Baseball is a game of failure. Hall of Famers—batting average .300—which means they fail seven out of ten times and still make the Hall of Fame. It’s truly a sport of failure.

 

Meet Bryan Fulkerson. We’re currently an hour outside Washington, DC, at the field where Bryan coaches his team.

 

“There’s going to be errors out there, okay? It’s fine. You pick them up, you support them, and we move on. Right, we move on to the next play.”

 

I’ve been friends with Bryan for over 11 years. Over the years, I’ve watched Bryan become obsessed—in the best possible way—with coaching Little League. When he’s not in the dugout, he’s a Managing Director of Sales at Arbinger.

 

Bryan:

“I work with adults all the time. After they’re exposed to Arbinger’s work, so many tell me, ‘I wish I’d had this earlier—in my career, as a young father or mother. I wouldn’t have messed up as much had I had this information.’ And that planted something in me—how early can we go? What does coaching leadership and mindset look like for kids? Can we plant the seed now—in 5-year-olds—that leadership skills are what make you effective as you grow? I realized: I’m not just a baseball coach, I’m teaching Arbinger principles at practice. I’ll run the experiment and see what happens.”

 

Bryan’s experiment raises a compelling question: Does how we influence others change across settings, or are the principles the same whether you’re in the dugout or the boardroom?

 

Welcome to Leading Outward, the Arbinger Institute podcast, where we explore the tools and ideas we've used for over 45 years to help people solve their toughest leadership and organizational challenges by leading with an outward mindset—seeing people as people. I'm Victoria Trammel.

 

Victoria Trammel:

I’d heard Bryan was using Arbinger principles with his Little League team, so I asked, what does that really look like?

 

Bryan:

I’d have to take you back to where it started.

I was that dad, pacing out in the outfield, watching my son be coached by another dad with the best intentions. My wife, Maureen, came up to me and said, “What’s going on?” I said, “I see this and that,” and she says, “If you want change, they’re looking for coaches.” So I signed up. My first practice, kids were cranky, some crying, parents dragging them out of cars. And I wondered, “Why are they like this?”

One mom said, “Today is their first day of kindergarten—they’re exhausted.” If I’d known, we wouldn’t have even touched a baseball! I was so focused on my own plan, so in my own head, and not seeing these kids as people with real challenges on a tough day.

 

Victoria:

You had an “oh, man” moment. What happened next?

 

Bryan:

I started thinking about Arbinger’s Influence Pyramid. The bottom is mindset—seeing people as people, the foundation for everything. Next: building relationships, then listening and learning what’s going on in their world. Once you’ve done those, you move to teaching and communicating, then finally, at the top, correcting.

Most coaches operate almost exclusively at teach, communicate, correct. But if you want optimal influence, you start at the bottom: mindset, building relationships. I became focused on building a team—a community—seeing kids for who they are, not as chess pieces.

 

Victoria:

What did it look like to build relationships with 5-year-olds?

 

Bryan:

Giving high fives, getting down to eye level, checking in about their day, asking about school, listening to what’s going on. You learn who’s tired, hungry, or needs something different. Instead of getting frustrated, you get curious.

 

Victoria:

Most parents relate—impatience with your kid outweighs curiosity! You're making me rethink how I respond to my own 5-year-old.

 

Bryan:

Let me tell a story. Last spring, we were drafting Little League teams. One kid’s skills looked good, but coaches said, “He has behavioral issues.” I decided: if I want to teach kids, I shouldn’t shy away because someone is “a problem.”

At the first practice, he got into a fight. I separated them, calmed him down. I learned he’s a kid who’s been picked on and only knows to fight when pushed.

He missed Monday practices—not because he quit, but his parents couldn’t get him there. I offered to pick him up. Driving him, I’d ask about his brothers, friends—heartbreaking answers. He felt alone.

Gradually, trust and relationship grew. His behavior improved, and he started showing leadership. Eventually, I had him lead warm-ups; he nailed it. Team dynamics changed—he became a leader, skills and behavior improved, culminating in hitting a home run in the championship.

It would’ve been easiest to avoid him, but getting curious, supporting him, and building a relationship made all the difference.

 

As much as Bryan focuses on mindset and relationships, it’s still hard to remember and live out every day. It’s often easier to be patient and curious with students or others than it is with your own family.

 

Bryan:

Recently, my 9-year-old, Cavan, announced he wouldn’t go to camp the next day. In our house, we say, “Let the Cavan of tomorrow decide in the morning.” But the next morning when I wake him, he doubles down, “I am NOT going to camp.” Power struggle.

 

I went straight to correcting, “You ARE going, get ready!” My wife Maureen gave me a look—“You’re not helping.” She stepped in and said, “Cavan, let’s go early and you show me what you've worked on this week.”

He lit up, went to camp, showed her around, and had no issues that day. Maureen went down the pyramid: listening, learning, building connection—not correction.

 

It’s not about correction, it’s about connection. Change happens when we focus on the person and what they need—not just on the change itself.

 

Bryan:

When you show up to games, you sit with other parents but know nothing about each other’s kids. I wanted to break that down and build a community. At the first meeting, I ask parents to talk about where they grew up, how long they've lived here, and (most importantly) what impresses them about their son—with kids present.

Tears, pride, and immediate bonding for families and kids who have never heard praise spoken in front of them before. I take notes, kids’ faces light up.

 

This isn’t the only relationship-building Bryan does. Here’s a portion of the email he sends to families at season start:

 

“More than anything, I like to utilize the power of baseball to teach life lessons that build stronger individuals and communities. When I’m not shuttling my boys to sports, I work at the Arbinger Institute where we help organizations and leaders create high performing cultures. I apply the same frameworks to baseball teams. My core philosophy: meaningful reps. Kids work in small groups—‘reps, reps, more reps.’ Kids learn more from doing. I won’t over-coach or steal their struggle. Baseball is a game of failure; we put them in complex situations where failure leads to growth. Sound like life, huh?”

 

I love that phrase: “steal their struggle.” If we always take away the challenge, we’re robbing others of the opportunity to learn. Bryan creates space where boys have freedom to learn and discover together—he’s "a coach," not “the coach.”

 

For practices, Bryan brings a whiteboard—asks, “What does a good teammate look like?” Kids shout out answers. All he does is facilitate. Then, “What does a bad teammate look like?”

Quiet kids are nudged to speak—everyone gets buy-in. This sets the culture: belonging and inclusion.

 

Throughout the season, practice check-ins review “tough games” and talk as a group: “What did we learn? How can we be intentional today?”

If someone’s struggling, Bryan references what they agreed to as a team—reminding, not correcting.

 

Bryan’s teams get better at baseball, but the deeper impact is teaching life and leadership skills. Most kids won't play in high school, much less professionally, but the skills—leadership, courage, failing forward—translate into life.

 

Now, a story about how coaching influence sticks:

 

Bryan’s friend and colleague, Jacob Ferrell, and Bryan were discussing Little League philosophy. Jacob told Bryan about his favorite coach: Dan Jessup.

 

Jacob Ferrell:

“I played baseball starting at age six, played for about ten years. My parents kept me in Little League (not travel teams), so I was usually one of the better players. At tryouts, Dan Jessup would ‘freeze’ me for his team—‘you’re on my team.’

What I’d learn: Dan didn’t know much about coaching, but he was there because he loved it—and loved us. He’d yell, ‘I love you, Ferrell!’ from the sidelines. That’s what I remember 20 years later—not wins, but being seen and cared for.”

 

Jacob’s team went undefeated and won the championship. “It’s because we had a coach that truly cared about each person.” When Jacob was struggling, Coach Jessup would call out, “I love you, Ferrell!” from the dugout.

 

Bryan encouraged Jacob to email Coach Jessup to thank him. Jacob hesitated, but Bryan said, “He sounds like the guy who would remember.” Jacob sent an email:

 

Subject: “I love you, Ferrell”

 

“I'm hoping this is Dan Jessup, my baseball coach for two years in Little League. If it is, I doubt you even remember me. I was chatting with a friend, reminiscing about what makes a good coach. In all my years, you were the only coach I remembered. Dan Jessup, I hope you’re well if it’s you. I appreciate the way you made sure everyone was respected, had the opportunity to develop, and had a couple of laughs. All the best, Jacob Ferrell.”

 

32 minutes later, Jessup replied:

 

“Jacob, how could I forget the best Little League closer on the planet? You were the shizz. Thanks for the email. It made me smile and cry a little. Good times. I got way more from you guys than you from me. I can tell you turned out to be a dang nice guy. I bet you’re a hell of a golfer, too. Thanks, Dano.”

 

Jacob was amazed—Coach Jessup actually remembered him. “How could I forget?” Jessup wrote. And it was clear from the message that he did in fact remember and care. Jacob was moved; Jessup wasn’t someone you’d expect to cry, but the email got to him.

 

Bryan and Jacob hoped to record a conversation with Coach Jessup for the podcast, but when Jacob went to reach out, he discovered via city records that Coach Jessup’s obituary had been posted the very day before.

 

We express our deepest condolences to Dan Jessup’s family and friends following his recent passing. Coach Jessup served his community for 32 years, and according to his obituary, “was known for his light-hearted spirit, and was especially famous for embarrassing his kids by dressing like a clown at their Little League football game. His knack for connection led to others feeling seen.”

 

That’s what influence means: our connection with others makes them feel seen. When we know someone truly cares—like Jacob felt with Coach Jessup—we want to be influenced by them, willingly allowing ourselves to be led. That makes leadership more enjoyable and effective for everyone.

 

“It’s going to take all 12 of us to compete. I’ll take you twelve over anyone. You’re all ridiculous athletes. Be aggressive in the box, be proud. Outfield—backing up plays, supporting each other. We’ll make errors, and that’s fine; pick each other up, support each other, move on to the next play. I loved everything I saw out there today. Awesome job. Bring it in… One, two, three—Upper!”

 

Leading Outward is produced by the Arbinger Institute, the premier provider of leadership development and organizational transformation. If you'd like help driving results in your teams and organization, Arbinger has been helping clients for over 40 years. To talk to a team member about your specific challenges and how we can help, book a meeting at arbinger.com.