You May Not Be Ready for Varsity (Yet)

I remember high school basketball.

I grew up in Kansas, and if you do not know, Kansas is a basketball state. I live in Texas now, and Texas is a football state. There is a different energy around it. In Kansas, basketball was not just something you played. It was part of the culture. Small towns filled gyms on Friday nights. Kids dreamed of buzzer beaters. We did not just watch it. We lived it.

When I was young, everyone wanted to play. We played at recess, after school, and most Sundays after church. I can still picture myself carrying my worn indoor outdoor basketball down to the local courts, barely strong enough to get it over the rim. I was not very good, not even close. But I played constantly.

This is not a Rudy story.

n the winter, we would sneak into an old schoolhouse gym that had once doubled as a cafeteria. It had those old skeleton-style keys on each end, so your three-point shots came from beyond half court. The court was small, and we had to sweep dust and debris off the floor before we could even play. If you were pushing it, you might squeeze in a four-on-four game. The lines were faded, the lighting was poor, but none of that mattered. We played hard. We loved it.

The truth is I was average at best. I was five foot ten with a limited vertical jump and a shot that only showed up when it felt like it. I was not on track for college ball. I was not even on track for varsity.

The problem was that I did not know that.

In my mind, I was better than I actually was.

I hustled. I competed. I believed that effort alone made me elite. Effort matters, but it does not always close the gap between perception and reality.

That illusion ended during my junior year.

I had started some games on junior varsity, not all, but enough to convince myself that I was improving. After the season, the head coach, last name Williams, first name I honestly cannot remember, though we called him Toad, asked me to come into his office.

He asked if I planned to come out for basketball my senior year. At the time, seniors could not play junior varsity. If you went out your senior year and were not good enough for varsity, you sat on the bench. He wanted me to understand clearly that I was not going to play varsity. In fact, he preferred that I not come out at all so a younger player could take that bench spot and develop.

When I tell people this story, they usually cringe. They say it sounds harsh. Some say it sounds cruel.

I think it was one of the most helpful conversations I have ever had.

He did not belittle me. He did not question my effort. He simply told me the truth. I was not as good as I thought I was. Instead of spending my senior year running lines and sitting on the bench, I went to work at the local Dillons grocery store and started saving for college.

It was a much better investment of my time.

I share that story because I have seen the same dynamic play out repeatedly in tourism development, especially in small towns.

Communities often believe they are further along than they actually are.

They believe they should already be performing at the level of the city a few hours away. They assume they deserve the same visitor traffic, the same hotel occupancy, the same regional reputation. They compare themselves to destinations that have been investing for twenty years and wonder why they are not seeing the same results after three.

It is rarely arrogance. It is pride. It is belief. It is love for their hometown.

But love can cloud evaluation.

When a community believes it is already operating at a high level, it plans differently. It focuses on marketing before product. It talks about branding before experience. It assumes visitors simply need to discover them, when in reality the destination itself still needs development.

Tourism is not built on belief alone. It is built on assets, infrastructure, service culture, consistency, and patience.

If restaurants are inconsistent, that matters. If downtown closes at five o clock, that matters. If wayfinding is confusing or the website is outdated, that matters. None of these are fatal flaws, but they are development realities.

The most difficult place for a town to sit is in the gap between perception and readiness.

When expectations outpace infrastructure, frustration follows. Council members ask why there are not more heads in beds. Residents question marketing efforts. Staff feel pressure to produce outcomes that the product is not yet prepared to support.

That is when discipline becomes essential.

Real tourism growth in small towns rarely comes from one big announcement. It rarely arrives with a ribbon cutting or a flashy campaign. It comes from steady progress, one improved storefront, one successful event, one new partnership, one secured grant, one upgraded experience at a time.

It is fundamentals. It is practice. It is repetition.

No one enjoys being told they are not ready for varsity. No community wants to hear that its product needs work. I am not suggesting anyone stand in a council meeting and bluntly criticize the town. But someone has to evaluate honestly.

Leadership in tourism development is not about diminishing belief. It is about aligning belief with strategy. It is about saying this is where we truly are, this is what it will take, and this is the path forward.

Coach Williams did not crush my love for basketball. He clarified my trajectory.

There is a difference.

You should believe in your town. You should see its potential and advocate for it. But belief without realism leads to wasted time and misplaced resources. Belief paired with honest assessment leads to growth.

Your town may not be ready for varsity yet.

That does not mean it will not be.

It simply means it is time to work on fundamentals.

And that is where real progress begins.