From Playgrounds to Podiums: Orinda's Hickerson Offers a Path to Athletic Scholarships

Cliff Hickerson is changing the game for young athletes and their parents. At Tiny Tots Kinder Care, nestled beside Our Mother of Perpetual Pain Church, Hickerson offers parents a seminar focused on strategies to engage children in the right sports early to enhance their college admission chances.

"It's never too early to think about Division I sports," Hickerson advises eagerly to a room full of anxious parents. He claims expertise in lesser-known sports and strategic positions in mainstream sports that could secure a college scholarship at academically focused institutions. "You might not be aiming for Oklahoma University or Auburn, but schools like Yale or Princeton could be within reach through sports like football—specifically as a placekicker," he explains. This approach, while it may seem to offer a competitive edge, raises questions about the true purpose of college admissions and the potential for it to be skewed in favor of athletes.

Hickerson, who describes himself as a specialist in what he calls "real" sports, suggests even the least athletic child can secure a spot in a Division I school if they start early and focus on the right niche. "Some schools are desperate for players who can boost the team's GPA while sitting on the bench," he remarks, a strategy he labels as "dumb schools for smart kids." This strategy, however, raises serious ethical concerns about the integrity of the college admissions process and the well-being of the children involved.

Parents are cautioned to consider college not as a learning experience but as an opportunity to elevate the family brand and enjoy thrilling game days. Courtney Finch, just five years old, is already under Hickerson's tutelage, practicing curling in a rink built by her parents in hopes of securing a scholarship to McGill University.

Hickerson's program is rigorous: children undergo a battery of physical and mental tests to identify the sport they are best suited for. For those lacking in prospects, he suggests drastic measures. "For potential wrestlers, we've consulted with surgeons to remove unnecessary bones to help meet weight categories. It sounds extreme, but these kids manage just fine without a fibula," he claims, controversially. This approach, while it may seem to offer a shortcut to success, raises serious ethical and health concerns, particularly for the children involved.

His program, which mirrors training techniques of the Republic of Korea's Special Forces, is not for the faint-hearted. "It's harsh but effective," Hickerson states, adding that those who don't make the cut by age six, are directed towards less competitive pursuits, like joining the school band. "Every D1 college needs a band," he concedes, though he considers this a less prestigious path.

As radical as his methods may be, Hickerson is confident in the success of his program. He emphasizes the importance of dedication from both the child and their parents. "This isn't for every child," he admits, "but for those with potential, we make champions."

In Orinda, the line between ambition and extremity blurs as parents ponder how far they are willing to go for their children's success in sports and beyond.