You grew up in a football family — your dad coached at Conway, the gym there is named after him, your brother was a defensive coordinator. Was it ever really a question for you that this is what you were going to do?

It was a foregone conclusion. Having my brother and my dad both involved in it the way they were — I was just going to be a football coach. The only question was how it was going to unfold.

I got a degree in health and PE and wasn’t totally sure what came next. My brother said, just come down here to UAM, GA for a year, work on your master’s, see if you like it. So I did. After a year, the head coach hired me as an assistant. I was single, so I was the dorm guy. You can only imagine how all that goes at a small Division II school out in the country — there wasn’t a lot to do, and the guys in the dorm made up some interesting things to keep themselves busy. It kept me pretty busy to say the least.

Bobby and I both moved to High School Football when the head coach Tommy Barnes retired after being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1997. He retired, and at the college level, when that happens, you better find a job. My brother left and took an assistant job at Ashdown. I landed at Greenwood under Ronnie Peacock as the defensive coordinator. We won the state championship there in 2000 — the first one Greenwood ever won. Coach Peacock took the Rogers job and brought me with him. I really learned a lot as an assistant for about nine years under Coach Peacock, and when the right head job came open, my wife and I jumped on the opportunity.

Mayflower was your first head job — a 3A school. What was that experience like?

We loved the town, the school and the administration. The community was a really neat place to live. We lived right by the school, and it was small enough that I had to take care of mowing the fields. My wife would walk around the track with our young kids while I mowed and painted the field. Those were the good old days.

We went 16-7 in two years and made it to the playoffs for the first time in a while. My forte, is building programs — fixing them and moving on to the next one. We really enjoy bringing a program out of a tough spot. But it’s not a fast process, and it gets harder in a microwave society where everybody wants everything right away. When you want to build a program the right way, you have to find an administration that’s going to give you the time to do it. That’s one of my criteria going into any job. If I feel like they’re in a hurry or want a rush job, I’m not the guy.

Talk about your first run at North Little Rock — what were the keys to building that program?

When we came in, some of the staff had applied for the head job themselves. This was only my second head coaching job and I’d been doing it for two years. I hadn’t earned anybody’s respect yet. So all I knew was to go to work, hit the ground running.

Every day when I’m driving into coach, I’m thinking to myself I’m going to out work all my opponents today. There are going to be people who know more about football — some brilliant people out there — but nobody is going to outwork me. That’s always been where I hang my hat. I’m going to do the jobs nobody else wants to do. A lot of head coaches will walk by something and leave it or simply don’t have time to mess with it. I can’t do that. Sometimes I wish that I could but I’ve got too much pride in how I’m doing my job. Whether it’s a player who needs attention, something that needs to be painted, or a bathroom that needs to be cleaned — I’ll do it. I’m not above any of that.

When your coaches and players see that you’re not scared to work, that you’ll roll up your sleeves, they feed off it. You’re the leader, you set the tone. I’m going to set it by outworking everybody, being the first one here and the last one to leave. Does that happen every single time? No, because I’ve got some coaches now who believe the same way I do. So now it turns into a thing where nobody wants to be the first to leave. That’s a good culture to have.

Your departure from North Little Rock your first time around was very public and difficult. Now that you’re back and looking at it in the rearview — how do you process that chapter?

It’s been a whirlwind. My wife and I have just been blown away by everything that’s happened.

One thing we never did after we left was bad-mouth anyone. We just didn’t. My kids stayed in school here. We still lived in North Little Rock. We weren’t going to pull them. So we stayed ingrained in this community even through the eight years we were at Parkview. We still had friends here, we didn’t burn any bridges, and I think that’s part of the reason we were able to come back.

There are a lot of things I could have done differently. And they could have done things differently too. But that’s the way the good Lord wanted it to be, and there were a lot of lessons learned on both sides. They thought well enough of me to bring me back — I’m grateful for that.

What we went through personally during that stretch was really, really hard. Every place we go, we put our heart and soul into it, and we felt like North Little Rock was a place we could be for a long time. So we went above and beyond. Bottom line is a lot of things happened…long story short it eventually cost me my job, my marriage, and put us into bankruptcy. But I was blessed to be able to marry the same woman again and without a doubt, that was the biggest factor to all of our success moving forward.

I think if you handle things the right way, good things can happen. It may not always look like it did for me. But good things are going to come if you try to handle yourself right, if you step back and think before you say things, type things or post things you’ll keep a lot of problems away. A lot of that comes with being older, growing up, and having experience.

We’re so happy to be back, and people are excited for us to be back. We just want to do it where it lasst long after we’re gone.

You got back into coaching at Parkview, and eventually won three state championships there, including a 14-0 season where you snapped Bryant’s 55-game winning streak on their home field. Talk about your time there.

When I took over in 2017, the program hadn’t had a winning season since 2009. Hadn’t won a state title since 1978. There was a big hill to climb.

I was in the roofing business when they called and offered me the job. That was a tough two years. I’ve been in coaching my whole life — that stretch was just an odd time in my life. But once we got going at Parkview, it clicked. We went 33-0 before we got beat. We went 14-0 and beat Bryant over at their place. They had a 55-game winning streak. They’d won five state championships in a row in 7A and we were 5A. To go over there and do that, and then win the state championship, was monumental.

We built it from the ground up. We had great players, coaches and our culture was electric. Players and coaches loved being there. Consistent winning is a byproduct of great culture.

Most coaches wouldn’t consider going back to a place that let them go. How did this opportunity come about, and when did you know it was the right move?

We started talking right after we won our 3rd state championship at Parkview. There were some people from North Little Rock — Johnny Rice and Daryl Fimple, both coaches or previous coaches at NLR. Johnny came by my Parkview office and we had a long conversation about the job, FCA, life. That conversation along with several others in the community got the wheels really rolling. You have to give a lot of credit to our AD Wes Bilon. He really worked hard to make this happen. Our Superintendent Gregory Pilewski and our School Board.

Athletic Director Wes Bilon and his wife came to our house to meet with my wife and I. My wife had some reservations, which — if you think about everything we went through — makes complete sense. Not only was I fired, it was on a livestream until 2:30 in the morning. They had to open up an auditorium at a different school so people could go watch. I say all that to say — my kids were at the age where other kids say things to them. That was a tough hurdle.

But the people calling me back were all new. New board, new administrators. When I got the job, the headline was just: Welcome Home. That meant a lot.

And honestly, the stars lined up. My son was going into ninth grade at North Little Rock. They told me I wouldn’t have to teach. The pay was better. We did our research on the program — We knew what talent was coming up, and they had some real players, national-level guys. The biggest thing was we had unfinished business. Five of the last six years we were here we made the semifinals and lost a close game. We never got to the finals. So the mindset going back in was: We have things we didn’t get to FINISH.

That’s actually our team theme this year. FINISH. Finish your reps, finish your drills, finish ball games. Last year we were in three games we should have won and didn’t — we didn’t know how to finish yet. We didn’t know how to win. We have made huge gains and there are many more to make.

Your brother was part of your staff at Parkview. What did working with him teach you?

My brother’s won several state championships himself. He’s actually the head coach at Parkview now. We’ve always shared information, but working together those three years, I picked up some things I hadn’t had before.

A lot of it was the mental part — how to motivate a kid without tearing him down. He was a mastermind at it, real crafty with it. I picked up on those things.

The other big one was saving the legs. The philosophy is that you want your guys at 110 percent for the whole game, and you manage their load accordingly. We run a lot of the same systems. But those two things — the mental piece and the leg-saving approach — have made me a better coach, and I think they’re going to make this rebuild at North Little Rock smoother than the first time around.

You’re in 7A Central — one of the toughest conferences in the state. How does that shape the way you build and prepare?

In the summer, we go to as many team camps as we’re allowed — seven or eight. And we’re not just taking the varsity. We’ve got a JV unit, a freshman unit, and we’re sending guys all over the place. We had 70 kids at Conway High Team Camp today. Tomorrow it’s ninth graders at another camp. Then back to Conway for a team camp. We try and put our JV team in as many team camp as our varsity. You have to create depth in 7A.

Developing players is really, really important in 7A. You’ve got to have depth. I’m not opposed to playing guys both ways — when we beat Bryant that first game of the year, We had six guys going both ways. They had nobody doing that. It can be done. You just have to be strategic about managing their breaks and their series.

We’re also starting 4th, 5th, and 6th grade football through the school — something we haven’t had before. That’s going to be big for us. And we’re building a $21 million indoor facility, which I think gives us another boost. In central Arkansas, kids will move around on you in a heartbeat. You better have good facilities and you better take care of them. Our kids don’t buy anything — two or three pairs of cleats, two or three sets of gloves, anything you can wear that’s legal in a game we issue it. The only thing we don’t issue is guts. We will also spend up to $15,000 in protein and creatine a year. We also are able to feed our players year round which is big.

We’ve also just started a counseling program that’s closer to what you’d see at the college level. Our counselors meet with each player — on the mental health side, but also to build an individual profile for every kid so my coaches know the best way to teach him. Sometimes it takes a full year to figure out how to coach a kid. If you can cut that out and get right to what motivates him, you’re saving a lot of wasted time. I’m really excited about it. Early results are fascinating.

What do you think people outside Arkansas don’t appreciate about the football there?

We don’t have Allen, Texas. We don’t have those massive programs in massive states. Places like Atlanta. But I’m going to tell you something — we have some of the best football coaches in this country right here in Arkansas. They have to be good, because we don’t have the resources or the population that a lot of these other places have. So our coaches develop players individually in ways that other places don’t have to and they do a phenomenal job.

And think about the roots here. Bear Bryant was raised in Fordyce, Arkansas and the legend Frank Broyles had a great run at Arkansas. It’s a football state. We produce great players and great coaches, and I think the level of competition at the top of our game is as good as it gets anywhere.

When your players are ten, twenty, thirty years removed from playing for you — what do you hope they say?

We’ve actually started hearing that, since coming back. A lot of my old players have come around, and we want them around our current players. They understand how we think, what the expectations and standards are. Some of them, their sons are getting close to playing age — so we might be coming full circle on a few.

What they’ve said to me is: I’m a different person because I was in your program. That’s a bigger compliment than winning a state championship. In five years, most people don’t even know who won 7A. You’d have to look it up.

But the opportunity we have as coaches to change these kids — a lot of times you don’t even know the fruits of your labor. Some of these kids move to California or New York and you never see them again. But then you run into somebody and they start telling stories, and they’re always telling stories. You think it was the smallest thing, but they thought it was a big deal. When they tell you they’re raising their own kids a certain way because of what they learned in your program — that’s what it’s all about. That’s a lasting impact that you have an opportunity to be APART of changing kids and their families for generations. That’s what drives me.

Take me back to the beginning — where you grew up, your family’s connection to football, and how all of that led to you becoming a coach.

I grew up in LeClaire, Iowa. My dad was the head coach at Pleasant Valley High School — he’s in the Iowa High School Hall of Fame and won the only state title in Pleasant Valley history. He was there for 30 years. He played at Mendel Catholic High School and won the 1968 City Championship as a junior in front of 67,000 fans at Soldier Field. He then played at the University of Iowa, was a GA at Syracuse, and then settled here in the Quad Cities after student teaching. He met my Mom and never went back to Chicago.

I played for my dad at Pleasant Valley. Then I went to Upper Iowa University, which is a small Division II school in northeast Iowa. From there I was a GA at St. Cloud State, then a GA at Rockford College. My first job was at Thornwood High School in South Holland, on the south suburbs of Chicago — I was their quarterbacks coach and a PE teacher. The summer after my first year there, I was hired as the head football coach at Thornridge High School, which was in the same district over in Dalton, Illinois.

It was as chaotic a first head coaching job as you could imagine. About halfway through the season, our kids were told the school was going to be shut down and turned into a freshman center. That added this layer of — not pressure, exactly, but this feeling that this was it for Thornridge football. And our guys were great. We made the playoffs. We won a triple-overtime game against Thornton Township in Week 9 just to get in, then lost in the first round. After that, with my wife pregnant with our second kid, we wanted to get closer to family, so we went back to Iowa. I was at Cedar Rapids Prairie for four years. Then, because my wife is from Arizona, we ended up at Desert Mountain High School in North Scottsdale. I was the head coach there. And then the opportunity came to come back here to Moline. Close to family, a great place to raise kids, and I took it.

Did you always know you wanted to coach?

I did. Growing up in our house, football was at the forefront of pretty much everything, year-round. I grew up going to football camps from the time I was little. But the thing that really stuck with me from a young age was the relationships I watched my dad build. Former players would literally come back in the summer and visit our house — just to see him, to share where their lives were going, to talk about their successes since leaving Pleasant Valley. At the time I just thought, this is incredible, these guys I watched on Friday nights are coming back to see my dad. Then as you get older, you realize that’s what building a program the right way looks like. Those players had been challenged mentally and physically. They’d been pushed. But the goal my dad always had was to make the best young men he could. And those relationships outlasted every win. Even now, when I run into his former players, all they want to talk about is him. How’s your dad? How’s your dad? There’s nothing better than that.

When you took the Moline job in 2017, what did you inherit? What did you know needed to change?

Moline has a good tradition — there’s a real history of competing for conference championships. But I had a vision for what I wanted it to be. We had some really good coaches on the staff who bought in right away.

My initial plan was to run the offense we’d run in Arizona, which was pass-heavy. Our offensive coordinator at Desert Mountain was Kurt Warner. So this wasn’t some ordinary passing system — this was a brilliant football mind, someone who sees the game at an exceptional level. We thought, this could still be unique here in the Quad Cities. We go through the summer, we look great in passing leagues, and then we start the season 0-and-2. A lot of dropped passes. Struggles with the fundamentals, blocking and tackling. So we scrapped everything offensively. Stayed shotgun-based but became a power-counter, sweep, ISO team — a lot of unbalanced sets. And we won seven straight. Lost in the first round of the playoffs to Mount Carmel, who came down and got after us. But we’d found something.

After the season I sat back and asked myself: what do we have here year-to-year at Moline that we can actually hang our hat on? And the answer was tough, physical offensive linemen — not always big, but guys who could move. Wing-T guards and tackles. A good stable of running backs. Quarterbacks who were talented but maybe weren’t going to carry a spread system on their backs. So I reached out to Butch Goncharoff, connected through a mutual friend, and that pretty much changed everything about how we do things.

My dad had been a Wing-T coach, so a lot of Butch’s offensive principles were already familiar to me — I was a Wing-T quarterback for my dad growing up. We took a ton of what Butch does philosophically and schematically and tied it into the same terminology my dad used at Pleasant Valley. We spent the summer installing it, and our own defense was dominating us in practice. Our coaches started second-guessing things. Then the first time we ran it against somebody else, it just clicked. Big play after big play. Guys getting off the ball and moving people, building confidence. We went 9-and-2 that year and lost in the second round to Batavia. That was the moment — we’re like, this is it. This gives our kids a chance to compete against suburban schools with different demographics and different resources. And our kids believed in it. That’s always the biggest thing.

What specifically did Butch help shape for you — philosophically, schematically, how you practice?

He said something early on that stuck with me and that I haven’t stopped thinking about since. He said: It’s not what you do. It’s how you do it. Teams from all over the country run the Wing-T. Teams run the spread, the triple option, whatever it may be. But how you do it makes it unique.

When we first sat down and started going through film, his attention to detail was just next level. And I think we bonded over that — I love the details too. There’s a rhyme and reason behind everything. Every footstep has a purpose. So once I decided we were going to be a Wing-T program, the question became: how do we make it the absolute best version it can be? How do we make it look a little different from everyone else?

When I started watching Bellevue film, I noticed right away it didn’t look like other Wing-T teams. There was so much attention to specific footwork, to blocking angles, to the proper technique as an offensive lineman or running back. The backs playing without the ball — the fakes, the way it all fits together. It just looks different. And that’s what we set out to replicate.

The scheme itself has a lot of what my dad did at Pleasant Valley, a lot of what other Wing-T teams run. But it’s how you do it and how you teach it. That’s what separates great from good. And that’s what Butch reinforced for me.

You call the offense yourself and coach a position group. How have you thought about the balance between being in the weeds versus delegating to assistants as a head coach?

The only place I didn’t call our offense was at Desert Mountain in Arizona. When you have a resource and a football mind like Kurt Warner, that’s a no-brainer — you hand it over. But as a head coach everywhere else, I’ve always called our offense and coached a position. I like being tied in. And I like coaching a position because of the relationships it lets you build with your players.

But beyond that — I don’t want people to think I’m too big for any task. There’s nothing too small that I can’t do or don’t want to do. Whether that’s dragging bags out to the practice field or setting up the snap count for our Wing-T Skelly work. That philosophy connects directly to what we’re trying to teach our kids: we’re all accountable to each other. Nobody is bigger than the program. No individual is ever going to be bigger than what Moline football means to this community.

Describe the Quad Cities for people who’ve never been — the community, the demographics, the kinds of kids who come through your program.

On the Illinois side you get a lot more diversity, a lot more socioeconomic range. Moline, Rock Island, United Township — you’re going to get kids from every aspect of life, every background. We have a lot of blue-collar kids. Our kids are tough. They’re not selfish. When you watch our team on a Friday night, you’re going to see a very diverse group that, I’d like to think, understands what it means for kids from different backgrounds to come together toward a common cause.

And you see it at practice — you can’t tell which kid is a sophomore or a junior or a senior because they all mesh. Their buy-in isn’t just to the team. It’s to representing our school, our program, our community the right way. Forty thousand people in Moline, another thirty-five-hundred or so in Coal Valley feeding into our school. And we all wear maroon. There’s no thought of going somewhere else. People still take pride in that.

What does a Friday night feel like in Moline?

Still old-school. Still Friday Night Lights. People go out of their way to be there. That’s true for all sports — walk into Wharton Field House in the winter when basketball is going and the place is packed. It’s special to be a part of, and I’m proud my own kids are going to get to experience it now that they’re coming through high school themselves.

You run to Hy-Vee on a Sunday morning after coaches’ meetings to grab something to grill for the family, and people are stopping you in the aisle. Hey Coach. Congrats. The kids were great on Friday. You can’t put a price tag on being part of a community that supports you and genuinely cares about the young people coming through. That’s something I don’t take for granted.

After 2023, one of the worst seasons you’ve had as a coach, you bounced back and won the conference title in 2024. Did you change anything between those two season?

We lost close games in 2023 — I think three games by one score. We gave some of them away at the end. But there was also, and I’ll knock on wood saying this because it was my one and only time dealing with it at Moline — we had some off-field discipline issues. We had to dismiss some kids going into the Rock Island game. A couple were two-year starters already as juniors. Good football players. And honestly, good kids who made a poor judgment call.

So we didn’t have enough to get over the hump in the close games that season. We had a lot of great football players. We just didn’t have enough. And I still have regrets for those seniors on the 2023 team, because they were great kids, a lot of them went on to play college football, they represented us the right way. We just couldn’t finish.

Once the offseason started in January, the kids who’d been dismissed were given their opportunity to come back. And to their credit, they were really good all the way through that next season. Our coaches did a great job getting guys back on track — back to the fundamentals, back to the accountability piece, back to understanding that nobody’s bigger than this program. That mindset readjustment was huge. That following fall, they were outstanding.

How do you think about building your staff? What do you look for in assistant coaches?

Trust. If you’ve got guys you can trust, guys who are all on the same bus going the same direction, everything gets a whole lot easier.

My dad still coaches our offensive line. He’s been on the staff since I came to Moline. We just got a retirement from one of our other O-line coaches — he’d been here for 30 years, retired as a teacher and a coach. Those two were together from the beginning. The continuity on our offensive line has been something we’ve been able to count on.

Beyond that, we’re very fortunate that we have a huge number of coaches in our district — at the high school, the middle schools, the elementary schools. They’ve known these kids since they were little. That’s unique. You get a kid in camp at nine years old, and nine years later he’s playing for you as a senior. They’ve had him in class. They’ve been around him in all kinds of contexts. The relationships start early, and they compound. Our school district takes a lot of pride in bringing coaches into the district — if you’re a good coach, you’re almost certainly a good teacher, and there’s something behind that.

You’re both a teacher at Moline and the head football coach. What’s it like being able to be with the kids outside of football?

I think it’s a huge advantage. I get to see these kids outside of the fall in a completely different light. You’re not in the middle of a practice or a game — you’re just getting to know them. It builds a layer of relationship that you can’t manufacture on a football field.

And it matters when the hard moments come. When you have to get on somebody, or give them real criticism, they understand it’s not personal. They know you believe in them. That’s why you’re challenging them. Without that relationship in place, that message lands differently.

What are some of the hardest things about being a head coach that people on the outside don’t see?

The time. That’s just part of what you sign up for — football is year-round now. Lifting in the offseason, the summer schedule, the fall. If you’re not learning how to do something better in the offseason and spending time in the weight room with these guys, you’re falling behind. And we take pride in training our kids for every sport, not just football. We want them to thrive on the basketball court, the wrestling mat, the baseball field, the track. We want them to maximize every opportunity they have as athletes.

The burnout is real with a lot of coaches I know. You love it, you love it, you love it — and then it starts to wear on you. We’re very fortunate that we don’t have a lot of parent issues. Our expectations are high, but we have really supportive parents who share our vision for what we’re trying to do. That’s not a given. A lot of coaches deal with a lot of stuff off the field — specialization conflicts, tensions with other sports in the building. We don’t deal with much of that and I’m very thankful for it.

I’ve been around football my whole life. I wouldn’t know what to do without it. But I hear it from friends in the profession all the time — the burnout is real.

What’s gotten better about high school football? What’s gotten worse?

Player development keeps getting better every year. The resources these kids have access to now — information, training science, the ability to watch how a Christian McCaffrey treats his sleep or his nutrition at a click of a button — we didn’t have any of that. And most schools now are training athletes, not doing bodybuilder workouts or powerlifting programs. The emphasis on mobility, plyometrics, speed work — the question isn’t “how much can you squat” anymore. It’s “are you moving the bar fast? Will it translate to the field?” The science keeps getting better.

On the other side, these kids are exposed to variables that weren’t around even 12 or 15 years ago. Social media is the obvious one. I think about kids feeling pressure around posting offers, reading things that people post about them, fearing judgment in real time. The addiction piece of the phones is a real problem. Be in the moment. Be present. That’s a constant conversation now.

And I think it connects to something bigger: kids struggle to be challenged mentally. There’s a mental toughness issue around what they perceive they can actually get through versus what they actually can. A huge part of the job now is pushing them beyond where they think they can go. That’s not just physical — it’s mental. What these kids can absorb and grasp is so much further than what they initially believe. Getting them to believe that is a big part of what we do.

When your players are in their thirties, forties, fifties — what do you hope they say about playing for you and playing for Moline?

That they learned a total-effort philosophy they can apply to everything in their life. Not just football. That having a total-effort mindset applies to everything — and that as long as they give everything they have in everything they do, at the end of the day they can look themselves in the mirror and know they’re a winner.

We don’t talk about winning games on Friday nights like it’s the only thing. We talk about being a total-effort player. Buying into that philosophy.

One of our tight ends just finished playing for us this year. He’s going to Augustana College to play football and baseball. They won a big baseball game — the conference championship — and he was interviewed on TV afterward. He said: It’s a total-effort mentality. I can’t put into words how proud I felt at that moment. Because it clicked with him. And when times get hard — in a marriage, as a parent, in a career — he’ll have that. You keep that total-effort mentality and you’re going to be okay. That’s what I hope our kids take from this program. That they had a great experience and that they’re better young men because of it.

How did you get into coaching? Where did that story start?

I wasn’t a great player, so I started with youth football. I was running my printing company at the time — I knew how to print, but I knew nothing about business or taxes. Through that, I got connected with Herb Mead, and he said, “Hey, I’ve got a great opportunity for you. Why don’t you start coaching youth football around here?” My first thought was, a bunch of Bellevue kids? That really wasn’t what I had in mind. I had this perception of affluent kids and figured it wasn’t for me.

But I went to a practice. The first day was a mess, and the second day, the coach who was supposed to be running things had a bit of a “happy hour problem” — he was passed out under a tree at Surrey Downs. The Boys and Girls Club let him go on the spot, and suddenly I was coaching the team.

That’s where it started. And I really enjoyed it. It became relational for me. I wasn’t some brilliant X’s and O’s guy, but I cared about the kids. Good players came through that group — Brandy West, Owen Biddle, Lane Johnson — but eventually they aged out and moved on to Bellevue High School.

Not long after, Dwaine Hatch offered me a job. I didn’t really want it. I was just doing the youth stuff for fun. But I liked him right away — you could just tell he was a good man — so I said I’d think about it. Then Dwaine resigned, and they hired Bill Heglar. Bill asked me to stay on, and I ended up coaching running backs and evolving into calling plays. I liked Bill. He was a good man.

When Bill eventually left for Seattle Prep, I was going to step away entirely. I was working around the clock — getting to practice, coming back to watch film, up at 4 AM, at work by day, back at practice in the afternoon. Something had to give, and what gave was everything in my personal life. But then Chris Hoffman reached out and offered me the job on an interim basis. “If it doesn’t work,” he said, “we can both walk away.” Parents and players were pretty unanimous in wanting me to have it, so I took it.

The first thing I told them was: I want to build a national program at a Washington public high school. Something that hadn’t been done. I said that with complete confidence and absolutely no idea how I was going to do it.

3-a-day practices at Fort Worden for a week every July became legendary to everyone who went through your program. Where did that idea come from, and what did it do for your teams?

Credit has to go to Pat Jones, Dwaine Hatch, Neil Buckmaster — those guys went up there before I did. What I liked about it was simple: limited cell service, no mall, nowhere to go. It was just football.

From a football standpoint, mornings were special teams and situational work — third and three, eight minutes left, what are we doing? Afternoons were defense. Nights were offense, and offense usually lasted until I decided it was time to go home. The whole idea was repetition. Don’t do it until you get it right — do it until you can’t get it wrong.

But the football was really just the vehicle. The deeper thing was putting these kids in a situation that pushed them to the brink — not just physically, but mentally — and then watching them find out they could go further than they thought. Life is going to be hard. There are going to be days that hit you, days you don’t think you can make it, days you feel like you can’t go on. Fort Worden was where they learned to rely on someone else in those moments. All of that was built around football.

And then there was the barbecue at the end. I’d split the team into two groups, split the coaching staff the same way, and I’d referee — and I’d call the worst calls I could find. I’d put [Coach James] Hasty against [Coach Les] Dicks. I’d put the Coombs brothers (Matt and John) against each other. Make it go to overtime. It sounds crazy, but I was watching — who can handle pressure? Who needs to go up to the booth when things get tough? You can learn a lot about a coach and a player when the game’s on the line and the officiating is terrible.

After the scrimmage, we’d do the letters. Blaine Davidson actually introduced that — he got the idea through church, and we evolved it into something that became really central to what we did. Kids write letters to each other. Not just football stuff — real stuff. Parents write to their sons. And then I’d stand up and talk about my own life, my family situation, the hard parts. Because how are these kids supposed to trust me if they don’t know me? Kids know immediately if you’re real or you’re not.

In Bellevue especially, everything looks polished on the outside. Nice cars, nice houses — it all looks amazing. But when you put the real stuff on paper, when you stand up in front of your teammates and say something true, you find out that Billy might be going through some real life stuff too. And that changes everything.

When I left Bellevue, we had a going-away gathering. For two hours, former players got up and talked. Nobody mentioned Long Beach Poly. Nobody mentioned De La Salle. Nobody mentioned winning state. They all talked about the lifelong friendships they made and the lessons they learned. And Fort Worden came up every single time.

That’s when I knew I’d done what I set out to do.

Your record at Bellevue was I think 193 and 14. Almost incomprehensible. How do you explain that level of sustained success?

Honestly, I have to call Pat Jones to remember the exact record. Games aren’t really what I hold onto.

Every year is different. But the through-line was this: when your players have a voice — when they take ownership — you’ve got a chance at something special. I always wanted them to feel like, hey, what do you want to do? How do you want to handle this? When they become truly invested, it’s more than just football.

Beyond that, I think the game has always been about blocking, tackling, discipline, details, and execution. That hasn’t changed. People talk about concepts and schemes and zone pressures — all of that has its place. But the teams that sustain success are the ones that believe. Not hope — know. Our players knew they were going to win. They had repped it so many times that it wasn’t a question.

We were rarely the most talented team. 2012 was probably the exception. Most years, we weren’t in the top four or five in terms of raw talent. But you had to beat us. You had to line up against us and execute at a high level for 48 straight minutes. That is hard to do, and we made you do it every single time.

The other thing that doesn’t get talked about: for five to seven years, I’d bet we led the state in fewest penalties and fewest turnovers. We just didn’t beat ourselves.

The De La Salle game in 2004 is probably considered the biggest win during your tenure at Bellevue. They hadn’t lost in 12 years until you beat them. Walk me through that — how it came together, what that team was like, and how it changed the program after that.

Herb Mead called me one night. My wife picked up and said, “Herb’s on the phone, he needs to talk to you right now.” I picked up and Herb said, “We’re going to play De La Salle.” I told him to shut up and hung up. He called back — he was serious.

Herb had gotten connected with Ken Hoffman, one of the owners of the A’s, and Ken was obsessed with De La Salle. Herb told him, “I’ve got a guy in Seattle who will take you on.” Washington football wasn’t on the national map. De La Salle was the gold standard of high school football in the country. So when I finally understood it was real, I went to the players and said: I’m not trying to play this game. I’m trying to win it.

From there, I read everything I could find on Bob Ladouceur and De La Salle. Every book, every interview, every article. I got to know those guys inside and out. What became obvious was that they trained like nobody else and came off the ball like nobody else. Average-sized guys, but they came at you from 19 different angles at a speed that was almost impossible to simulate. So we asked ourselves — why can’t we do that? That’s actually where the sled work came from. We took that from them.

At the same time, we knew our execution in the backfield was exceptional. We played without the ball better than anyone in the country — the faking, the misdirection. So we said, mirror these two things and we’ll be okay.

What gets lost in all of it is who that senior class actually was. They had been 2-and-7 as freshmen. Connor Mawhinney, Ryan Roeter — those guys were playing offensive line at 190 pounds. But they bought in completely, and by the time we got to that game, they didn’t think they were going to win. They knew.

The stadium was packed, and the crowd was there to see De La Salle. Nobody gave us a chance. They drove right down and scored on their first possession. And then we ran full-house belly right on the first play of the game. We wanted them in a balanced set, get them into a 4-4 defense. J.R. Hasty hit the alley, didn’t stutter-step, and went 80 yards for a touchdown. Steve Schilling walked over to me and said quietly, “Coach, we’re going to do this all night.” And we never got off script until the third quarter.

Neil Hayes — the guy who wrote When the Game Stands Tall — had come up before the game to watch us practice. He called Ladouceur afterward and told him, “These guys are like you. They do the little things. It’s like looking in a mirror.” I don’t think De La Salle respected us much going in. I can’t blame them for that. But we knew.

After that game, everything changed. When you win on the national stage, people notice. Families started bringing their kids to Bellevue to play football. And I always laughed at the recruiting angle, because really — do you think I’m going to go scout eighth-grade games in Federal Way? When you do it right, people come.

Talk about the Wing-T — why that offense, why it worked so well, and how it evolved over the years.

I didn’t invent any of it. Dwaine Hatch, Pat Jones, Neil Buckmaster — they ran it before I got there, and I learned a lot from them. But when I took over as head coach, I had to think about what kind of system I wanted to build around.

A few things drove it. First, I didn’t want a system that depended on one player. If you’re running spread and your quarterback goes down, you’re done. Second, it’s hard to throw the ball in October and November in Seattle — you need something that travels, that works in any conditions. And third, it matched who I was and how I wanted to play. Physical, disciplined, fast.

What I think we did differently was the faking. We played without the ball at a speed that was almost impossible to simulate on a scout team. When we came at you from under center, we were coming at 19 different angles at rapid-fire speed. Nobody could replicate that on a Wednesday in practice.

The other thing people didn’t fully appreciate was how hard it is to prepare for in the playoffs. You’ve got four days. If you’ve been repping us since spring ball, okay — but most teams hadn’t.

Eventually, it evolved. Teams started repping us from day one of spring, so we had to adapt. We had Mike Fouts on staff — one of the most humble, brilliant people you’ll ever meet, and a heck of a quarterback — and he started seeing what we could do out of the gun. We’d see so much Cover 3 that certain route concepts made a lot of sense. We went down to Oregon a few times, spent time with Steve Greatwood and Chip Kelly — who had actually been a Wing-T coach in New Hampshire before Oregon — and started incorporating tunnel screens, bubble screens, matchup concepts.

So it became a mix. The core of it never changed — QB-simple, protect the offensive line’s identity, run the ball. But we added enough wrinkles that we became a tougher matchup than ever. When you came in trying to defend the pass, we handed it to the fullback. When you loaded the box, we had options outside. That’s how it evolved.

You had opportunities over the years to leave — bigger programs, college jobs. Why did you stay at Bellevue?

The biggest reason was my family.

I grew up without my parents around — my dad had some issues and wasn’t there, and my mom passed away when I was young. I knew from experience what that absence costs. So when I got married, I made a decision: I’m not watching film until after they go to bed. Everything else in my life had been the priority. Once I had a family of mine, that had to change.

We only have one daughter, and the way I coach — the hours, the intensity — it’s hard to be present. So I made a choice. The job would work around the family, not the other way around. During the season, I knew I was going to get four hours of sleep a night. That was just the reality. But I’d still come home and see my family. I had the best of both worlds.

The other thing I didn’t fully understand until I left was how much the high school part of it mattered to me. I had chances to go — Jim Zorn, Mike Riley, great people who I coached with in the XFL, and I learned a lot. But the lessons you teach at the high school level are just as important as the games you play. That’s when kids find out who they are. I found out who I was. I’m a teacher. And I use football to teach the things I was never taught — because I didn’t have parents around. That’s really why I never jumped ship.

Maybe we stayed a little too long in the end. At some point the stories get old. But the foundation we built — the relationships, the Fort Worden experiences, the things those kids carried with them — that never got old.

What was it like for you and your family with how things ended at Bellevue?

It stung. It stung for Jill. We tried to do things right the whole way through, and it turned into this whole thing about recruiting, about money — everything became about that. And all the stories were anonymous. “I heard from a guy who knew a guy.” I just sat there thinking, are you kidding me?

What bothered me the most was this: I had always let any coach from any school come watch our practice. All access. Because if we could do something to help them help their kids, I was going to give them everything. And then a lot of those same people turned on us. Jumped on the bandwagon. When we eventually met with some of them, I sat there listening and finally said: if Bellevue is the reason for everything bad that’s ever happened to you, you should be 10-and-1 every year. And if we’re still your problem after I’m gone — well, I’m long gone now, and those guys are still winning with Mike Kneip. So I’ll let that speak for itself.

It was hard. We became kind of isolated. Our circle got tight. You find out a lot about people in moments like that.

Chris Petersen (Head Coach at the University of Washington at the time) had actually called me before things fully fell apart and said, “Butch, I want you to come hang out at practice.” I wasn’t sure. He said, “This isn’t how it ends up. Usually somebody’s the fall guy, and it’s going to be you.” He was right.

But I’m not bitter. Not even a little bit. I got to do what I loved with people I loved doing it with. And now there’s a whole staff of guys who played for me, grew up in that program, and are still winning and still doing things the right way. That’s a pretty cool thing to be a part of. Sitting around feeling sorry for myself would be a waste of time, and I don’t do that.

After Bellevue, you took the job at Cedar Park Christian — a program at the complete opposite end of the spectrum. What was that experience like?

At Bellevue, I was at the top of the mountain. Cedar Park had the state’s longest losing streak. Never been to the playoffs. My first meeting, there were three kids in the room. We started that first season with about 16 players — eight of whom had never put a helmet on — in a pretty competitive league.

So it was humbling. And it made me grow in two ways.

The first was my faith. They had 7 AM devotions every morning, and I wasn’t that far along in my walk at the time. But I was around really good people who were close to the Lord, and you gravitate toward what you’re around. I grew as a man.

The second was as a coach. When you don’t have the horses, you figure things out. You have to. We gave them a two-year plan, turned the program around, and eventually got them into the playoffs for the first time. I could write a whole book about that place.

You’re just a few weeks into the job at Saguaro. What made you say yes?

I know who I am. I’m a coach. And I’ve got one more run left in me — I’m not a young guy, but I’m not old either. I want to build something again, with really good people, that’s more than football.

This isn’t about rebuilding Saguaro into Bellevue. That’s not the goal. There’s been a great tradition at Saguaro historically. But there were some transitions — thirty-plus kids transferred out before I was hired, and I started spring practice with sixteen guys. We’re up to around twenty now. And we’re playing arguably the hardest 6A schedule in the state of Arizona.

But that’s okay. It’s about the process.

The most arrogant thing I’ll say in this whole interview is this: I’ve won everywhere I’ve been, and I’m going to win here. It’s just a matter of time. Ask me that question again in a year or two, and I’ll tell you how we turned it around. Because that’s what’s going to happen.

Since Rob took over Billings West, they’ve made the AA state quarterfinals every year, won a state championship in 2018, and were runner-ups in 2020, 2021, and 2025. Rob has had his hand in all facets of the football program and developed many players into college stars, including six starters for the 2025-2026 FCS champion Montana State Bobcats.

We discuss Rob’s coaching philosophy, why football is so good for young men’s development, and what it means to small town Montana communities. I loved this interview.

You grew up around football from a young age. What do you remember about when the game really grabbed you?

Growing up in a family of seven kids, you’re always around it. My dad was a high school teacher, a football coach, and a basketball coach. So you’re getting into trouble at practice from a young age. But I distinctly remember watching my oldest brother Jim play at Richey and Baker — that’s when you realize you love the game, love everything about it. You can’t wait for your time. Then I had a phenomenal high school coach at Baker who was really ahead of his time. We didn’t hit in practice the way most programs did back in the ‘80s. We conditioned hard, but you also had breaks from it. That balance stuck with me.

At Dickinson State, Coach Hank Biesiot reinforced the same philosophy — the game is really important, but it also needs to be put on the shelf at times. You have to do other things.

When your playing career ended, was coaching always the next chapter?

When I first got to college, I was a bit of a rebel. My whole family was in education, so I thought, I’ll do something different. But once you’re done playing, you still want to keep competing. That competitive drive doesn’t go away — coaching is a good way to still have it. And I’ll be honest: winning is important to me. I don’t shy away from that. We’re not here just to go through the motions. We’re here to win.

But there’s also something else. Everybody who’s done playing — they miss the locker room, they miss the guys. Coaching lets you still have that.

You’re pretty open about emphasizing winning. A lot of coaches frame it differently — they put character development and life lessons front and center, like that’s mutually exclusive from winning. Where do you land on that?

I think winning and life lessons are hand in hand. If you have high expectations, that’s what promotes a winning culture. Our goal every year is to be one of the top four teams in the state — and when you commit to that standard, you’re going to be successful.

But I’ve also learned my lesson. After a loss, when you’re upset — I’ve been there. You have to sit back and realize: it’s a hard game. It’s hard to win. You didn’t play as well as you wanted to, but the effort was there.

The life lessons come through the hard work and the commitments. Football demands a lot. And those things are going to shape kids whether you’re explicitly talking about character or not. I also think it matters who you hire. If your assistants aren’t hypocrites — if they’re doing what they’re asking kids to do — that’s where character development actually happens. It’s not a speech. It’s daily.

What was your first coaching job?

This is a good one. Out of college, my first year was in Miles City. And I didn’t coach football. I coached junior high girls basketball — a sport I had never played. The second year, I coached wrestling. I’d never wrestled a day in my life. Then boys basketball. Then track. Four sports in one year, two of which I had zero background in. But I wanted a teaching job, and back then, you’d do whatever it took to get one.

After a couple years of junior high football with my brother Dan, I finally transitioned to high school football. And that’s where it clicked.

You’ve coached track for thirty years, you’ve coached basketball and wrestling. What is it about football that’s different from everything else?

Football is played by tough people. There’s a respect that comes from going out and performing when you’re not at 100% that I don’t think you can find in most places. The brotherhood is real — you’re lifting together, you’re going through self-inflicted pain together, and you have to look at the guy next to you and decide if you’re going to quit on a rep or not.

And then there’s the team aspect. On any given play, you’ve got 11 guys. Ten of them are perfect, one guy misses his assignment — and it’s all for nothing. You can’t win in football with just two studs. Football demands more. Getting eleven people to do something hard, all on the same page, all at the same time — that’s really difficult. That’s what makes it special.

You took over at Billings West from Paul Klaboe, who had been there for thirty years. What was that transition like?

It was hard. His advice to me was simple: make it your own. But that’s easier said than done. I still tell our parents at our banquet — this is Paul Klaboe’s program. It always will be. Thirty years. That’s unheard of in today’s world.

The first game I was head coach, we didn’t get a first down until the third quarter. I thought, Oh my God. He’d warned me it wasn’t going to be easy. And then we started that first season 0-and-3. And then I lost my brother Dan.

So there I am, 0-3, and my brother dies. I’m thinking: this is not very fun. But we pushed through. We made the playoffs that year. And there were lessons in all of it.

One of the hardest things was letting some coaches go — guys I’d been around for a long time. That was part of why I was hesitant to even apply for the job. I knew some hard decisions would have to come.

But what I took from Paul more than anything were two things. First: there’s a difference between yelling and being intense. He never screamed. He just talked to you. Who wants to be yelled at? Nobody. Second: hire the best people you can, then let them coach. He said, Why would anyone want to coach for a head coach who micromanages everything you do? That has shaped how I run my staff ever since.

How do you build a staff? What are you actually looking for?

Character first. I want men with high character — guys who aren’t hypocritical, who live what they teach. If you’re a coordinator, you have to know your scheme inside and out and be able to coach your position coaches too. Ideally, they played the game. There’s something about coaching someone who understands it from the inside.

They also have to love it year-round. If someone only wants to coach August through November, this isn’t the job for them. It’s a year-round commitment. I want guys going to clinics, going to visit other programs, constantly learning, because the game is always evolving. We’ve been to Montana State. We’ve been to Texas Tech. Last year I went to Michigan. You have to keep growing. And increasingly, finding people who are teachers in the building is harder than it used to be. Even in Billings.

What’s your own role on the field? How much are you in the weeds versus letting your coordinators run things?

I lean toward the CEO model, I suppose. My defensive coordinator I’ve known for 35 years — since college. He takes the defense, and I trust him completely. We’re aligned on how we think about the game, how we think about playing kids.

My offensive coordinator has 100% total control. He calls the game, and I rarely disagree. Offensive coordinator is the hardest job in coaching, as far as I’m concerned — after every play, you’ve got 35 seconds, and everyone in the stands is convinced it was the wrong call. No matter what. I’m not going to micromanage that.

I coach running backs. That gives me a specific focus while also giving me the freedom to float — check in on the defense, swing down to the freshman team if I need to, step in wherever something comes up. This past year I got back into special teams when we had some personnel changes, which was honestly kind of fun. Getting back to real coaching.

What do you think fans and parents most consistently misunderstand about what coaches actually see during a game?

Parents are focused on their kid. Completely understandable — I’ve been that parent, watching Connor on the field and realizing I wasn’t paying attention to our scheme at all. But what they sometimes forget is that there are 10 other guys we’re also watching. Forty kids on the sideline. 160 in the program.

On the technical side, most people watching football are watching the ball. Coaches are watching the offensive line, the defensive line, the coverage. When a corner gets beat, fans might think, He blew that coverage. But often it was actually a safety who was supposed to be over the top. The corner ran the right technique for what he was asked to do. You don’t see that if you’re watching the ball.

Same thing with the run game. Why isn’t the line blocking? They are — but the defense ran a specific fit that took away the designed gap. That nuance is invisible if you don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t mean fans are wrong for not knowing. It’s a hard game to fully see.

You coached your own son, Connor. What was that like?

The way I handled the first two years — I wouldn’t recommend it. As a freshman, I had almost no contact with him on the field because I was coaching elsewhere. Sophomore year, he was getting special teams reps, and I distinctly remember: we’re playing Bozeman, he flies down on kickoff coverage and makes a hit right in front of me. Instead of giving him a high five, I turned around and walked away.

I did it because I knew what people behind me were thinking — The coach’s kid is out there because he’s the coach’s kid. I didn’t want to confirm that. But it wasn’t fair to Connor. That was my insecurity, not good coaching.

By senior year I said, forget it. He makes a good play, I’m going to hug him. He’s going to be team captain because he earned it. But it took me too long to get there.

Coaches’ kids are in a tough spot. The head coach is either going to be too hard on them or let them get away with everything. I was probably the former. I didn’t yell at him — but if it had been another player, I would have said, Great play. With Connor, I held back. That wasn’t right.

Has your coaching philosophy changed much since you started?

The core is pretty much the same. Kids haven’t changed in thirty years. Expectations have — from coaches, from parents — but the kids are still kids.

What I feel more strongly about now is multi-sport athletes. I don’t believe in one-sport kids. I’d rather have a player running track or wrestling than doing 7-on-7 in the offseason. 7-on-7 is fine, but it’s not real football. And college programs will tell you the same thing — we just had a kid, Matt Ludwig — we call him Moose — who played basketball and wrestled and ran track. He ended up with seven offers from top-ten programs. Notre Dame was in our school. Texas Tech and Michigan had their entire offensive staffs at one of his basketball games just to watch him warm up and dunk.

When I sent Moose’s track numbers to the Michigan tight ends coach — 11.1 seconds in the hundred — the guy texted back: Come on, you’re lying. I showed him the board. The specialization obsession is misguided. The best coaches know it.

Montana is a massive state geographically but not a huge population. What do you think people outside Montana don’t appreciate or understand about the football here?

Our football is really, really good — and I don’t think people realize that. We’re at about 1.1 million people in this state, and we have guys currently in the NFL, guys projected to go to the NFL. Montana State just won the FCS championship, and most of that roster is Montana kids. We had six kids from Billings West on that team — five of them starters.

Per capita, our football competes with anyone. When I tell people we bus eight hours to play in a state championship game, they go, What? For us, that’s just what you do. Four hours? No big deal. And we have everything from six-man football all the way up to eleven-man, all of it competitive. The culture and atmosphere at our FCS games — Montana and Montana State — is genuinely amazing. I think Tony Romo even said something about Washington-Grizzly Stadium. And now with the Bobcats winning, the whole state is dialed in. You can go watch the state high school championship game on a Saturday with 8,000 people and then turn around the next day and watch an FCS title contender. That’s pretty unique.

What do Friday nights mean to communities in Montana? What does football mean to a place like Billings?

In Billings, in Baker where I grew up, in any small town — Friday night is the community. That’s what you dream about playing in as a kid. That’s the social event of the week. People go watch high school football, and there’s something really special about the fact that we still protect that.

I’ll be honest — we’re getting too many Thursday games, and I don’t like it. Last year we had three, and I’m sitting there thinking, What are we doing? There are scheduling reasons, I understand, but we need to get back to Friday nights. That’s our reserved time. College owns Saturday. The NFL owns Sunday. Friday night belongs to high school football, and in the smaller communities especially, that game is everything. The smaller the town, the bigger it is. You’re not going to find a more invested crowd anywhere.

As someone who played the game and has now coached it for over thirty years, what do you think high school football in Montana has gotten better at — and where has it gotten worse?

Better: the level of scheme being displayed, especially at the Class AA level, has gone way up. If you can’t coach on a Friday night, you’re going to get beat. Strength and conditioning programs have improved dramatically too — we have a full-time strength coach whose only job is developing our kids. When the Texas Tech and Michigan staffs came through, they saw what we were doing in the weight room and were genuinely surprised. They said, This is what we do — just smaller guys. The speed of the game has also increased across all sports. And we’re safer than we’ve ever been. We don’t hit much in practice, which is how it should be. That’s not making kids soft. It’s making them available.

What’s gotten worse is that it’s a hard game, and sometimes we let kids bail when it gets hard. That worries me. We have a session in our program we call KYA — Kick Your Own Ass — where we push kids to a place that’s genuinely uncomfortable. And I’ll tell them, Look around at the kids who aren’t in here. They cannot do this. That’s why we do it — because they can’t and they won’t. That edge, that willingness to embrace the hard thing, is something I think we have to keep protecting. The moment we let kids opt out of hard, we’ve lost something essential about this game.

Ten, fifteen, twenty years from now — what do you hope players say about playing for you and playing in your program?

That it was a good experience. Playing time is always going to be a source of friction — you’re never going to make everyone happy — but I hope they look back and feel like we were fair. Strict, but fair. I hope they say that the work ethic they developed here showed up in the rest of their life. That the reason they got a job, or kept a job, or earned someone’s trust — it traces back to something they learned here.

And the relationships. I was invited to one of my former players’ weddings coming up in May — Taco Dowler. That’s the stuff. Those are the moments that remind you why you do this. There are always going to be kids who disagreed with a decision we made, and that’s fine. But I hope they know we worked just as hard as they did, and that they valued the time.

What’s the hardest part of this job — and what still brings you joy?

The hardest part is balance. For a long time, I didn’t have it. When you’re home, you have to be present — and that’s harder than it sounds now. With Hudl, you have film available around the clock. It’s easy to be on your phone or your computer when you should be somewhere else, with someone else. There are a lot of coaches in this profession who’ve paid a real price for that, relationally and with their families. I’ve missed some of my own kids’ games. That’s not something I’m proud of. Now I tell my coaches: if your kid has a game, you go. You leave practice early, you hand off your group. We figure it out. That has to be the culture.

The joy? Being around the staff. These guys are genuinely your best friends after a while — you just spend so much time together. Being around the kids. The competition. And honestly, just the game itself. It gets in your blood. I’ve seen coaches step away, younger guys who needed a break, and I tell them, You’ll be back. Because this is who you are. It’s not just a job you do in the fall. It’s something you carry. When my kids are playing now, I’m right back in it. It never really leaves you.

Matt Miller serves as the Head Coach at Saint Ignatius College Prep in Chicago, IL, a position he’s held since 2017. Matt started as an Offensive Coordinator at Saint Ignatius in 2015, a position he still holds in addition to being the Head Coach. I had the honor of being on Matt’s staff as the Defensive Backs coach in 2024 and 2025.

A Jesuit school with outstanding academics and a largely affluent student body, football success is low among institutional priorities at Saint Ignatius. The football program was nonexistent for decades until reviving in 2003. With no preferential admission for football players, expensive tuition, and a universally rigorous curriculum, Ignatius struggles to attract the same football talent as top Chicago Catholic schools they compete againt. Think Stanford, Northwestern, or pre-NIL Vanderbilt.

Despite these limitations, Matt has stewarded the football program exceptionally well. The football team didn’t have a winning record or playoff win from 2003-2016. Since he took over, they’ve had 5 winning seasons, 7 state playoff appearances, and won the Chicago Catholic League (CCL) Green (2023) and White divisions (2022, 2023). Matt leverages Ignatius’ strengths (smart, disciplined kids) to out-execute more talented opponents and punch above their weight.

Matt and I dive into his philosophy, what outsiders get wrong about coaching high school football, and lessons learned along the way. Hope you enjoy.

How did you first get into coaching, and when did you know it was something you wanted to do?

I didn’t have much of a transition period. I played a fifth year at Ripon due to an injury, came home for the spring semester, and within a couple months, a mutual friend who was already in high school coaching asked if I’d be interested. That following fall, I started coaching at [Saint Patricks] on the sophomore staff. From second grade on, I’ve been part of a football team every season — it was a pretty natural next step.

I did two years at St. Pat’s, then moved to a varsity staff at Lane Tech. Unfortunately, at the end of that season the head coach stepped down and they had a full staff changeover, so I was looking. Someone referred me to Saint Ignatius, I got on as an assistant and became offensive coordinator. After two seasons, the head coach resigned pretty late in the process and they promoted me to interim head coach for the 2017 season. They basically had no choice. We had a good year, and they kept me on. This will be my tenth year as head coach, twelfth overall at the school.

You were an assistant and offensive coordinator before becoming a head coach. What were the biggest changes once you were leading the program?

The administrative side of things hits you right away — scheduling practice times, communicating with school administrators, ordering equipment, managing parents. All the things that just weren’t your problem as a coordinator. When I was the OC, I showed up, had my practice plan ready, worked within the framework I was given. That was really all I had to worry about.

When you become the head coach, you pick up about fifty other responsibilities overnight. You also become the voice of the program — what messaging goes out, what the culture looks and sounds like. Fortunately, we had a good system already in place for the on-field stuff, so I wasn’t drinking from the fire hose on everything at once. But you really do have to take over all the operations the following offseason — where you’re training, who you’re training with, how the schedule works, all of it.

I’ve held onto the play-calling and offensive responsibilities all twelve years. It’s a big part of the game and the outcome of games, and I genuinely enjoy doing it.

How would you describe your coaching philosophy?

Honestly, it’s something I haven’t fully solved. I can’t give you a tight elevator pitch. It’s always evolving.

I’ve never been a big slogan guy. I see coaches who can command a room with a speech, always seem to have the right quote or mantra, and I’ll admit I’ve been a little jealous of that. Every time I’ve tried to set up a theme for the season, it fizzles out. I want to get better at it, and I think it has real value — but I also think people can tell when it’s not authentic. If you don’t genuinely believe it, it won’t land.

What I keep coming back to is: be the same guy every day. Show up, be accountable, put your best forward, treat people right. The rest tends to fall into place. It’s not glamorous, but I think that consistency is more important than having the perfect saying.

In terms of what I’ve been working toward on the field — I’ve gravitated toward two core principles: be the tougher team, and be the more fundamentally sound team. Toughness gets misunderstood a lot. People think it’s just physical — playing through injuries, knocking guys down. But real toughness is showing up every day. We have weight training in the morning, a demanding summer schedule, six days a week in the fall. Consistently showing up and giving your effort — that’s toughness. And honestly, that translates directly to the professional world, too. Half the battle is just being reliable.

Fundamentally sound connects directly to running the triple option. We’re trying to shorten the game, limit turnovers, not give up big plays. We coach ball security constantly. And in a system like ours, every detail matters — where your foot goes, where your hand is — you’re coaching everything precisely. Those two principles feel right to me, even if I’m still working on how to articulate them as clearly as I’d like.

On a broader level, I think this is a really important time in kids’ lives. They’re 14, 15 years old, figuring out who they are. Being part of a team gives them something to work toward, a group to belong to, a reason to get through a hard day. The football skills are secondary to that. The attention to detail, the continuous improvement, the discipline of it — that stuff stays with them.

What does the average fan or parent misunderstand about what coaching high school football actually entails?

The play-calling is the one I hear the most — “you should be throwing the ball more,” “there’s a gap there,” “why aren’t you doing this?” And I get it. But what they don’t see is how much practice goes into every single thing we do. You can’t just show up on Friday and pull something out of a hat. There has to be a system to rep it, practice it against different fronts, build proficiency. You can’t install a play on Monday and hope the other team runs the perfect defense to make it work.

As an option team, we take a little more heat than most. Running the football and protecting the ball has been shown time and again to lead to consistent success, but if you’re watching something work on Sunday in the NFL, it doesn’t mean you can just drop it into your offense on Friday. Every play in our system requires precise execution that takes months of repetition to build.

We’ve had enough success that I’ve built up some trust and gotten some grace in that area — but it still comes up.

Is there something you used to believe about football or coaching that you no longer believe?

Recruiting has been eye-opening. The conventional wisdom is: if you play well, coaches will find you. Work hard, produce on the field, and you’ll get recruited. I believed that.

Then I had the chance to coach one of the top players in the country — top ten nationally by some publications. And what I saw firsthand was that elite programs weren’t really asking many questions about stats, or work ethic, or what kind of kid he was at home. Coaches would call, offer in two minutes, and you’d never hear from them again. They didn’t ask a single thing about him as a person. It was almost entirely about physical traits — size, athleticism.

At the same time, I’ve seen really productive players — guys who rushed for 1,500 yards — get under-recruited or not recruited at all. Great high school football players who just didn’t fit the physical profile that college programs were looking for. That gap between being a great high school player and getting meaningful college opportunities is wider than people realize.

The character stuff, the “we want to talk to the janitor and the teacher first” — some programs mean it. But my experience is that it’s not being asked very much, at least not at the top end.

What’s one of the hardest decisions you’ve had to make as a head coach?

Any time you have to make a decision that’s best for the team but hard on someone else — that’s where it gets difficult.

We had a situation with a quarterback whose father was on our coaching staff. The backup got an opportunity to play mid-season, played really well, and ended up earning the starting spot. The original starter hadn’t done anything wrong — he was a good kid, a hard worker, did everything we asked. We had a real personal relationship with his dad, who was doing a great job coaching his position. Everything about the situation was good, except the backup was clearly playing better.

I had to make the tough call, give the starting job to the other kid, and have that conversation with the family.

What I learned from it — and what I’d do better — is to not let it be a one-and-done conversation. I had the hard talk, but then the season kept moving and I didn’t go back. When you’ve got a big roster and a lot of people to manage, it’s easy for someone to feel cast aside without you even realizing it. I saw a clip of Marcus Freeman during pre-practice stretching just walking around and talking to guys, and it stuck with me. You only get so many interactions. You have to be intentional about keeping relationships with everyone, not just the guys in front of you.

The decision itself — I stand by it. Football is a meritocracy. But being transparent, staying in communication, and not letting anyone feel forgotten after a hard conversation — that’s where I could’ve done better.

What has coaching cost you personally — things people on the outside don’t fully see or appreciate?

Time, without question. When you’re in the middle of it, you don’t even notice. You spend twelve, fifteen hours at the school and it just feels like the day. You look back and you can’t believe how much time went into it.

It’s become a twelve-month job. There’s no offshoring this for six months and picking it back up in the summer. Recruiting is year-round — we’ll have forty college coaches come through in a two-week window. The administrative close-out after the season ends — players, equipment, coaches, meetings — is sometimes even busier than the season itself.

In our league, you’re starting to see schools hire coaches full-time or lighten their other workload to accommodate what football actually demands. High schools are still catching up to the reality of what this takes.

Fortunately, my family has always known this is my life — something I love deeply — and they’ve bent everything to make it work, especially in the fall. I’m guaranteed to be at school from 7:30 AM to 7 PM most days during the season, on top of film and all the other preparation that happens outside those hours. I don’t count the hours much because I enjoy it, but they’re definitely long.

You’ve been in the CCL for ten years as a head coach. Where is high school football better today than when you started, and where is it worse?

I try not to be the old guy who says everything was better back in the day, but I also try to be objective about it.

The talent level in our league right now is unlike anything I’ve seen. I track where our guys go on to play college football — it’s become something of a barometer for me — and the Catholic League is producing Division I recruits at a rate I’ve never seen before. We’re talking about teams that have had 30 or 40 Division I recruits in the last three years. We played a team last year with 14 Power Four kids on the field. I mean, it used to be that a team had two or three guys playing at mid-level D1. Now the top teams have national recruits across the roster.

The league also expanded to a super conference in 2018 — we’re at 24 football teams now — and top to bottom, there really isn’t a bad team in it. I played in this league, I watched my brother play in it going back to 2001. I have not seen the talent like it is right now.

What advice would you give a young coach just starting out — things nobody told you, or things you’ve seen coaches get wrong?

Be the same guy every day. Be consistent. Don’t try to be somebody you’re not.

I’ve been jealous of coaches who can command a room — who always have the right quote, the right speech, who can find the nerve of the team at just the right moment. I’ve tried to manufacture that and it fizzles. I think the reason it doesn’t work is that people can sense when it’s not authentic. If you don’t genuinely believe it, don’t force it.

Don’t let your ego get too wrapped up in how you think a head coach is supposed to act. There’s a trap in feeling like you always have to be the authoritative guy — always enforcing, always disciplining, always projecting strength. Hold your standards, but don’t be so rigid that you get in your own way. More often than not, that posture does more damage than good.

And finally: even when you make a decision that doesn’t pan out, as long as you made it honestly, with the best information you had at the time — there’s nothing else you can do. Put your best foot forward, don’t force things, and be genuine. I think that’s what’s helped me last as long as I have.

What’s a question nobody ever asks you that you wish they would?

Practice planning and organization. How you structure a practice with two-way starters, how you make sure you’re actually installing the skills you want to install, how you manage reps and time. Most people don’t love that stuff — but I do. It’s at the core of what actually makes teams good, and it doesn’t get talked about much.

Despite being the most successful program in Washington state history, Michael took over the program at one of Bellevue’s lowest points. Still reeling from the WIAA forcing out Butch Goncharoff in 2018, Michael stabilized the program and brought it back into contention. He’s since led the Wolverines to state titles in 2021 and 2023, along with deep playoff runs in 2024 and 2025.

We talk about why Michael has the passion he has for coaching, how being a Dad changed his perspective, and what the Wing-T symbolizes about Bellevue football. Enjoy.

You grew up playing Wolverine football from second grade on, and now you’re coaching at the same program. Take me back to the beginning — what did Bellevue football feel like to you as a kid?

Growing up, I wasn’t a strong academic kid. I had some learning disability challenges, and football was my first outlet — it was the one thing I was good at. I was insecure, and so much of my positive self-confidence as a young kid, and then into a young man, came from that program. What I love about football is that on the field, everyone’s equal, regardless of race, where you’re from, how much money you have, your academic status. Everyone’s just a kid. And I remember being a Wolverine — nobody talked about individual stars. It was all about how many state championships the program had won. That team-first vision made it easy for an insecure kid like me to build confidence and understand that there’s so much more than just yourself.

You were a two-time captain, all-state, and had four years playing for Butch. What was that like? What do you remember most about playing for him?

The older I get, the more I appreciate it. At the time, going through the system, he was a god — because of the success he’d had. You go from idolizing someone like a superhero, to actually playing for him, and then really seeing underneath the cover: the work, the discipline, the love he had for his kids, the love he had for the process. He was so good at messaging through his actions, through the way he behaved. He really teaches you about the fundamentals of becoming a champion through the process. When I was there, I was grateful in the moment, but you don’t fully realize how special it was until you’re out of it. I had friends from California — five-star kids — who told me they never did a single off-season weight training session. I’m like, at Bellevue, it was basically mandatory if you wanted to be a leader on the team. Those concepts I took for granted — they’re so unique and special.

You went on to play five years at Washington for Chris Peterson. As a coach now with years of experience, how was he different from Butch? What did you take from him that you carried forward?

I feel like the most blessed player in the world, getting to play for both Coach Pete and Butch — arguably two of the best coaches in what they do. Coach Pete actually recruited me to Boise first. When he ended up at UW, I remember worrying about who the new coach would be, and then out of nowhere I got a text from him: “I’ll talk to you soon.” That was all I needed.

Where the overlap was between the two of them was their obsession with the process — what it truly takes to be a champion, not just on the field. Coach Pete was such an elite model of leadership. He set the standard through the way he behaved: the way he treated the janitors, the way he was accessible to everyone. In college you’re at the facility from 5 AM to 8 PM, and just watching him operate was like taking notes in real time on how a great leader behaves. His “Built for Life” philosophy was huge for me — football is going to end for everyone, and you better have a plan A that isn’t football. He even talked to us about dating: treat every girl you date like you might marry her, because you well could. That kind of thinking shaped the way I approached my whole life. He walked the walk every single day, and his influence went way beyond football.

Did you always know you wanted to get into coaching?

Zero interest. Honestly. Going into my senior year at Washington, a couple of our coaches asked if I’d thought about being a graduate assistant somewhere, and I told them I’d rather just work and separate from the game. I had no intention of coaching — but I’m incredibly grateful that I did.

Walk me through how the opportunity to come back to Bellevue came about — especially after a few tumultuous years for the program.

It was one of those situations that felt like a God opportunity. I was working at Amazon and had my career going. Butch reached out and asked if I’d come coach the line once a week, just volunteer. At that point I had started to miss the game — once you’re done playing, you can’t play anymore, and you’re always looking for a way to stay connected. So I volunteered for a season and really liked it. Then when the head coach opportunity opened up, and the AD texted me: “Would you consider being the head coach?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but I told him to give me a couple days. By that Monday, I’d applied. It felt like a complete calling — the chance to reroute the program, get it back to where it was, and give other kids the same things the program had given me. I saw it as my chapel. A place where I could be, in a sense, a pastor — talking to kids about how great life can be, what’s ahead of them, mentoring a hundred young men every year. That’s why I keep doing it. There is no other platform in my life where I can impact young men the way I can through football.

You’ve made a point of surrounding yourself with Bellevue alumni on your coaching staff. Why has that been important to you?

There’s so much value in coaches who understand the backgrounds and personalities of the kids in this community, who went to school here themselves. But beyond that, the guys I’ve brought back — they’re all elite men. Going back to Coach Pete’s philosophy, these are guys I would trust with my daughters. They model the behavior I want our kids to see. And they totally believe in our program’s core identity: a bunch of overbelievers who overachieve. That’s always been the secret sauce at Bellevue. We’ve never been the most talented team, and we never would be. But when everyone on the staff can look a kid in the eye and say “We were just like you, and we did it” — that message carries real weight. And they care so deeply about the kids, which matters more than anything.

How would you describe your coaching philosophy, and how has it evolved over the eight years since you took over?

Becoming a parent changed everything. When you have a kid, you start to see every player through a parent’s eyes — you see them as perfect, just like you see your own child. That shifted how I communicate. It softened some things in a good way. And then I had a conversation with Coach Pete where I asked him what the culture should be, and he said: “It’s gotta be you. Don’t try to be me, don’t try to be Butch — the more authentically you can build this program around who you are, the more it will connect with kids.” That was a turning point.

My first two years, we got our butts kicked. So I had to change the goal and go bigger. We stopped talking about state championships as the mission and started talking about something much larger: we want every kid who comes through this program to feel empowered to go change the world — to own their 20 square feet. State championships can be a byproduct of what we’re doing. But it’s a lot more about putting the kid first, about the lessons, the culture, the excellence, the relentless attitude, the no-excuses mentality, and how all of that translates to the rest of their lives.

What do parents, fans, and people outside the program most often get wrong about what it takes to coach high school football?

People forget that you have to do what’s best for the team. That’s the hardest balancing act — what’s best for an individual player, the team, and the community all at once. But the thing I’ve become most focused on is making sure the best player on the field and the player who may never see the field feel equally included and equally valued. I spend just as much time talking to both of them. Everyone has a massive role — scout team, holding a bag, executing our spill-out the right way in special teams. It’s all part of making the program work. You can’t just call out Budda Baker every day because everyone knows what he’s doing. You’ve got to call out the third-string running back who quietly held a bag well that day. As a head coach, operationally, the question I keep coming back to is: how do I make player 122 feel as important as the superstar?

You have a demanding corporate career, a marriage, and young kids. What sacrifices have you had to make to invest this much in high school football over the last eight years?

I think it comes back to the kind of father I want to be. This gives me energy — I’m genuinely passionate about it. I never want to come home drained, just going through the motions because the job pays well. The way I frame it for my daughters is that service matters. If you see a problem in the world, you can either complain from the sidelines or be the change. And pursuing something you’re passionate about — I want them to see what that looks like in practice. That energy runs through our whole household.

There are real sacrifices in-season, no question. But what’s beautiful about high school football is it’s a four-month sprint, and then the other eight months you can breathe. It’s manageable. More than anything, I want my girls to see that if you love something and believe in it, you find a way to make it work. You go do it.

Where do you think high school football is better today than when you were playing? Where is it worse?

Worse first: social media and the comparison culture it’s created. Back when I played, you didn’t really know what other people had. You didn’t know who had offers, you didn’t know what other programs looked like. Now kids see it all, every day. Why does Johnny have an offer to UNLV? I think I’m better than him. That kind of noise puts unfair, unrealistic pressure on kids that just didn’t exist before. And with NIL creeping into the high school conversation now, money is starting to influence decisions in ways that don’t belong in this space.

Better: the sport itself is still really pure. High school football at its core is still about community — the band, the cheer, growing up in your neighborhood with big goals, playing alongside people you’ve known your whole life. That part hasn’t changed. The game is still the game.

You deal with adversity every year coaching 14-to-18-year-olds. Is there a moment or a lesson that stands out when you think about how adversity has shaped you as a coach?

It happens every single year — that’s just coaching. Kids are going to make mistakes because they’re kids. The older I’ve gotten, the more grace I give them for that, because I understand that’s part of the deal. You can’t control your roster in high school. You can’t control which volunteer coaches stay or go. There’s always critical adversity that you try to use as a learning moment.

Last year, we had a lot of off-the-field adversity, and we fell short in the semifinal. Honestly, I think it was the biggest blessing we didn’t win. If we had won with the behaviors we had off the field, we would have validated — to the whole community and to those kids — that you can cut corners and still be great. Losing sent the message that those behaviors didn’t deserve a championship. And that mattered to me, because I want to win the right way. Our mission has to be a lot bigger than a state title, and those adversity points are the biggest blessing for getting things right.

Everyone at the high school level is running some version of the spread now, but Bellevue still runs the Wing-T it’s run for a quarter century. Why do you stick with it? What does that say about your program?

I will go to my deathbed running this offense, and the simple math tells you why: 4 times 3 equals 12, and 3 times 4 equals 12. It’s a system built on discipline and repeatability. You don’t need a five-star left tackle or a superstar running back. A kid who might not be crazy athletic can run this offense more effectively than a blue-chip recruit who’s never run it, because it’s so precise and so practiced.

It’s also my identity. Going back to what Coach Pete told me — do what you believe in, build the program around who you are. I believe in this system completely. Last year we lost 22 starters — two linemen went to USC and Oregon — and the offense still operated the same way, maybe even a little better in some areas. That repeatability is the point. There’s a great quote from Tommy Raymond, who basically wrote the book on the Wing-T. He says the identity of the team runs through the offense. If you’re a running team, you’re going to be more physical than a spread team. And at every level of football — the Seahawks, Georgia’s recent success — the toughest team wins. Teams that run the ball are usually the toughest teams. That philosophy matches exactly what we’re trying to build here.

Last question: what do you hope the players you’ve coached remember about you when they look back years from now?

I hope they see me as an amazing husband and father. Outside of my faith, those are the two most important roles in my life. I want them to know that. Because every young man should strive to be an amazing husband — it’s really hard to be a great dad if you’re not. It all starts with being the best version of yourself and being a big-time partner to your wife, and then modeling that behavior for your kids.

What’s been meaningful is that players I coached early on — guys who knew me as a 24-year-old goofy volunteer coach — are cycling back now in their twenties and seeing me as a dad, seeing my girls around the program. They’re starting to get it. That’s what I want them to remember about me. Not the wins. Not the scheme. Those two roles — husband and father — those are what matter most.