Winning & Losing Does Not Exist in Basketball

written by Coach Robert

I know it may sound cliché, but I’ve seen proof: winning and losing does not exist in basketball.

I get it—this is a tough pill to swallow. The American basketball culture is drenched in competition. From ESPN highlights to AAU trophies, from March Madness brackets to NBA rings—the desire to win and fear of losing seem to drive everything. But I’m telling you: it’s a myth. The scoreboard lies. The championships fade. The idea of “winning” and “losing” is a distraction from the real game.

Let me explain.

I once coached a group of middle school boys—talented, aggressive, and full of that faux confidence that’s become typical in youth sports. They carried the weight of "winning" like a badge, and losses hit them hard. I couldn’t yet see what I now know to be true.

Everything changed when I transitioned to coaching middle school girls.

These girls were new to the game. I mean green. In our first game, both teams struggled to score. For over 20 minutes, the scoreboard remained frozen: 5-6, we were up. The girls air-balled layups, launched the ball vertically like it was shot out of a cannon, and the crowd still cheered with joy.

Honestly? It was adorable. It was also telling.

In the last seven minutes of the game, the other team made a wild shot—one of those flings that just happens to go in. Then they made two more like it. And I knew at that point—we wouldn’t be catching up. Not because we couldn’t, but because this wasn’t basketball. This was chaos. Randomness. A bunch of 12- and 13-year-olds, many of whom still played like 2nd graders, chasing the ball around and hoping it went in.

And that’s when it hit me: how could there be winners or losers when no one really knows how to play? When the ball falls in by chance, how do we define “winning”? By who had more accidental success?

There was no strategy. No execution. Not even basic understanding of the rules. The referee barely blew the whistle because most infractions were happening every trip down the court. Traveling, double dribbles, backwards inbounds—it was all there. And yet, somehow, the game still went on. Somehow, we still tracked the score.

But this wasn’t a game. It was a collection of attempts. And if that’s what counts as winning and losing, then the concepts are completely empty.

Because let’s be real: even a monkey can eventually get the ball in the hoop if it throws it enough times. Does that make it a “winner”?

In that moment, everything changed for me. I couldn’t pretend that a scoreboard defined what just happened. I couldn’t convince myself that we “lost.” What would that even mean? Our girls gave effort, laughed, learned, and kept trying. They weren’t outplayed—they just played a different version of the game, one built on randomness instead of readiness.

And if winning and losing doesn’t apply here… then why should it apply anywhere?

What if the varsity players, the pros, the college stars—what if they’re still trapped in this same illusion? Just at a higher level of polish? We see stats, rings, banners—but next year, there's a new winner. Last year's champions are forgotten. My wife says it all the time: “People forget who won the year before. It doesn’t really matter.” And you know what? She’s always right.

The truth is, basketball is not about outcomes—it’s about growth. About skill. About intention. Winning and losing are just side effects of playing, not the purpose of it.

So now, I coach differently. I see the game for what it is: a process. A journey. A place to learn and develop, not chase a result that ultimately means nothing.

Shalom.