Lets talk coaching vibes. There’s a coach I used to know; we’ll call him “The Roar.” You could hear him three courts over, even if you were in a broom closet wearing noise-canceling headphones. He had veins in his neck that pulsed like EDM beats. Players responded. Some fed off his energy like a pregame espresso. Others? They quietly recoiled, wishing they were invisible.
Then there was “Coach Zen.” Barely spoke. Moved like a monk. His version of yelling was a slightly raised eyebrow and a calm, measured “let’s reset.” His team still sprinted through walls for him. You just didn’t hear them doing it.
Both coaches won. They both lost. Both coaches made kids better.
And yet, we still chase some mythical “ideal” coaching personality like it’s a rare Pokémon we’re supposed to evolve into.
Here’s the truth: your coaching vibes are your fingerprint. Unique, messy, and exactly what some athlete out there needs.
You don’t have to be loud to be inspiring. You don’t have to be chill to be wise. But you do need to be real.
Coaching vibes aren’t a ranking system
Somewhere along the line, we started assigning value to coaching energy levels.
Animated? “Oh wow, they’re so passionate!”
Reserved? “Mmm, are they even engaged?”
Flip the script and you’ll hear:
Animated? “Yikes, they’re unhinged.”
Reserved? “Such poise and professionalism.”
It’s funny how fast perception flips when things go south—or when success shows up in unexpected packaging.
Athletes read coaching vibes like books. Not every athlete is fluent in “volume.” Some are fluent in presence. Or facial expressions. Or simply consistency.
Trying to change your vibe to fit what you think a coach should be is like trying to run a marathon in someone else’s sneakers. Blisters incoming.
What your coaching vibes teach
Whether you mean to or not, the way you show up sets the tone. If you’re wild and animated, athletes may learn to feed off intensity. If you’re calm and measured, they may learn to anchor in chaos.
But don’t get it twisted—your energy isn’t about performance. It’s about communication.
I once watched a young assistant mimic their head coach’s intense sideline antics. Problem was, it wasn’t them. The players noticed. You could practically see the discomfort ripple across the bench like secondhand embarrassment. It wasn’t the yelling—it was the acting.
Coaches don’t have to be clones. In fact, the best staffs I’ve worked with have a buffet of coaching vibes: the motivator, the analyzer, the jokester, the rock. Athletes learn to adapt. They figure out who to turn to for what. And when.
Which reminds me—if this kind of reflection hits a little close to home (in the good way), I’m diving into this exact idea during a free live session on June 8 at 7:00 PM ET called The Coach Playbook: Supporting Your Athlete’s Mental Game. We’ll unpack how your vibe shapes your athletes’ mindset and how to lead with the energy that works for you—not the one the internet says you need. It’s low-key, high-impact.
You can save your seat here if you’re in.
Don’t fix your coaching vibes—own them
I get it. Sometimes you wonder, Should I be more fiery? Am I too intense?
The answer is probably no. Or yes. Or both. It depends.
What really matters is whether your coaching vibes are intentional—or reactive.
That’s the stuff that sticks. When athletes feel your energy is rooted in care, not chaos, they respond. When your reactions come from purpose, not panic, they trust.
And if you’re second-guessing your style because some other coach is louder, cooler, or has a six-pack and a 100K TikTok following? Take a breath. Seriously. Your authenticity is the competitive edge. Always has been.
Want more on this? Check out my blog A Coach’s Guide to Staying Zen. It dives into how your energy—especially in heated moments—can be the anchor your athletes didn’t even know they needed.
The final word
There’s no “right” energy. Only your energy. And when you wield it with purpose, you become the coach your athletes actually need—not some caricature of coaching greatness.
So bring the fire. Or bring the calm. Just make sure it’s yours.
Catch you on the sidelines (calmly… or maybe yelling with passion from the parking lot)
