The Entitlement We Don't Talk About in Youth Sports

I've spent enough time around youth sports to know that one of the most common complaints people have been that kids today are entitled.

"They don't work hard."

"They expect everything to be handed to them."

"They quit when things get uncomfortable."

Maybe there's some truth to that in certain situations. But after serving as the president of a youth football and cheer organization, I've come to a different conclusion.

The entitlement that concerns me most isn't coming from the kids.

It's coming from us, the adults.

That wasn't an easy realization to come to, and it certainly isn't a comfortable one to write about. But if we're serious about creating better environments for our children, we have to be willing to have uncomfortable conversations.

When I first became involved in youth sports, I was just another parent. Like everyone else, I saw practice, game day, and maybe a few board meetings. I had opinions about how things should be done, and I assumed I understood what went into running an organization.

Then I stepped into a leadership role.

My perspective changed overnight.

I quickly learned that the two hours families see each week are only a tiny fraction of what it takes to keep a program running.

There are budgets to balance.

Fields to secure.

Equipment to inspect.

Insurance requirements to meet.

Volunteers to recruit.

Coaches to support.

Conflicts to resolve.

Emails that never seem to stop.

Decisions that affect hundreds of kids, not just one.

None of those things make headlines. Nobody applauds the board member who spends their lunch break negotiating field permits or the coach who stays up late planning practice after working a full-time job. Those efforts happen quietly, behind the scenes, because people genuinely care about the kids.

And yet I've watched months of volunteer work be overshadowed by a single rumor, one unpopular decision, or a social media post that only tells half the story.

That's difficult to watch.

One thing I've noticed over the years is how easily registration fees can change expectations. Somewhere along the way, youth sports started to feel more like a business transaction than a community effort.

Parents pay a registration fee, and without realizing it, some begin to believe they've purchased guarantees.

Guaranteed playing time.

Guaranteed positions.

Guaranteed coaching decisions they agree with.

Guaranteed outcomes.

But that's not what youth sports are supposed to be.

Registration pays for equipment, officials, insurance, fields, uniforms, utilities, and countless other expenses. It creates an opportunity for a child to participate.

It does not guarantee results.

Those results still have to be earned, by the players, the coaches, and the organization as a whole.

What concerns me even more is how quickly disagreements can become personal.

I've seen conversations move from respectful questions to public accusations almost overnight.

Screenshots get shared.

Rumors spread.

People choose sides before they know the facts.

Social media becomes the courtroom, and volunteers become the defendants.

I've never understood that.

Every organization should be open to feedback. Every leader should be accountable. Transparency matters, and no board gets every decision right. Ours certainly doesn't.

But there's a difference between holding leaders accountable and assuming the worst about people who are donating hundreds of hours because they care.

One of the questions I ask myself whenever I feel frustrated is this:

Am I helping solve the problem, or am I simply adding to it?

It's a question I think all of us could benefit from asking.

Leadership has humbled me.

I've made decisions that some families appreciated and others disagreed with. I've had to make choices knowing there wasn't an option that would make everyone happy.

That's the reality of leadership.

You aren't responsible for one child anymore.

You're responsible for every child.

Sometimes what's best for the organization isn't what's best for one family, and that's one of the hardest truths to accept.

The biggest lesson this experience has taught me isn't about football or cheer.

It's about example.

Our kids are always watching us.

They're watching how we talk about coaches.

They're listening when we criticize volunteers in the car ride home.

They're paying attention to how we handle disappointment, conflict, and adversity.

Long after they forget the final score, they'll remember how the adults behaved.

If we want our children to become respectful teammates, resilient competitors, and strong leaders, then we have to model those qualities ourselves.

Imagine what our organizations could become if every parent asked a different question.

Instead of, "Why didn't my child get...?"

What if we asked, "How can I help?"

Instead of assuming bad intentions, what if we assumed that volunteers were doing their best with the information they had?

Instead of fueling division, what if we chose to strengthen our community?

Youth sports don't survive because of perfect leaders.

They survive because ordinary people volunteer extraordinary amounts of time.

Those people aren't perfect.

Neither am I.

But every volunteer deserves the chance to serve without becoming the target of gossip, personal attacks, or entitlement disguised as advocacy.

At the end of the day, this has never been about football.

It has never been about cheer.

It's about giving kids a place to learn discipline, teamwork, resilience, and character.

The question is whether we're teaching those lessons only to our children, or whether we're willing to learn them ourselves.

Because I believe the future of youth sports won't be determined by the talent on the field.

It will be determined by the example the adults set on the sidelines.