’ve met, and why we started coaching in the first place.

Maryland: The Machine, The Man, and a Memory

Let’s start with Maryland. Year after year, they show up. Doesn’t matter if they’re ranked #1 or sneaking in through the backdoor—they’re always dangerous. That’s not an accident. That’s culture.

And a huge part of that culture? John Tillman.

Now, I’ve got a personal history with Tillman. Back in 1995, when he was coaching at Ithaca College, fresh off his playing days at Cornell and right before he took a gig at Navy, I met him.

I was a nobody. The last guy on the bench. The type of kid who gets in when the starters are already stripped of their gear and joking with the trainer.

And yet… Tillman sought me out. He looked me in the eye, asked how I was doing, and made me feel like I mattered. That’s the kind of coach he was—and still is. The wins, the titles, the Final Fours—they're not a surprise to anyone who crossed paths with him back then.

He wasn’t chasing clout. He was building people. And you better believe that when his Terps take the field this weekend, they’ll carry that same sense of purpose. It's a machine with a soul.

Syracuse: Flash, Glory… and Unexpected Grace

Then there’s Syracuse. The name alone carries weight. The Orange. The Dome. The run-and-gun. The legends. The leap over the goal against Penn.

Yeah, that leap.

Back in the early '90s, when I was in high school, the Gait brothers were gods. And Gary Gait, fresh off that historic Syracuse career, was bigger than life. Before YouTube, we didn’t watch his highlights—we imagined them.

I remember hearing about his legendary leap and picturing something absurd: him soaring over the back of the goal in full flight, doing a somersault, pointing to the crowd mid-air, and landing like a gymnast sticking a gold-medal dismount.

When I finally saw the actual footage, it wasn’t quite the comic book panel I had in my head.

But the man himself? He exceeded the myth.

Gary signed my gloves. Asked me how my day was. Tapped me on the head and sent me on my way. That moment stuck. Because for all the flash and highlight reels, Syracuse had class. Always did.

Every player I met over the years from that program—whether I was a benchwarmer, a coach, or just a face on the sideline—greeted me with a handshake and a smile. There was glory, sure, but there was humility too.

That’s why, no matter where my coaching path led me, Syracuse always had a special place in my heart. And seeing them back in the Final Four this year, under Gait’s leadership, feels like a full-circle moment.

They’ve returned—not just as a team, but as a symbol. The Orange aren’t chasing the past. They’re rewriting their present.

Cornell: Ivy League With a Jawbreaker Mentality

Cornell doesn’t do pomp. They do punishment.

They’re the #1 seed this year, and it’s well earned. The Big Red have built their name on fundamentals, toughness, and work ethic. You coach long enough, and you develop a deep appreciation for teams like this. They're not sexy, but they're scary.

From Eamon McEneaney to Rob Pannell, Cornell's history is rich, but it never felt arrogant. Just precise. Ground balls like religion. Offensive patience that borders on cruel. Defensive footwork so crisp it makes your clipboard weep.

And in Coach Connor Buczek, they’ve got a young leader who’s carrying the tradition forward without trying to reinvent the wheel. He’s taken the grit he had as a player and infused it into every aspect of the program.

Cornell’s not looking to impress. They’re looking to win. And they’ve been knocking on the door. In 2022, they made it to the title game. Now they’re back, and they look ready to finish the job.

Penn State: The New Era’s Blue-Collar Blueprint

Penn State isn’t a Final Four fixture—yet. But they’re making damn sure you remember them.

Their 2019 run put them on the map. This 2025 squad cements their place. They’re not a program fueled by decades of championship banners. They’re fueled by hunger.

Coach Jeff Tambroni has done something remarkable—he’s taken a program that could’ve stayed mediocre and turned it into a threat. Every year.

They don’t have the deep Final Four lineage of Maryland, Syracuse, or Cornell. But sometimes, that’s the point. They’re not haunted by ghosts. They’re building something fresh, and that makes them dangerous.

For us coaches, especially the ones grinding it out in lesser-known programs, Penn State is a blueprint. Culture doesn’t need a 50-year head start. It needs belief.

And belief is what this team oozes.

Coaching Clinic Hidden in Plain Sight

This weekend isn’t just for fans. It’s a clinic. A coaching clinic disguised as a championship.

Here’s what to keep your eyes on:

• Maryland's Ride: It’s not just effective—it’s demoralizing. It’s how you teach kids to play with fire while sticking to the plan.

• Syracuse's Transition Game: Still full of swagger, but now with more structure. Gait’s fingerprints are all over it.

• Cornell's Ground Ball Philosophy: They don’t just teach it—they demand it. Every possession is earned.

• Penn State's Composure: In a sea of giants, they never blink. Their substitution patterns and sideline communication are masterclass material.

Final Thoughts: Why This Weekend Still Matters

For the middle-aged coach—the one with tape on their knees and coffee stains on their dry-erase board—this weekend is proof that the game still honors those who respect it.

You don’t need a viral moment or a big NIL deal to matter. You need culture. Connection. A philosophy that holds even when the scoreboard doesn’t.

So when you watch these games, think back. Think about your own players. The last guy on your bench who needs to feel seen. The high school kid staring wide-eyed at a lacrosse god. The coach who shaped your view of the game with a small act of kindness.

Because that’s what makes lacrosse more than a sport. It’s a lineage. And this weekend, that legacy lives on.

Let’s raise a coffee—or something stronger—and enjoy the show.