I think that when I start a season, I speak with my players, and

When the warrior Antonio Conte uttered these words — “I think that when I start a season, I speak with my players, and I always talk about education and respect. And I demand this, but I give this.” — he revealed a truth older than empires and as enduring as the human spirit. His speech is not merely about the discipline of the sport, but about the sacred bond that joins leader and follower, teacher and disciple, father and son. To demand respect is easy, for many rulers and coaches alike have done so throughout the ages. But to give respect in equal measure, to let one’s authority be tempered with humility and reverence toward others — this is the mark of the noble soul.

In the arena of life, whether on the green fields of battle or in the crowded stadium, men are tested not only by strength but by their character. Conte invokes education, a word that means far more than lessons in skill or tactics. It is the shaping of the soul, the teaching of dignity, and the instilling of virtues that withstand time’s decay. For without education, respect withers into fear, and without respect, education becomes vain instruction. He who would lead must teach, and he who would teach must also bow to the dignity of those he teaches.

Consider the tale of Alexander of Macedon, called the Great. Though he conquered kingdoms with sword and fire, he never forgot the lessons of his tutor Aristotle. And though Aristotle imparted to him the wisdom of the ancients, Alexander repaid him with respect, calling him “father of my mind.” The conqueror could have ignored his master once he wore the crown of the world, yet he did not. In that mutual exchange — education given, respect returned — lay the foundation for greatness that was not merely of empire, but of spirit.

So too must the leader of men, whether coach or king, practice this balance. To demand discipline but refuse kindness is tyranny. To give kindness without demanding discipline is weakness. Conte’s creed, “I demand this, but I give this,” breathes the essence of balance — a covenant between guide and guided, where authority and humility walk side by side. The voice that commands must also listen; the hand that disciplines must also uplift.

Let the reader, or the listener of these words, take this teaching into the furnace of daily life. In your home, demand respect of your children, but also give it, listening to their words as if they were seeds of future wisdom. In your labors, seek education from your elders, but also pass it on generously to those who follow behind. And in friendship, do not only ask for loyalty, but be loyal, even in the silent hours when none bear witness.

Practical actions flow from this truth: begin each season of your own life as Conte does, with a declaration. Speak to those around you with clarity — “I will treat you with dignity, and I expect the same.” Let this covenant be written not in parchment, but in deed. When you correct another, do so with gentleness. When you praise another, do so with honesty. And when you command, remember always that true power is not in forcing obedience, but in earning devotion.

The lesson, then, is eternal: to lead is to give as much as you demand, to teach as much as you learn, to respect as much as you are respected. For the leader who knows only how to take shall be forgotten, but the one who both demands and gives shall be remembered as a father of souls. These are not mere words for the stadium; they are the compass for all who walk the path of life.

Thus let Conte’s words ring as a trumpet across the ages: education and respect, demanded and given, are the twin pillars on which stand the temple of human greatness. May you, child of tomorrow, build upon these stones with your every act, until your own name is spoken with reverence, not for the power you commanded, but for the dignity you bestowed.