We're Running Our Kids Into The Ground

I started playing basketball in fifth grade because it looked fun — not to “make it,” just for fun. Read that again. But soon after, unsolicited advice rolled in. Coaches, parents, and other players told my parents and me that I had started too late. The skills gap was too big. I would never catch up.

It seems people forget that fun is literally part of fundamentals.

I thought about that moment when I signed my full-ride scholarship to a Division II school in Philadelphia. And again when our team ranked eighth in the country. But today, for so many young athletes, fun has been stripped away — replaced by relentless pressure, nonstop training and the expectation that if you’re not the best, you’re falling behind.

We are running our kids into the ground.

Kids should try different sports. I started with soccer, ballet, field hockey and volleyball before focusing on basketball. My above-average height helped me choose my path. But now, I hear people saying kids need to “decide” what they want to focus on as early as elementary school. What? No one needs to commit so soon. Maybe they don’t want to play at all. Are we even asking kids before signing them up? Or are we dictating their schedules to fit some societal pressure? If your kid is crying before, during or after games, ask them what they want — not what you want.

If the goal is to be the best, you’ll face constant disappointment. There’s always someone bigger, stronger or more naturally gifted. And chances are, you’re a big fish in a small pond. Sure, history shows there are exceptions, but they’re rare. If your goal is to try your best, though, the world opens up for you.

Look at Jason Kelce. He didn’t get a full ride. He was a walk-on linebacker for the University of Cincinnati football team. He kept working. He didn’t quit. He won Super Bowl LII as a Philadelphia Eagle, was a seven-time Pro Bowl selection and a six-time first-team All-Pro selection. Kelce is often regarded as one of the greatest centers in NFL history. He kept pushing to be his best.

As he said in his legendary Super Bowl 2018 parade speech:
“We were a bunch of underdogs. And you know what an underdog is? It’s a hungry dog.”

Sports teach incredible life skills — teamwork, discipline, confidence, resilience. And it can be a lot of fun. But at the collegiate level, it’s grueling. We don’t talk about that enough before signing on the dotted line.

Two practices a day (and more depending on the division you commit to), a dedicated block for free throws, then strength and endurance training. No partying unless you wanted to pay for it on the baseline the next morning. It never stopped. While my friends spent spring break in Florida or the Bahamas, I was in Iowa at the national tournament.

Junior year was the hardest. I thought about quitting.

But quitting wouldn’t have just meant walking away from the sport. It would have meant losing my scholarship and possibly even my education. Would I have wanted to stay at this college if I wasn’t playing basketball? Would I have had to drop out, take on massive debt to stay or get a job while pursuing my degree?

These are the stakes that don’t get talked about enough. For many athletes, the choice isn’t just about passion or burnout. It’s about survival.

And I’m not alone.

One-third of college athletes walk away from their sport, often due to burnout. Around 15% of scholarship athletes voluntarily give up their scholarships, despite the years of work it took to get there. The system designed to build resilience is breaking kids instead.

And I can’t help but think it’s because of the grueling years spent with no time off, no real breaks, and constant pressure to perform. When every season bleeds into the next, when every summer is lost to organized gym or field time, when there’s no chance to just be a kid, eventually, something gives.

Securing a full-ride athletic scholarship is exceptionally rare. According to the NCAA, only about 2% of high school athletes are awarded any form of athletic scholarship to compete in college. So for those few, their first paying job isn’t an internship — it’s an athletic scholarship. No student debt, free room and board, top-tier gear. The trade-off? No real breaks. No summers because that’s for travel leagues. For Div II, I had four weeks off a year, and even then, I kept training, afraid of losing momentum.

Ever been to a youth practice? Parents are unbearable. Kids look stressed. Instead of demanding to know why your kid was benched in the third quarter, ask the coach if they enjoy playing. Coaches often know more about a child’s mental well-being than parents do.

At my son’s recent basketball practice with first graders, he ran up to tell me he was disappointed about missing a basket. I asked if he was having fun. His face lit up—“You bet!” A parent next to me looked shocked at my response. My guess? They either never played or spent their childhood being screamed at for every missed shot.

And that’s just sports. Add in AP classes, hormones, social media pressure, bullying and the expectation to do it all, and it’s no wonder kids are drowning. And guess what? None of it really matters.

When I graduated from a non-Ivy League school, my first job was at a law firm in New York City. They cared about my GPA, but also about how I managed four years of sports and a range of other activities. Employers want hustlers. They want to know they’re hiring someone with grit.

When I transitioned from law to big tech, I was surrounded by MIT and Stanford grads. But I held my own because collaboration, communication, confidence, and playing to win mattered more than a fancy degree. Nothing was handed to me—I knew I had to earn it. Sports taught me that.

Want to be better? Be curious.
Want to try something new? Learn how it works.

I was always ready to put in the work. That’s what I got from basketball.

And now, as someone living in the suburbs, I find it fascinating that the loudest advocates for year-round sports are often out of shape themselves. I can’t help but wonder if they are all former athletes who never played in college and are now projecting? Or former college athletes whose bodies are too wrecked to stay active? Is that where this all leads?

Because let me tell you — there is a cost. I’m convinced I’ll need full knee replacements in my 50s. This winter, I had to go to physical therapy because my ankle keeps randomly rolling on flat surfaces because I broke it playing ball in high school. My joints ache and crack all the time. Years of yearly shin splints have led to chronic discomfort in my legs. I know, complaining about health in your 40s—classic. But this is the price of pounding the gym floor for years, and I wasn’t even competing at the highest level. And keep in mind that’s from starting in the fifth grade. If I had dedicated another five years, I would be in worse shape. I can’t imagine what Division I athletes feel like post-college.

Would I do it all over again? Yes, because the lessons, discipline, and resilience shaped me. But would I require this from my kids? Absolutely not — because the pressure, exhaustion, and physical toll come at a cost. They should know all this before committing to that level. And I am not discussing it with them at their age because it’s not about that right now.

And just as my parents supported me, they always made it clear — playing ball in college was my decision to make. Some of my fondest memories are of my dad and me shooting hoops for hours in the driveway. We scrimmaged. He taught me the hook shot. But was he there with a whistle and a drill-sergeant mentality? No. We were having fun and learning. Thankfully, I didn’t grow up in a high-pressure sports household. And if I had, I probably would’ve rebelled against it.

I credit my professional career to sports. I credit the person I am to the coaches who pushed me. But the one thing that truly made a difference?

Having fun.

If kids lose that, we all lose. But more than anyone, they do.

If we keep pushing them into exhaustion, if we keep making sports a job before they even hit middle school, if we keep confusing our ambitions for their dreams — what are we really teaching them?
That burnout is the price of success? That joy doesn’t matter?

Because here’s the truth: Most of them won’t go pro. Most won’t even play in college. And that’s totally okay. The goal isn’t to raise the next superstar. The goal is to raise kids who are strong, confident, and love what they do.

If we take the fun out of sports, we take away the reason we fell in love with the game.

What a loss.