Not So Fast, My Friend
Bernie sent me a video today of Lee Corso, grinning ear to ear, dropping one of his trademark “Not so fast, my friend” lines. And damn, if that didn’t hit me. Because Lee Corso isn’t just a broadcaster. He’s what college football is all about.
Tradition.
Passion.
A kind of joyful madness that makes Saturdays in the fall feel like a religion.
Corso reminds you that this game isn’t just about Xs and Os or NIL deals; it’s about people. People who invest their time, their heart, and their wisdom into something bigger than themselves.
And that’s what mentors and coaches do. They leave a mark you can’t scrub out. Not because they had the perfect advice — though some did — but because they believed in you long before you had any business believing in yourself.
The Power of Presence
A great mentor doesn’t need to teach you everything. They just need to show up again and again until you realize you’re worth showing up for. Lee Corso wasn’t the most decorated coach in history. But talk to the players he coached at Louisville or Indiana, and you’ll hear the same thing: “Coach cared.” He was there. Through losses, through injuries, through the moments where quitting seemed easier.
That presence?
That’s everything.
When you’re 20 and your life is a jumble of insecurity and caffeine, having someone look you in the eye and say, “You’ve got something here. Let’s build it,” can rewrite your entire trajectory.
My first boss in recruiting did that for me. He didn’t sugarcoat my mistakes, but he made sure I understood one thing: potential is a muscle, and it only grows with reps. He handed me my first big account before I was ready, then told me to figure it out. I did. Barely.
And that confidence boost? I still cash those checks today.
Lessons You Can’t Google
The internet can teach you a lot. How to code, how to invest, even how to bake bread that doesn’t taste like a tire. But it can’t teach you the subtle, unspoken lessons mentors pass down:
The importance of showing up early and staying late — not because hustle culture says so, but because that’s how you show respect for the opportunity.
How to lose gracefully — because in work and in life, you’re going to eat dirt more often than you hoist trophies.
How to play the long game — that the relationships you build when there’s nothing in it for you will pay the biggest dividends later.
These lessons don’t come in a TED Talk. They’re absorbed over coffee chats, late-night calls, or a quiet nod across a crowded room that says, “You’re on the right track. Keep going.”
The Indelible Mark
Mentorship isn’t about creating clones. The best coaches, the best bosses, the best teachers — they don’t hand you a script. They hand you a compass. They help you navigate your own storm, not avoid it.
Think about Corso again. Every Saturday, no matter how wild the show got, he’d put on that mascot head, not because it was good TV (though it was), but because he understood something deeper: joy and connection leave a legacy.
People will forget your stats; they’ll remember how you made them feel.
I’ve had mentors who taught me how to negotiate, how to lead, how to pitch. But the ones I remember most? They’re the ones who taught me that work doesn’t have to cost you your soul. That you can be relentless and still be human.
That success without generosity is just a lonely scoreboard.
Be Someone’s Corso
Here’s the truth: none of us get here alone. Every rung of the ladder you’ve climbed has someone’s fingerprints on it. A teacher who pushed you. A boss who vouched for you. A colleague who said your name in a room you weren’t in.
So the real question is, whose ladder are you steadying? Who are you showing up for? Because the mark our mentors leave on us becomes the mark we leave on others.
If Lee Corso teaches us anything, it’s that your impact isn’t measured in titles or net worth. It’s measured in how many people smile when they hear your name. And that’s the kind of legacy we should all be chasing.
So here’s to Bernie for sending that video. Here’s to Corso, still bringing the joy. And here’s to every mentor, every coach, every quiet believer in our lives. Their lessons echo long after the season ends.
Let’s go.