The Spark That Changed Everything for the Sandpoint Bulldogs

Part 2 of the Sandpoint High School Football revival

By Steve Russo

In the early 1990s, Sandpoint High School football was a shadow of its former self. What once felt like a sacred rite of passage had slipped into something unrecognizable. The tradition that thrived under Coach Cotton Barlow had crumbled. The stadium was quiet. The bleachers were thin. The weight room collected more dust than sweat. Friday nights used to bring a town together—now they came and went without much notice.

But two men never left.

John Knowles and Mike McNulty stuck it out. Through the losing seasons. Through the coaching turnover. Through the silence. They weren’t just coaching—they were protecting something. A flicker. A heartbeat. A memory of what once was. They weren’t waiting for someone to save the program. They were keeping it alive for whoever would rise up to try.

And in 1994, the shift began.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t subtle. It came with presence and purpose.

A storm rolled in from the lake, and his name was Satini Puailoa.

He didn’t ease into town. He hit the ground full throttle—loud, intense, commanding. Satini didn’t want to win games—he wanted to build a machine. One that would last. One that would matter.

But what he walked into wasn’t a program. It was a mess.

No staff. No structure. No identity. Just two men who had refused to quit—and who were ready to see if this guy was the real thing.

John Knowles met him first. And instantly, he knew. Satini had fire. Satini had vision. And John had been waiting for this exact moment.

He handed him the match.

From that day on, John became Satini’s right hand. If Satini led with fire, John followed with steel. He was the enforcer. The backbone. The steady voice that knew this town, these kids, and what it was going to take to turn it all around.

Mike McNulty was right there, too—a quiet force behind the scenes. He’d been coaching with John since the early ’80s, when Sandpoint High School was scraping by in the post–Title IX shuffle. They’d coached each other’s kids. They’d spent years side-by-side, not chasing wins, but shaping boys into men. McNulty wasn’t one for headlines, but he was a rock. Steady. Secure. Respected. He and John were the ones who kept the coals warm.

Satini brought the flame.

Together, they formed the heart of a new staff:

Bill Barlow – Offensive Coordinator

Mike McNulty – Offensive Line Coach

Ray Miller – Quarterbacks Coach

Al Beard – Wide Receivers Coach

John Knowles – Outside Linebackers Coach

Don Holland – Inside Linebackers Coach

Steve Miller – Defensive Line Coach

Scott Albertson – Defensive Backs Coach

No big names. No hired guns. Just a group of local teachers and mentors—quiet professionals who loved the game and cared about the kids.

And somehow, it worked.

The culture changed overnight. The players believed. The coaches pushed. The community took notice.

The lights at Memorial Field started to burn brighter. The stands began to fill. And with the lake air rolling in off the water, the town began to feel it again—what Friday nights were supposed to feel like. Old, cold, wooden bleachers packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Parents and grandparents bundled up under stadium lights. Truck tailgates down, steam rising off hot chocolate, people wrapped in blankets and Bulldogs gear.

Football was back.

And Sandpoint wasn’t just winning games. They were building something real. Something rooted. Something built to last.

Three seasons later, in 1997, they did the unthinkable.

State Champions.

Only two players went both ways—Caleb Bowman and Dave Mattingly. In a small town, that’s almost unheard of. It spoke volumes about the depth, the discipline, the preparation that had taken root. No shortcuts. No excuses. Just a standard—set by men who believed.

But that’s a story for another time.

This part of the story belongs to the rebuild. To the moment Sandpoint got its soul back to the teachers, coaches, and mentors who never gave up. To the moment the lights roared back to life and the bleachers shook with the sound of hometown pride.

John Knowles didn’t seek glory—he built the road for others to walk on. Mike McNulty didn’t chase credit—he stayed steady in the shadows. And Satini Puailoa didn’t come to play it safe—he came to set the place on fire.

They didn’t just turn around a football team.

They reminded a whole town what it means to believe again.

The story of 1997 is yet to come.

But it started here.

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