Tough Coaching Isn’t The Problem; Soft America Is | Kathy Taylor

Brenda Frese grabbed her player…by the moment. That’s what happened last week when the Maryland women’s basketball coach got inches from guard Oluchi Okananwa’s face during the NCAA Tournament, pointed at the floor, and screamed, "I believe in you."

The internet lost its mind. Half of America clutched its pearls. The other half stood up and cheered. And Okananwa? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. She didn’t file a complaint. She said: "I love to be coached hard, and that’s what she does with me every single day."

That’s what greatness sounds like when it comes from someone who actually wants to be great.

Head coach Brenda Frese of the Maryland Terrapins talks with Oluchi Okananwa during a game against the Penn State Nittany Lions at Xfinity Center on February 12, 2026 in College Park, Maryland. (Photo by G Fiume/Getty Images)

This year’s March Madness has been a full-throated, unapologetic reminder that demanding coaching works. 

Connecticut's Danny Hurley coaches like his head might detach on live television. Charles Barkley praised Michigan State's Tom Izzo as "one of the few coaches who can still yell at his players" and pointed out the hand-wringers in the media "don’t know anything about sports because they never played."

Izzo once told reporters he would not apologize for his intensity, adding, "That’s the American way, except America has gotten soft." Rick Pitino once told his St. John’s players at halftime, "Your whole life's going to be adversity. Learn how to f--ing deal with it." 

Hurley’s UConn team just stormed into the Final Four. Izzo and Pitino went down swinging in the Sweet 16. The outcomes varied. The coaching didn’t.

As Kirsten Fleming wrote in the New York Post this week, these coaches are not "gratuitously yelling." They are "developing young men and young champions." She’s right. But I’ve been coaching young women with that same philosophy for 30 years, and I can tell you exactly what’s at stake.

Head coach Dan Hurley of the UConn Huskies reacts during the second half against the Duke Blue Devils in the Elite Eight of the 2026 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament at Capital One Arena on March 29, 2026 in Washington, DC.  (Photo by Emilee Chinn/Getty Images)

The Frese clip should not have been controversial. A Hall of Fame coach, the winningest in Maryland history, believed so deeply in her player that she got in her face and demanded she rise to the moment. That is not toxicity. That is love with a deadline. That is a coach who refuses to let you be less than what she knows you can be.

But somewhere over the last decade, a loud minority decided that discomfort is danger. That being challenged is being harmed. That a raised voice is a raised fist. Gentle parenting crept off the playground and onto the sideline. Everyone got a participation trophy, and the kids who actually wanted to win were left wondering why their coach wasn’t allowed to coach anymore.

Here is the truth nobody wants to say out loud: not every athlete is cut out for elite competition. That is not a moral failing. It is a reality. Division I athletics demands a level of physical and mental commitment that is genuinely hard. Early mornings. Brutal conditioning. Being told you’re not working hard enough when you think you’re giving everything. That is the deal. You can transfer. You can quit. You can find a program that fits you better. What you cannot do is demand that the coach lower the standard to match your comfort level and then call it abuse when she won’t.

I have lived this. For three decades, I coached at every level: high school state championships, three consecutive NCAA Final Fours, a National Championship. I coached the same way Frese coaches, the same way Izzo coaches.

Kathy Taylor as head coach of the Le Moyne Dolphins during the Division II Women's Lacrosse Championship held at the Naimoli Family Athletic and Intramural Complex on the University of Tampa campus on May 20, 2018 in Tampa, Florida. Le Moyne defeated Florida Southern 16-11 for the national title. (Photo by Jamie Schwaberow/NCAA Photos via Getty Images)

I know firsthand what happens when demanding coaching gets called something it isn't. A former player accused me of abuse. I was told not to speak, and I listened — because I wanted to protect my players, my staff, and the program I cared about. I believed the truth would be enough. I was wrong. My university investigated for five months, interviewed more than 30 people, cleared me, and extended my contract. Not a single outlet reported that. The allegations were reprinted as fact, over and over, while no one ever picked up the phone to ask me for my side. I am done being silent about it.

Nearly 50 of my former players have come forward publicly to say my coaching changed their lives. They are military officers, corporate executives, Division I coaches, educators, and mothers who credit what they learned on my field with preparing them for everything that came after. One of them, U.S. Army Major Jordan Miller, who has served multiple combat deployments, said the military distinguishes between toxic leadership and demanding leadership, and called my coaching the gold standard of the latter.

That distinction matters. It is the distinction our culture is losing.

And the women coaches face something the men rarely do. When Izzo screams, he is "passionate." When Pitino erupts, he is "fiery." When a woman coach does the exact same thing, the first question is whether she’s "abusive." Frese shouldn’t have to justify getting in her player’s face. She earned that right. Okananwa confirmed it herself. The pearl-clutching came from people who have never competed at that level and have no idea what it takes.

Kathy Taylor as head coach of the Le Moyne Dolphins celebrating after defeating the Florida Southern Mocs during the Division II Women's Lacrosse Championship held at the Naimoli Family Athletic and Intramural Complex on the University of Tampa campus on May 20, 2018 in Tampa, Florida. (Photo by Jamie Schwaberow/NCAA Photos via Getty Images)

The real crisis in coaching is not that coaches are too tough. It is that we are stripping coaches of the tools they need to develop young people. We want championships but not the conditioning it takes to win them. We want mentally tough athletes but recoil when a coach builds that toughness. One of my former players, Nicole Bello, said it perfectly: "Everyone wants to be the best, and play with the best, but many don’t understand the level of discipline and hard work it takes. How can you groan about the early morning practices but fantasize about the confetti, the trophies, and the rings?"

So to every coach out there who has been told to "tone it down." Who has been second-guessed by an administrator caving to a parent complaint. Who has watched a player leave because the standard was too high and then had to read online that it was somehow your fault. I see you. I have lived it. Do not stop coaching.

The athletes who want to be great are looking for you. They are the Oluchi Okananwas of the world, the ones who hear a coach screaming in their face and hear exactly what she’s really saying: I believe in you.

Don’t you dare whisper it.