It's Not About the X’s and O’s … Until It Is

Let’s be honest—we love the strategy.

The X’s and O’s. The diagrams on whiteboards smudged with fingerprints and dry erase residue. The half-sketched napkin plans drawn at red lights and on bar stools. The chess match between coaches, the little mind games, the build-up to a single play you hope catches the other sideline off guard.

There’s nothing quite like it.

And if you’re like me, you live for it. You obsess over motion offenses, tweak rides in your sleep, and dream about how to crack a packed-in zone with two minutes left and everything on the line. The beauty of lacrosse isn’t just in the speed or the hits—it’s in the geometry. It’s in the way five off-ball players can manipulate space so one guy can get his hands free for a shot.

It’s art. It’s war. It’s magic.

But here’s the twist—and every coach who’s been around long enough knows this deep in their bones: most of the time, it still comes down to skill and athleticism.

The team with better sticks, better feet, better hands, better lungs—that’s the team that wins more often than not.

That doesn’t mean the strategy doesn’t matter. It does. Deeply. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean the coaching doesn’t matter. You plan, you drill, you scheme because it gives your team a chance. Because it elevates them. Because it turns chaos into clarity and gives kids a way to believe they can compete.

But it also means that sometimes you walk off the field with a notebook full of ideas and a scoreboard that didn’t care.

And that’s okay.

That’s the nature of the game.

See, the playbook is the part we control. That’s our canvas. That’s where the soul of coaching lives. We build systems not because we think they guarantee wins, but because we know they help players become smarter, faster, more connected. We strategize not to show off how clever we are—but to give our kids an edge when the margins get thin.

And when talent is equal? When you’re staring across the field at a team with just as much juice as yours?

That’s when it all matters.

That’s when your two-man game on the wing frees up a crucial skip pass. When your ride forces a turnover in the corner with thirty seconds left. When the off-ball movement you’ve preached all season finally opens a seam at just the right moment. That’s when your fingerprints are all over the outcome.

But let’s not ignore the obvious: most games aren’t chess matches between equally armed grandmasters. They’re not whiteboard wars. They’re grinders. And in those, the team with better horses tends to win.

And yet—this is why we still coach. Because coaching isn’t about trying to outsmart the game every possession. It’s about building something. Over time. It’s about creating a framework that kids can grow into. It’s about seeing that moment when a player who couldn’t catch a month ago finally cuts hard off-ball, catches clean, and scores—because the offense finally clicked. Because you taught him something. Because all the hours meant something.

We scheme because we care.

Because we believe that while talent often wins the day, preparation builds the future. That the team with better athletes might win today, but if we teach the game right, we’ll be back tomorrow. Stronger. Smarter. More dangerous.

And one day, when your team finally is the more athletic, more skilled squad—that's when all your X’s and O’s become weapons, not just suggestions. That’s when the chess match starts, and you realize you’ve been preparing for this for years.

That’s when coaching truly shines.

So yeah—most days, the other team might just have better athletes. But if we let that truth discourage us from diagramming plays, teaching motion, drilling the ride, or pulling out our clipboard mid-practice to sketch a new look we just thought of—then we’ve already lost.

Because that stuff? That’s the joy.

We coach because there’s nothing quite like being part of it. Because strategy gives us a way to contribute to something bigger than ourselves. Because even when it doesn’t decide the outcome, it shapes the experience.

And when it does make the difference?

Man, there’s no better feeling.

So here’s to the coaches who still draw plays on napkins. Who stay up too late watching film. Who keep installing, tweaking, planning—knowing full well that some days, none of it will matter. But other days? It’ll mean everything.

Keep drawing. Keep dreaming. The chessboard’s always there. You just have to wait for the right day to flip it over and take the king.