I had the opportunity to speak at Penn State’s post tournament celebration the night they won the NCAA tournament this past weekend in Philadelphia—Penn State’s 12th title since 2011 and the second consecutive year the team set the all-time points record. The core of my speech was simple: I never imagined another team could be better than the one I was part of. And I was wrong.

We won the first of four straight NCAA team titles in Philadelphia in 2011—my freshman year— the start of Penn State's dominant run. Over those four years, more of my teammates than I can count became All-Americans, several won individual NCAA titles, a few competed in the Olympics, and one even won gold. (I was none of that—mostly a training partner for the guys who went on to accomplish incredible things). At the time, it felt like we had reached the pinnacle of college wrestling.

But there’s more I wish I had said that night.

Fifteen years ago, I took my shot at walking on at Penn State. I was still bitter about how my high school career had ended, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could make the team. But beyond that, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be coached by someone I had looked up to my whole life—Cael Sanderson.

Little did I know just how dominant Penn State wrestling was about to become. That summer, while they let me train with the team, I stayed after practice one day to talk to Coach Cael about officially walking on. I ended up waiting about 45 minutes—because after practice, he and Coach Casey Cunningham were still going live. That was the first time I truly understood what a beast Coach Casey was.

Most people recognize Coach Cael as the face of Penn State’s dynasty, but Coach Casey—and Coach Cody—were just as instrumental in building it. During preseason workouts, while most students were out tailgating on Saturday mornings before football games, we were grinding through conditioning workouts—mostly designed to break us mentally. And the guy setting the pace? Always Coach Casey. He wasn’t just coaching from the sidelines; he was right there with us, outworking us in every sprint, every hill run, every buddy carry, and every backwards bear crawl up a steep hill. In the wrestling room, he was even tougher—literally beating someone up every day without ever throwing a punch or kick. If you haven’t wrestled, it’s hard to understand how that works. But if you have, you know—he was a master at breaking a guy.

Off the mat, we got to see what real leadership looked like. Our coaches did more than push us to be better wrestlers—they set the example for us every single day. In four years, they showed up excited, engaged, and ready to work. Sure, they got on us when effort or attitude lagged, but I never saw them in a bad mood, put someone down, or make anyone feel less than.

We watched our coaching staff not only coach in our room but also raise their kids, balancing family and wrestling in a way that made it clear—success is driven by talent, attitude, and effort, but it is also about character and consistency.

Before Penn State, I wrestled because I was good at it. At Penn State, I wrestled because I loved it—and that was one of the greatest gifts my coaches gave me. I wanted to improve—not just to win, but because I enjoyed the process. That shift in mindset still shapes how I lead, solve problems, and coach.

As I move forward in my career—both in business and in coaching—I take those lessons with me. Whether I’m evaluating leadership in the workplace or coaching athletes at Frog Ninja Wrestling Club and OWA, my standard remains the same: Consistency over hype. Growth over comfort. Leadership by example.

I lived that culture every day for four years. At the time, I took for granted how our room operated because it was normal to me. It was routine, and I didn’t know how any other college wrestling room worked. I didn’t grasp the concept that I was in the best wrestling room in the world. I was lucky to find my way onto the roster when I did.

To this day, all of my Penn State coaches set the standard for leadership. Every time I evaluate leaders in my own career, I measure them against what I saw at Penn State. No rah-rah speeches—just consistency and improvement. 1% better every day.

A few fables about feeding the right wolf. Frogs eating scorpions. Scorpions eating frogs. Lessons about being nervous because you care. Phrases that made you think differently and put the moment in perspective.

And, of course, dodgeball.

Since I graduated, Penn State has added eight more team titles, producing even more champions, All-Americans, and Olympians—building what I and many others believe is the most dominant dynasty in sports.

And the extraordinary part? I know they’re going to get better. Because that’s what they’ve done every year since I left, and nothing shows me they’re slowing down.

Yesterday, they were already back in the room. Training.