Two for Two

What a Gold Medal Moment Revealed About Staying Quiet

A reflection on power, practice, and the conversations that shape culture

I’m curious, were you one of the millions of people who tuned in to the men’s gold medal hockey game this past Sunday morning? It was the final act of the 2026 Winter Olympics, the closing scene after weeks of incredible winter sport performances. My kids and I watched together, and I found myself trying to explain the stakes of the game in a way a four-year-old could understand. My son’s biggest question wasn’t about international rivalries or Olympic history. He just wanted to know which team was the Penguins.

Living in Wisconsin, I’ve tried to introduce my kids to as many winter traditions as possible. We go skiing, and ice skating, and also watch our Pittsburgh Penguins together, so these Olympics felt especially exciting for us. But over the past couple of days, I’ve been wondering what they might have learned had they watched what happened after the game ended.

Because this reflection is not really about the game itself. It is about a moment that came afterward.

A Moment That Keeps Playing on Repeat

By now, you may have seen the clip of the U.S. men’s hockey team celebrating in the locker room while receiving a congratulatory call from the president. He praised the team’s performance, highlighted incredible goalie play, and then referenced the U.S. women’s hockey team, who had also beaten Canada in overtime to win gold.

There is a moment in that exchange that I keep replaying in my head. After the women’s team was mentioned, someone in the room called out, “Two for two!” At first, it sounded like a joyful recognition of both teams. But almost immediately, the tone in the room felt different. The women’s team seemed less like the focus of genuine admiration and more like a setup, a reference that opened the door for sexist humor.

I want to be clear about something. I genuinely have no idea how representative that “two for two!” voice was of the players in the room. We do not know their hearts, and we cannot assume intent from a short clip. What I have noticed, though, is how this moment has upset some people to the point that they no longer feel able to celebrate the gold medal victory itself.  If that feels preposterous or frustrating to you, I understand. You might be thinking that it’s not fair to judge what type of people these players are based off of a joke made by the president. But that’s the issue: when good people stay silent, observers are left guessing what is truly being supported and what is simply going unchallenged.

The Calculus of a Joke

As someone who speaks publicly for a living, I know that no one sets up a joke expecting it to fail. Humor is often used as a shortcut to connection. The hope is that it builds camaraderie and signals belonging. In this moment, the attempt to connect felt rooted in a type of humor that landed differently for many viewers. The voice calling out “two for two” stood out to me because it sounded like either a genuine celebration or an instinctive effort to redirect the energy before it moved somewhere uncomfortable.

Moments like this reveal how power operates. Power shapes what people feel allowed to laugh at, question, or challenge. It creates an environment where even thoughtful individuals may hesitate, unsure whether speaking up will strengthen connection or disrupt it. Over time, those small hesitations accumulate, and culture is shaped not only by what is said but also by what goes unspoken.

The Voices That Don’t Get Heard

I believe most people are good. I believe most people are not sexist. Yet social norms and group dynamics have a way of keeping people quiet, especially when someone in a position of influence sets the tone. When no one speaks up, observers are left to interpret silence in many different ways.

This dynamic shows up in workplaces and communities every day. Good people sit in rooms where something feels off, and they weigh the cost of saying something against the desire to maintain harmony. Without practice, even people with strong values may choose silence. And when silence becomes the norm, culture begins to drift in directions that few people actually want.

Greatness Requires Practice

Watching these Olympics reminded me that excellence does not happen by accident. Athletes return to the ice, the slope, or the rink again and again, practicing the movements that once felt awkward until they become instinctive. The same is true for conversations that shape culture. You cannot become skilled at speaking up if you avoid the moments that require courage.

I am not writing this from a place of moral high ground. For much of my life, I had not practiced these skills either. A few unexpected opportunities pulled me into this work, and without those experiences, I suspect I would still feel unsure of how to respond in moments like the one we witnessed after that hockey game. Practice gave me language where there had once been hesitation. It made hard conversations feel possible rather than overwhelming.

An Invitation to Practice

So here is the invitation. If we want healthier workplaces and stronger communities, we have to invest in practicing the conversations that shape culture. That means creating spaces where people can learn, reflect, and build confidence before the high-stakes moment arrives.

For me, practice is always grounded in belief. When I drive my kids ninety minutes to a ski hill in Wisconsin, I do not need to constantly remind them that I believe in their ability to learn. The belief is already embedded in the investment. The same logic applies to our teams. When we provide training and shared experiences that help people grow, we communicate trust in their capacity to navigate difficult moments with care and clarity.

Culture is not defined only by our biggest wins or most visible achievements. It is shaped in the quieter moments when something feels off and people decide whether to stay silent or lean into growth. If the Olympics taught us anything this year, it is that greatness comes from practice, from belief, and from the willingness to face the conversations we might otherwise avoid.

And perhaps that is the deeper work we continue to practice together.