STAND FIRM. SERVE BIG. LEAVE LEGACY.

By Nickie Sanlin

I played at Marshall University from 2001–2005 under Mitch Jacobs. He was hard-nosed. No excuses. No shortcuts. Standards were standards. We didn’t negotiate them.

He made us champions.

I would never change that experience. It shaped how I see work, accountability, and what it means to compete when no one is watching.

To be honest, I’ve been coaching my whole life. I worked every camp I could in college. Coached club in the summers. Taught because I loved it. When I moved home in 2010, coaching was the only thing that made sense. I started at local high schools and girls club because it was familiar. Then in Spring 2012, I stepped into my first collegiate role as a women’s assistant at McKendree University.

A year later, in 2013, I started the men’s program.

No one knew me. I didn’t play men’s volleyball. There was one other woman in the sport at the time. I didn’t walk into respect. I didn’t walk into acknowledgment.

That was the first time I thought, I don’t belong here.

But I wasn’t leaving.

I said yes to everything. College camps. Volunteering with a NAIA men’s program. USA opportunities. I built connections the only way I knew how, by showing up and doing the work. I was too competitive to quit.

In 2014, I took over the women’s program too. I coached both as head coach until 2022. There were years of growth and years of doubt. Losing seasons that sting deeper than anyone sees. Quiet moments where you question if you’re actually building anything at all.  Then in 2019, I received my first MIVA Coach of the Year award. We were consistently beating nationally ranked opponents and had our best conference finish at that time. The rankings started reflecting what we were building.

The doubters didn’t disappear. They just got quieter.  Or maybe I stopped hearing them.

STAND FIRM.

Assumptions have followed me my entire career.

That I couldn’t lead young men because I’m a woman.
That I wouldn’t be tough enough.
That I wouldn’t command a room.

Not because of my character. Not because of my knowledge.

Because of my gender.

I’ve never quit anything in my life. I wasn’t about to start.

The hardest season of my career was 2023. We went 1–13. We had just come off a strong year, and I misjudged our on-court experience. The losses were loud. Imposter syndrome tried to creep in. But myself, my staff, and my team leaned in. We beat Loyola in the first round of the playoffs when no one thought we could. That group kept working. They kept choosing each other.

That same core became our first championship team in 2025.

Growth doesn’t show up when you want it to. It shows up when you survive what tried to break you.

“If working hard was easy, everybody would do it.”

Most won’t.

We did.

SERVE BIG.

Why men’s volleyball? Because I get to be myself.  I’m loud. Competitive. Confrontational when necessary. I love hard. I demand accountability. Traits that are often labeled “too much” for women in sport.

In this space, I don’t shrink.  These young men need to be pushed, loved, and held accountable. They need someone who breaks the machismo mold and shows them that toughness and tenderness can coexist.

Being one of the only Black women in the room doesn’t intimidate me.  It motivates me.

I get to define how others see me through my work ethic and character. I get to show young men that gratitude and service are strengths. That this game is something they play, not who they are. That they are worth more than volleyball.

I believe being a woman is one of my greatest strengths in this role. I bring balance. I bring perspective. I bring humanity.

I want young women to see strength and vulnerability in the same frame. Kindness without being a pushover. Demanding without being labeled aggressive. I want them to see that you can shape your future through hard work and persistence.

And I want my players to feel loved.  Loved enough to have hard conversations. Loved enough to be corrected. Loved enough to be pushed past comfort. Loved enough to know they are not alone.

If one fights, we all fight.  We are built different.

LEAVE LEGACY.

McKendree didn’t change overnight.

It evolved. Every year we recruit young men who fit our culture, not the other way around. We don’t have shiny things. We don’t have unlimited resources.

We have each other.  It’s us versus everyone else. I choose them. They choose me.

My non-negotiables are loyalty, respect, and trust. Conflict is allowed. Voices are encouraged. But everything is rooted in respect.

We don’t quit when it’s hard.  That’s just the beginning.

My daughter Grace and my son Micah have taught me patience and unconditional love. They remind me that confidence is contagious. That someone is always watching how you respond.

My fiancé Josh understands the competitive drive required at this level. He never lets me soften standards when standards matter. My parents still show up like I’m the one playing. They taught me what hard work looks like long before I led anyone else.

Legacy isn’t just trophies. It’s who these young men become.

It’s who they love.
How they lead.
How they serve others when the jersey comes off.

Stand firm in who you are.
Serve big in the spaces that doubt you.
Leave a legacy that outlives the scoreboard.

That is how I coach.  That is how I lead.  And that is why I’m still here.