THE BILLS, THE BOWL, & YOUR TREE
It's Super Bowl week - and whether you're a football fan or not, we can all agree that it would be an egregious oversight of mine if I did not make some feeble attempt to turn this worldwide juggernaut into a blog post for music educators. I am nothing if not an opportunist.
Black Monday is the term given to the first Monday after the NFL regular season concludes - because it's traditionally the day when coaching changes are made. And, as Bob Dylan says, "these times, they are a' changin." In the past three weeks, a record-setting 30% of the NFL's coaches were let go, including the coach of my beloved Buffalo Bills.
Spoiler alert - I didn't get the job.
Nearly ten new head coaches were hired this cycle, and many of them trace their roots back to just a few influential leaders. It's a reminder that in professional football, your ability to win and succeed can be traced back to who shaped you (and where). The Xs and Os are the same regardless of where you were mentored, but the leadership, culture, and communication style are just as critical to not falling victim to Black Monday.
As teams vet, interview, and hire new and often younger coaches, you will hear one phrase over and over: "coaching tree."
The phraseology has nothing to do with their skills as an arborist, but where they are from, who their mentor was, and what that relationship was like. The term "tree" implies that out of a single trunk (coach) grow many branches (coaches who were mentored). Beyond a coach's win/loss record, the next most important factor in building a coaching legacy is their "tree." As the tree grows, so does their legacy in the annals of football history.
In recent years, the two redwoods among saplings are Sean Payton (Denver Broncos) and Sean McVay (Los Angeles Rams). Both coaches lost their offensive and defensive coordinators to head coaching jobs, meaning 40% of the vacancies were filled from their "tree."
Being an avid football fan (and victim of a wandering mind), watching this unfold made me wonder: Does the same thing exist in music education? Is there a director tree? Does the next generation of great teachers come from a small group of elite programs, legendary mentors, or well-known pedagogical lineages?
It's tempting to say yes, but that would invalidate and minimize many educators, myself included.
While incredibly formative, my musical experiences as a student were unremarkable. I went to a smaller school that didn't compete beyond our town, and received modest scores while playing grade 3-4 literature.
That is not a critique of my teachers or programs - just a statement of fact.
Teachers from powerhouse programs might have more refined rehearsal habits or better instructional language, but the most significant advantage comes from being in a culture of excellence – a system that works. They've seen excellence modeled daily, and that experience undeniably shapes how they teach.
There is something to be said for the pinecone that becomes a tree - one without the shade of a mentor - foraging their way into adulthood (metaphor gone too far).
I am that pinecone. And so are many of you.
I didn't come from a renowned program. I wasn't trained under a household name in the profession. Instead, I learned in spaces where excellence had to be built, not inherited. I knew by adapting, questioning, and figuring things out in real time — not by replicating a system someone else handed me.
That experience taught me something invaluable: some of the strongest teachers grow because they didn't have a template. Without a preset model, you learn to listen more closely to students, respond to the room, and teach with intention rather than tradition. In the NFL, the most interesting coaches often aren't pure products of one tree — they're hybrids, shaped by many influences.
None of this dismisses the power of mentorship. In fact, the best coaching trees in football succeed because their leaders don't create clones — they develop thinkers. Payton and McVay empower assistants to adapt, innovate, and eventually outgrow them. That's not control; that's confidence.
Whether you came from a celebrated lineage or built your career from the ground up, you are already part of a tree. Every student teacher you mentor, every young colleague you encourage, every student who watches how you lead — they are absorbing more than notes and rhythms. They're learning how to be a teacher by watching you.
One day, they'll walk into their own classroom or podium carrying pieces of your influence — maybe without even realizing it. They'll replicate the phrases you used, the way you handled mistakes, and the standards you refused to lower. Long after your last concert program fades, those choices will still be alive.
That's the real legacy. Not the program name on your résumé, but the people who grew, musically and otherwise, because of you. You are creating a tree that will outlive you — one student, one rehearsal, one act of mentorship at a time.
Have a great week, all - stay warm.
Scott