The only reason we make good role models is because you guys

The words of Dante Hall—“The only reason we make good role models is because you guys look up to athletes and we can influence you in positive ways. But the real role models should be your parents and teachers!”—are not merely the humility of a sportsman, but the timeless wisdom of one who sees through the glitter of fame into the heart of true greatness. He reminds us that the roar of the stadium, though powerful, is fleeting; while the quiet, steadfast work of parents and teachers forms the foundation upon which every triumph rests. His words awaken us to revere not only the champions on the field, but the champions of the hearth and classroom, who shape the very soul of a generation.

From the dawn of civilization, people have gazed in awe upon warriors, poets, kings, and athletes. Their deeds dazzled the eye, their names echoed in the songs of the bards. Yet behind every Achilles stood a Chiron, the teacher who guided his hand; behind every Alexander stood an Aristotle, who shaped his vision. Dante Hall proclaims the same truth: the glory of athletes is real, but it is not the root—it is the fruit. The real role models are those who labor in love and obscurity, planting seeds of wisdom, discipline, and courage in the young.

History itself testifies to this. Consider the life of Frederick Douglass, who rose from bondage to become a voice for liberty. Though self-taught in secret, he often declared that the few scraps of instruction he received were his lifeline. Without the courage of those who dared to teach him letters, his genius might have remained hidden. The athlete may inspire you to run faster or leap higher, but it is the teacher who gives you the tools to change the world. The stadium may thunder for a moment, but the lessons of the classroom echo for a lifetime.

And what of the parents, whose sacrifices are too often overlooked? The mother who rises before dawn to provide, the father who works unseen so the child may dream, the guardian who endures hardship for the sake of another’s tomorrow—these are the unseen athletes of endurance. Their victories are not counted in touchdowns or medals, but in meals provided, tears comforted, and lives lifted. To honor them is to see with clear eyes what Hall urges us to see: that greatness is not always wrapped in glory, but in quiet devotion.

Yet Dante Hall does not dismiss the power of the athlete. He acknowledges that in the eyes of the young, the figure on the field holds sway. That is why he insists upon influence in positive ways—to turn admiration into a force for good. The athlete who carries himself with humility, discipline, and kindness amplifies the very lessons parents and teachers have sown. In this, Hall calls his fellow athletes not to vanity, but to responsibility: to remember that the spotlight is not a crown, but a torch to guide others.

The lesson for us, then, is both noble and practical. Let us not confuse fame with true greatness, nor applause with real influence. Look first to your parents for love, to your teachers for wisdom, and to your mentors for guidance. And when you admire those in the arena of sport, remember that their highest value lies in reinforcing the virtues already taught at home and in school. True role models are those who form character, not those who merely entertain.

So, dear listener, let this truth settle deep within you: celebrate the athlete, yes, but revere the ones who raised and taught you. Thank your parents, honor your teachers, and live in such a way that you, too, may one day be remembered as a real role model—not because of fame, but because you shaped lives through love, sacrifice, and wisdom. For as Dante Hall reminds us, the game may end, the crowd may disperse, but the legacy of those who guide us never fades.