The Knowles Standard: Sandpoint Bulldogs Football Legacy

Honoring Coach John Knowles and the standard that still defines Sandpoint High School football

By Steve Russo

JOHN KNOWLES NEVER NEEDED A PULPIT. His sermons were delivered on sideline hash marks and mountain trails. His faith wasn’t practiced in pews. It was lived in the dirt, in the grind, in the trees—and in the lives he shaped over nearly 50 years of coaching.

And when he took his final breath, it was in the place he felt closest to God—the woods. His church. His sanctuary. His home.

John Knowles didn’t fit neatly into any one box—so don’t try to write him into one.

He was a four-sport athlete. A college football player. A builder. A teacher. A coach. A father. A mentor. A leader. A legend.

But more than anything, he was a man of standards.

He didn’t live with suggestions. He lived by conviction. He believed in working hard, staying accountable, and doing things the right way—no shortcuts, no excuses, no gray area. You were either holding the line or you weren’t.

He didn’t preach this. He lived it. And it became the measure of the man: The Knowles Standard.

Football, for John, wasn’t just a game—it was a vehicle. A vehicle to teach discipline. Grit. Purpose. Work ethic. He coached with passion. He demanded effort. He expected toughness. He gave everything and expected nothing less from those around him.

And through all the decades of building that program, there was always one man beside him—Coach Mike McNulty.

Quiet where John was intense, soft-spoken where John was sharp, Mike was the steady voice in the background, the one constant through years of transition. When Title IX shifted everything and Sandpoint’s football program saw coaches come and go, John and Mike stayed.

They weren’t just coaches—they were anchors.They coached youth. They coached high school. They coached together for generations, often sharing the same mission: helping boys become men. Their own sons played in the program. They coached each other’s boys. And for both men, it was never about trophies. It was about legacy—the kind that gets passed from helmet to heart.

But John’s greatest legacy wasn’t a stadium or a state title. It was the standard he instilled—and the way it took root in his own son.

Ryan Knowles, now in his 24th season as a head coach, didn’t always see eye to eye with his dad. They were different men—at least, that’s what Ryan used to think.

Their relationship wasn’t soft or sentimental. It was forged in long drives to football camps and brutal post-game conversations. After a tough loss, Ryan—physically and emotionally drained—once tried to sit down in silence after the chaos of a Friday night game. Before he could catch his breath, John looked at him and said:

“Why do you think we lost?”

No warm-up. No pat on the back. Just truth. That was the standard. That was John.

Ryan often reflects on how hard his father was on him—how the players he coaches today got a different version. But every ounce of that toughness planted something that still grows.

And now, the older Ryan gets, the more his father’s voice becomes his own. The more he walks through fire, the more he realizes his father was forging him for the journey ahead.

And their shared sanctuary—the place where so much of this transformation happened—was the woods.

It wasn’t just about hunting or hiking—it was about time. It was about bonding. It was about building something unspoken. There was no need for small talk. Just presence. Just understanding. Just peace.

So when John passed away in the forest, it wasn’t a tragedy. It was a full-circle finish. He died where he felt most alive.

That fact alone has been missed by most who’ve tried to write this story.

But not here. Not now.

This is not about death. This is about legacy.

John Knowles gave decades to this town. He built homes that still stand. He built programs that still thrive. And he built boys into men—fathers, coaches, business owners, leaders.

He didn’t do it for applause. He did it because it was right. Because it mattered.

Ask anyone in Sandpoint what Friday Night Football means here. It’s not just a game. It’s a heartbeat. A ritual. A thread in the town’s identity. And John helped stitch it into the soul of the community—not just with concrete and wood, but with discipline and devotion.

He didn’t hand out playbooks on how to live. He lived it. He modeled it. He handed players the standard.

And now, his son, Ryan, carries it forward.

He isn’t trying to recreate his father’s footsteps. He’s walking in them—with the same toughness, the same clarity, the same fire. In a world that constantly shifts the goalposts, Ryan still believes in showing up, setting expectations, and holding the line.

Even now—amid personal battles no one sees—he remains steady. Present. Committed. Because that’s what the job demands.

“It’s about molding young men,” he says. “It’s about preparing them for life.

That’s not just coaching. That’s conviction. That’s calling. That’s the Knowles Standard.

Ryan couldn’t recall any “dad-isms”—but he didn’t need to.The Knowles Standard wasn’t about words. It was a way of life. It was a foundation.

And it lives on in him now.

The woods still whisper. The games are still played. The voice still echoes.

John Knowles didn’t just coach football.

He coached life.

And the Knowles Standard goes on.

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THE KNOWLES STANDARD

What does it mean?

 It means showing up when it’s hard.

 It means putting in the work when no one’s watching.

 It means doing things the right way, even when it's inconvenient.

 It means not asking for credit—just doing your job.

 It means standing firm when others fold.

 It means raising your kids to be resilient, not coddled.

 It means being the same man in the woods, in the locker room, and in the living room.

 It means living with conviction.

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