Sports are contaminated with an ego problem. We all can blatantly see it. At the professional level, athletes chase personal glory so intensely that some turn to steroids just to stay on top. They get into physical altercations the second someone ‘challenges’ their strength. That same mindset trickles down into school athletics, where teamwork should matter most. Even at North Harford, players are more focused on individual recognition than collective success, and it shows on the field. When ego becomes the priority, the game itself suffers — and so does the community built around it.
Let’s start with the oldest lesson in the book: Pass. The. Ball. It’s been said so many times that it’s practically background noise, and maybe that’s the problem—no one is actually hearing it anymore. Basketball is a team sport, yet the way we’re playing, you’d think it was a solo competition.
I noticed that in games at North Harford, the second the coach subs someone in, the on court player starts flipping out. Like they can’t believe the audacity. But keep in mind the JV team has 14 people on it, Varsity 12, all of which are talented and capable of playing. Some kids attend every practice and games, putting in hours of work just for them to get no court time. Don’t they deserve a chance too? And yet, the loudest complaints always seem to come from the players who already get the most time. The ones who are treated like “stars.” The ones whose egos are so inflated that any hint of accountability feels like an insult.
Meanwhile, the players who rarely get minutes—the ones who arguably have more reason to be upset—are the ones who stay quiet, supportive, and ready. Not only does it give someone else a chance to play, it gives players a break. It’s not always about how good or bad you are (although the people who lose the ball every time they get their hands on it are complaining too.) Subbing isn’t punishment. It’s strategy. It’s rest. It’s fair. It’s how a team functions.
If you want a reminder of what real teamwork looks like, look back to North Harford’s varsity team in 1962. They had six players. Six. You need five on the court at all times, which meant they played entire games exhausted, with barely any subs. No one expected them to go far, but they went all the way. They won the championship. Not because they were the most rested. They didn’t win because they had the deepest bench. They won because they had something far more powerful: but because they had the passion and a bond. They would even put students in jerseys and let them ride the bench so it looked like North Harford had a bigger team. But what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in unity. They had confidence, a tight-knit bond, and no egos to get in the way.
Our teams today are not working together. That’s the core issue. Instead of playing as a unit, too many players are focused on themselves—on their minutes, their stats, their spotlight. At times, it feels like the goal isn’t even to win; it’s simply to stay on the court as long as possible. That’s not confidence; that’s ego.
