It started as a nickname—just something the girls tossed around during practice. But over time, it stuck. And now, it means everything to me.

When I started the Pine-Richland Girls’ Wrestling team back in 2022, we had two wrestlers. Two. I didn’t come from a wrestling dynasty. I wasn’t chasing a record. I was just a dad—a creative guy with a heart full of ideas—and one of those ideas was my daughter, stepping onto a mat and discovering her strength.

I didn’t know exactly what I was building at first. I just knew girls deserved a place to wrestle. To belong. To push. To fight. To grow. I poured in what I had—time, belief, creativity, heart—and somehow, that seed took root. Now we’ve got over thirty girls in the program. Thirty. And every single one of them has changed me.

They’ve shown me what courage really looks like—not the highlight-reel kind, but the raw kind. The kind that comes in early mornings, tough losses, and quiet perseverance. They’ve taught me that coaching isn’t about barking orders or drawing up moves—it’s about showing up, again and again, with steady belief and an open heart.

These girls gave me a new lens on leadership, one that sharpened not just my role on the mat, but my role as a father. Watching my daughter and her teammates scrap, sweat, and soar—it’s rewired me. They’ve reminded me to lead with passion, to create space for growth, to trust the process, and to never underestimate the power of a determined young woman.

What started as a team has become something so much deeper. It’s a sisterhood for them—and a second family for me. They’ve become my why. My fire. My reason to keep going when the tank is low and the road gets long.

So yeah, they call me Coach T. But what they don’t always realize is that they’ve coached me, too. They’ve made me better—more grounded, more alive, more connected to something real.

I showed up thinking I was here to lead.

Turns out, I was here to be transformed.