Rashon Burno is in his fifth season as the head men’s basketball coach at Northern Illinois University. Last year, Northern Illinois finished 6-25.
In the final game of the season last year, we played at Central Michigan. Two minutes into the game, we lost our iron man and best player to a sprained ankle – that was on a five-win team. We really had nothing to play for.
Long story short, we won on a buzzer beater in double overtime with two starters, four role players and one walk-on. It was unbelievable for those guys to finish the right way. After the game, I was on the bus driving back from Central Michigan, and I said to myself: OK, I got through the storm, but I can’t do this again. I can’t try to take all this on by myself. I’ve got to seek help.
It had been a difficult process that started two seasons ago. Back then, I was going into my third year. That’s typically when your program makes a jump, and you want to show growth. I thought we were well on track to do that. We started 5-1, beat a Big East opponent and played tough against a Big Ten opponent.
Then the wheels fell off. Injuries started to decimate us. We finished 11-20 and didn’t fulfill our expectations. After the season, the transfer portal hit. I lost players to Kansas, Wisconsin and Penn State. We had to rebuild heading into my fourth season, and even with the win against Central Michigan, we finished 6-25.
We tell our guys: “You have to be able to deal with adversity.” As a coach, you deal with it not only from your perspective, but you have the responsibility of your staff and your players. When you’re in a spiral of losing, it really challenges your own mental health. It also challenges your core as a coach. Am I good enough? Am I doing the right things to help these guys through these difficult times?
Even though we ended on a high note at Central Michigan and I was happy for the guys, I was miserable. I was taking a standing eight count, meaning I was out on my feet. The disappointment. The losses. The what-could-have-been if we were healthy. I was shot. It was an embarrassing season. Internally, I was in turmoil.
What am I doing wrong?
That’s how my mind works: I’ve got to figure out why and what went wrong. It was dark, it was cold, and I had isolated myself. I was really battling my own inner demons. I just had a moment on the bus after that game where I thought: I can’t do this anymore.
Pride is a big thing for me, but I had to say to myself: Put your pride aside. You have an unbelievable network of people. Lean on those people to help you.
So I surrendered my pride and realized I could not get out of this by myself.
I called one of my best friends, John Pelphrey, who is the head coach at Tennessee Tech. We had good conversations about how to get myself in a good mental state. By just talking to him, I really gained clarity and perspective to put a plan in place to help me and ultimately the program to be successful.
That’s how I ended up talking to a therapist. I wanted to figure out how I could be better when adversity hits.
Honestly, I didn’t believe it at first, but when you talk to a stranger, I think that’s when you’re your most vulnerable. I started telling my deepest, darkest secrets. Therapy opened my eyes to trauma that had nothing to do with basketball.
I experienced tragedy early in my life. I lost both my parents when I was 8 years old. I grew up in a really rough part of Jersey City, New Jersey, and my parents struggled with addiction. When you’re that young and lose something that important, you have no control of anything. You’re a puppy. I never liked the feeling of not having control over my own destiny. As a coach, you want your hand in so many different things so you can control the outcome. I’m more nervous as a coach than I was as a player, because I could control my performance as a player. As a coach, you don’t really have control.
Through my therapy sessions, I learned that I can’t control every outcome. I learned that things are out of your control, and that’s OK. It helped me understand that I can put the work in and be OK with the results. It really wasn’t about coaching; it was about relationships and relinquishing the ultimate need to have everything wrapped in a bow to perfection.
For me, lack of control puts me in a vulnerable state. It’s an ongoing battle. It’s something I’ve done from the time I was 8. I think I’m better equipped now to have empathy for what people have gone through. I think I’m less judgmental and less triggered by what others do. Before, I would think: I would do it this way and here are my expectations of how you should do it. I’ve relinquished that, and I’ve tried to give people grace.
I still constantly remind myself that it’s OK to be vulnerable. That’s what we preach to our players: “Be vulnerable enough to build trust.” I’ve started to meet people where they were, and if they let me down, I learned through therapy that it’s OK.
It wasn’t just about fixing the wins and losses. It was more about fixing myself so I could be a better leader.
— As told to Jayson Jenks