Score Points. Have Fun. Dominate.

What Does Wrestling Have to Do With Leadership?

Probably more than you'd think.

I've always been fascinated by coaches.

Not necessarily because of the sports themselves, although I certainly enjoy those, but because of the extraordinary complexity involved in helping individuals become successful together.

Think about it.

A coach is responsible for taking people with different personalities, backgrounds, abilities, ambitions, and levels of experience and helping them accomplish something meaningful.

They have to recognize potential.

Build confidence.

Establish expectations.

Create trust.

Help people navigate adversity.

And somehow develop an environment where people are motivated to continually improve, even when nobody is standing over their shoulders telling them what to do.

Sound familiar?

It's essentially what I've spent much of my career trying to do.

And there's one coach whose philosophy has always stood out to me.

Cael Sanderson.

If you aren't familiar with him, Sanderson is the head wrestling coach at Penn State University, where he's built one of the most dominant programs in collegiate wrestling.

What I find most fascinating about his approach isn't simply the championships or the extraordinary athletes who have come through his program.

It's the philosophy behind how they compete.

At its heart is an emphasis on scoring points, having fun, and becoming the best version of yourself. I've seen that mindset captured in a phrase I absolutely love:

Score points. Have fun. Dominate.

Three simple instructions.

And, in my opinion, an incredibly powerful way to think about building high-performing teams.

Because while I may not know much about coaching collegiate wrestling, I know a thing or two about helping people work together.

And when I look back at my career, from working with children in the nonprofit sector to supporting customers, managing client relationships, serving as a Scrum Master, and eventually becoming an engineering leader, I see those same three principles showing up time and time again.

Different industries.

Different responsibilities.

Different definitions of success.

But the underlying philosophy?

Remarkably consistent.

Score Points: Focus on Creating Value

The first part seems almost too obvious.

Score points.

Of course a wrestler wants to score points.

That's how you win.

But there's something interesting about how Sanderson approaches competition.

Rather than becoming consumed by the final outcome, his wrestlers are encouraged to focus on the actions that actually produce success.

Attack.

Create opportunities.

Keep moving.

Score the next point.

It's a subtle but incredibly important distinction.

Because winning is an outcome. Scoring points is an action.

And while we don't always have complete control over outcomes, we can often influence the actions that make those outcomes more likely.

I've found this idea applicable to almost every role I've held.

When I worked in the nonprofit sector, scoring points wasn't about revenue or profitability.

It was about creating meaningful experiences for the young people we served.

Helping a child develop confidence.

Creating a safe environment where someone felt like they belonged.

Giving a young person an opportunity to discover something they were good at.

Sometimes the point wasn't some extraordinary milestone.

Sometimes the point was a child walking away with a smile, feeling a little more capable than they had when they arrived.

And those points mattered.

When I moved into customer service, the scoreboard changed.

Now it was about understanding someone's problem and helping them find a resolution.

But I quickly learned that resolving a ticket and helping a person weren't necessarily the same thing.

You could close a case without leaving someone feeling particularly supported.

You could satisfy a metric while completely missing the human experience behind it.

So, to me, scoring points meant more than moving work through a system.

It meant making someone's day a little easier.

When I transitioned into client success, the definition evolved again.

It wasn't simply about solving the immediate problem.

It was about building relationships, understanding what customers were trying to accomplish, and helping them recognize more value from the products and services they were using.

And when I became a Scrum Master, the scoreboard changed yet again.

Now the question was whether the team could consistently deliver meaningful outcomes.

Were we removing impediments?

Were we improving how we worked?

Were people collaborating more effectively?

Were we learning from our mistakes?

Were we creating value, or were we simply staying busy?

That distinction has stayed with me throughout my career.

Because I've seen how easy it is for organizations to become obsessed with measuring activity rather than impact.

Tickets closed.

Story points completed.

Meetings attended.

Features delivered.

Those things can provide useful information.

But they aren't necessarily evidence that we've created something valuable.

A team can be incredibly busy without being particularly effective.

And I think that's why I appreciate the simplicity of scoring points.

It forces us to ask a fundamental question.

What are we actually trying to accomplish?

Today, as an engineering leader, I still ask that question.

I want the teams I work with to build products that people genuinely use.

I want them to solve problems worth solving.

I want them to understand the relationship between their technical decisions and the experiences of the people on the other side of the technology.

And I want them to recognize that meaningful progress isn't always measured by how much work they complete.

Sometimes it's measured by how much unnecessary work they eliminate.

Sometimes it's the defect they prevent.

The technical debt they reduce.

The colleague they help.

Or the better question they ask before anyone writes a single line of code.

To me, those are all points on the board.

And they deserve to be recognized.

Have Fun: Why Shouldn't We Enjoy What We Do?

Now comes my favorite part.

Have fun.

It seems almost contradictory, doesn't it?

We're talking about one of the most competitive wrestling programs in the country.

Athletes are training at an extraordinary level.

Expectations are high.

The work is physically and mentally demanding.

And somehow, having fun is a central part of the philosophy.

I love that.

Because somewhere along the way, I think we've developed a strange relationship with the idea of enjoying our work.

We seem to associate seriousness with professionalism.

As though the more important the work becomes, the less room there should be for laughter, curiosity, playfulness, and genuine enjoyment.

I don't buy that.

In fact, I think some of the strongest teams I've ever worked with have also been the ones that genuinely enjoyed being around one another.

They laughed.

They joked.

They challenged each other.

They celebrated small victories.

They developed relationships that extended beyond whatever work happened to be assigned to them.

And when things inevitably became difficult, those relationships helped them navigate the challenges together.

But I want to be careful about what I mean by fun.

I'm not talking about mandatory team-building activities.

I'm not talking about forcing people to participate in celebrations they don't enjoy.

And I'm certainly not talking about using pizza parties or superficial perks as substitutes for fair treatment, meaningful work, and a healthy environment.

Fun isn't something a leader can manufacture and impose on a team. It's something that becomes possible when the environment gives people reasons to enjoy being there.

Sometimes that comes from the work itself.

The satisfaction of solving a difficult problem.

The excitement of learning something new.

The pride of creating something that actually helps someone.

Sometimes it comes from the people.

The colleague who can make you laugh during an otherwise frustrating day.

The teammate who's always willing to help.

The relationships built through shared challenges and accomplishments.

And sometimes it comes from simply feeling comfortable being yourself.

I've always tried to bring my personality into the environments I work in.

I don't believe becoming a leader requires abandoning the things that make us human.

I enjoy laughing with people.

I enjoy getting to know them.

I want to understand what interests them outside of work.

And I genuinely appreciate the moments when a team becomes comfortable enough with one another that collaboration feels natural rather than forced.

Because those moments matter.

When people enjoy what they do and who they do it with, work can become more than a collection of obligations.

It becomes something they're invested in.

Of course, not every day will be fun.

There will be difficult conversations.

Frustrating problems.

Disappointing outcomes.

And times when people simply aren't enjoying what they're doing.

That's life.

But I think there's a big difference between recognizing that difficult work is inevitable and building an environment where misery has somehow become a badge of honor.

Working hard and enjoying yourself shouldn't be opposing ideas.

In fact, I believe the ability to enjoy the process makes sustained excellence much more attainable.

Dominate: Become So Good at What You Do That Excellence Becomes Your Standard

Now for the third part.

Dominate.

Admittedly, this one requires a little explanation.

Because when people hear the word dominate, they often associate it with defeating someone else.

Crushing the competition.

Establishing superiority.

Proving that you're better than everyone around you.

And in a competitive sport like wrestling, I understand that interpretation.

But when I think about domination in the context of leadership, I see something different.

I don't want to dominate people. I want to help teams become exceptional at solving the problems in front of them.

I want them to develop a level of confidence in their collective abilities that allows them to approach difficult challenges without immediately questioning whether they're capable of succeeding.

I want them to understand their strengths.

Recognize their limitations.

Trust one another.

And continually raise their expectations for what's possible.

Because there's something remarkable about watching a team move from simply completing work to genuinely mastering how they work together.

Decisions become more intentional.

Communication becomes clearer.

People begin anticipating one another's needs.

Problems are identified before they become crises.

And individuals begin taking ownership of outcomes rather than waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

That's what domination looks like to me.

Not arrogance.

Not perfection.

Not an expectation that people should sacrifice their well-being in pursuit of some arbitrary performance metric.

But a relentless commitment to becoming better.

And there's an important distinction here.

Domination shouldn't mean outperforming the people beside you. It should mean becoming so effective together that everyone benefits from the collective success.

I've seen what happens when organizations confuse high performance with internal competition.

People begin protecting information.

They prioritize personal recognition.

They become reluctant to acknowledge mistakes.

And eventually, the very behaviors that might help the organization improve become things people avoid because they're afraid of how those behaviors will affect their individual standing.

That's not the kind of culture I want to create.

I want people to celebrate one another's successes.

I want experienced engineers to find satisfaction in helping less experienced engineers develop their capabilities.

I want individuals to recognize that sharing knowledge doesn't diminish their value.

It multiplies it.

And I want teams to develop the confidence to challenge themselves without feeling like every setback threatens their credibility.

Because if the objective is continuous improvement, mistakes aren't necessarily evidence that we're moving backward.

Sometimes they're evidence that we're willing to attempt something we haven't mastered yet.

To me, dominating means developing a culture where excellence isn't something imposed by leadership.

It's something the team begins expecting from itself.

The Order Matters More Than We Think

There's another aspect of this philosophy that I find fascinating.

The order.

Score points.

Have fun.

Dominate.

Not dominate, score points, and maybe have fun if there's time left over.

And while I'm sure we could debate whether the sequence was ever intended to carry some deeper philosophical meaning, I think there's something worth exploring.

When we focus on creating value, we give people a purpose.

When we create an environment where people can enjoy the process, we give them reasons to remain engaged.

And when people consistently create value while developing confidence, trust, and enjoyment in what they're doing, exceptional performance becomes much more achievable.

I've seen organizations attempt to reverse that process.

They begin by demanding high performance.

They establish ambitious goals.

Introduce metrics.

Increase accountability.

And expect everyone to become more productive simply because the expectations have changed.

But expectations alone don't create capability.

And pressure alone doesn't create commitment.

You can demand results without helping people develop the skills necessary to achieve them.

You can establish goals without giving people a compelling reason to care about them.

And you can measure performance without understanding the conditions influencing it.

Then, when the results aren't what you expected, you can become frustrated with the very people who have been struggling to succeed within the system you've created.

I've always believed that one of the most important responsibilities of leadership is to examine those conditions.

Are people clear about the problems they're trying to solve?

Do they have the support and resources they need?

Do they trust one another?

Are they comfortable asking for help?

Do they believe their contributions matter?

Are we celebrating meaningful outcomes or simply rewarding the appearance of productivity?

These questions matter because high performance doesn't emerge simply because someone decides the team should be high-performing.

You have to create an environment where the behaviors that produce high performance can take root.

And once those behaviors become part of the team's culture, something interesting begins to happen.

People start holding themselves to a higher standard.

Not because they're afraid of disappointing their manager.

But because they take pride in what they're capable of accomplishing together.

Different Teams. Different Scoreboards. Same Philosophy.

When I reflect on the different chapters of my career, I find it interesting how much has changed.

I've worked with children in the nonprofit sector.

I've supported customers trying to solve frustrating problems.

I've managed relationships with clients whose success depended on receiving meaningful value.

I've served teams as a Scrum Master, helping them improve the way they collaborate and deliver.

And now I have the privilege of leading software engineers who build and maintain complex technology.

On the surface, those roles might not seem particularly connected.

The skills required are different.

The environments are different.

The expectations are different.

And the problems being solved can be wildly different.

But when I look beneath the surface, I see the same fundamental questions.

Are we creating value?

Are people enjoying the experience?

Are we helping one another become better?

That's it.

Those questions have followed me through every stage of my career.

And I think that's part of why I've never felt that my professional identity belonged exclusively to one job title or industry.

Because the work that matters most to me has never been defined by the category it falls into.

It's been defined by the people involved and the value we're able to create together.

I love helping people.

I love building teams.

I love solving problems.

And I love watching a group of individuals discover that they're capable of accomplishing something they couldn't have accomplished alone.

Whether that's helping a child build confidence, supporting a customer through a difficult situation, improving a team's ways of working, or helping engineers bring a complicated product to life, the underlying motivation hasn't really changed.

I want to help people succeed.

And I want them to enjoy the journey.

There's a Difference Between Winning and Building Winners

Perhaps the most important lesson I take from Sanderson's philosophy is that winning shouldn't be the only thing we care about.

That might sound strange when we're talking about a coach whose program is synonymous with extraordinary competitive success.

But I think that's precisely what makes the philosophy interesting.

Winning is important.

Outcomes matter.

People should be proud of accomplishing difficult things.

But if the entire experience becomes exclusively about the outcome, I wonder what we're teaching people.

Are we teaching them to love the work?

To embrace challenges?

To support one another?

To become more capable?

Or are we teaching them that their value is determined by whatever the scoreboard happens to say at the end of the day?

I don't want the people I work with to believe they're only valuable when everything goes according to plan.

I want them to develop confidence that extends beyond any single success or failure.

I want them to become resourceful.

Resilient.

Curious.

Collaborative.

And comfortable enough with uncertainty that they don't abandon their ambitions the moment something becomes difficult.

Because eventually, every team is going to lose.

Not necessarily in some dramatic, catastrophic way.

Sometimes they'll miss a deadline.

Sometimes an idea won't work.

Sometimes a project won't deliver the value everyone anticipated.

Sometimes they'll make the wrong decision.

And sometimes they'll do everything reasonably within their control and still experience an outcome they didn't want.

Those moments don't necessarily define the team.

What matters is how the team responds.

Do they begin blaming one another?

Do they become afraid to take risks?

Do they retreat into self-preservation?

Or do they learn, adjust, support one another, and approach the next challenge with renewed confidence?

That's where I think culture reveals itself.

And that's why I've always believed that leadership isn't simply about building teams that can win.

It's about helping people develop the confidence, relationships, and capabilities that allow them to keep growing, regardless of what the scoreboard says.

Because the most meaningful accomplishments of a leader shouldn't disappear when the team changes or the project ends.

They should continue through the people who were part of the experience.

Score Points. Have Fun. Dominate.

I don't know that there's a much simpler way to describe what I want for the teams I have the privilege of leading.

I want them to score points.

To solve meaningful problems.

To create things people value.

To recognize that their work matters beyond the metrics used to measure it.

I want them to have fun.

To build relationships.

To laugh.

To experiment.

To enjoy the satisfaction of accomplishing something difficult alongside people they genuinely appreciate.

And I want them to dominate.

Not one another.

Not through unnecessary pressure or some relentless pursuit of productivity at the expense of their well-being.

But through excellence.

Through collaboration.

Through a shared commitment to becoming better.

Through developing capabilities and confidence that allow them to take on challenges they might once have considered impossible.

And perhaps most importantly, I want them to recognize that these three things aren't mutually exclusive.

You can work incredibly hard and love what you're doing.

You can be competitive without becoming selfish.

You can hold people accountable while genuinely caring about their well-being.

And you can pursue extraordinary outcomes without forgetting that the people creating those outcomes are human beings first.

When I look back at my career, I don't remember every metric we achieved.

I don't remember every project we completed.

And I certainly don't remember every meeting we attended.

I remember the people.

The laughter.

The difficult conversations.

The moments when a team finally figured something out.

The individuals who discovered strengths they didn't know they possessed.

And the shared pride that comes from accomplishing something meaningful together.

Those are the experiences that have stayed with me.

And those are the experiences I want to continue creating.

Because at the end of the day, I don't believe leadership should be about demanding extraordinary performance from people.

It should be about creating the conditions where people become capable of extraordinary performance, and where they can genuinely enjoy the process of getting there.

So, whether you're coaching wrestlers, working with children, supporting customers, developing software, or leading an organization, perhaps the philosophy doesn't need to be particularly complicated.

Score points.

Have fun.

Dominate.

Create value. Enjoy the journey. Become exceptional together.

And if we can do those three things consistently, I have a feeling we'll look back and discover that we accomplished a lot more than simply winning.