Happier than happy

"I made a commitment to NMSU, and they committed to me."”

Mike Jordan

There was a moment before the first serve, before Hawaii ever attacked the ball, before New Mexico State's biggest volleyball crowd had much reason to believe it was witnessing something special, when Mike Jordan stopped paying attention to the court.

His eyes drifted instead to the seats surrounding the Pan American Center.

More than 7,000 people had packed the arena for a conference showdown. The lights were fully on, the music echoed through the building and volleyball, volleyball, of all sports, had become one of the biggest events in town.

Jordan felt himself getting emotional. Not because of the match. Because he couldn't stop thinking about another night seven years earlier.

"When I first got here," Jordan said, "a big crowd would have been like the UTEP or UNM rivalry game. The most people we had was maybe 300 people. They didn't even turn on the big lights. It was just those house lights."

It was a transitional moment in his coaching career. Las Cruces had yearned to embrace Aggie volleyball, and now it had something for which to cheer.

"All I could think about was the first year where there were 300 people. Now they've got the big lights on and all the hoopla,” Jordan said. “I got emotional. I was like, 'Wow. Look how far we've come.'"

Twenty-nine seasons later, Jordan doesn't measure that journey in conference championships, NCAA Tournament appearances or the hundreds of victories that have made him the winningest coach in program history. Those things matter, certainly, but they aren't the stories he chooses to tell.

Ask about this year's team and he'll talk about accountability. Ask why he stayed at New Mexico State and he'll tell you about happiness. Ask how he recruits and he'll spend more time discussing teaching than talent.

Somewhere along the way, Jordan decided coaching was never really about volleyball.

"I've learned over time that if you're going to have a championship-caliber team, you need athletes, you need skill, you need experience," he said. "But your best players, your most physical athletes, the ones you rely on the most, they need to be amongst your hardest workers. If they're not, that's a problem."

That belief, he thinks, is why this season feels different. A year ago, the Aggies never quite found themselves. Injuries robbed them of experience before the season even began. Young players were forced into roles before they were ready. The athletic ability was there, Jordan insists, but the consistency wasn't.

What he saw this spring gave him something he couldn't coach into last year's team overnight. Players began demanding more of one another and practices became sharper. Weaknesses that had been exposed during the previous season became the focus rather than the excuse.

"The practice level is getting higher and harder every day," Jordan said. "We're going at each other more. Everybody bought in. I think this group has the physical ability to play for a championship. If our skill level keeps going up the way it's going up, we've got a great shot at being there."

Jordan smiles talking about that process because it reminds him of the one he began nearly three decades ago.

When NMSU hired him in 1998, there wasn't much to inherit. Five players remained on the roster and only a couple, he recalled, were truly Division I-caliber athletes. The schedule was brutal. The roster wasn't ready.

"We were kind of the land of misfit toys," he said, laughing.

His answer wasn't to chase players New Mexico State couldn't recruit.

Instead, he changed what he was looking for.

"We really recruited athletes more than volleyball players," Jordan said. "That's the strength of our staff, is teaching people how to play. So, if you're a great athlete, we'll make you a really good player."

That philosophy remains the foundation of the program today. It also explains why Jordan dislikes where college athletics has gone.

The transfer portal and revenue sharing have created a reality where coaches at programs like NM State spend years developing athletes only to watch larger schools recruit them away.

"The transfer portal giveth and the transfer portal taketh away," Jordan said with a shrug. "I hate it. I think it's terrible. But my personal opinion really doesn't mean anything. It just is what it is."

His response hasn't been to complain. It has been to keep teaching, to keep recruiting, and to assume that every roster will change and trust that another group of athletes can become volleyball players.

It's an outlook that traces back much further than Las Cruces. Jordan grew up in Chicago before moving to Northern California as a teenager, convinced baseball would be the sport that defined his life. A shoulder injury ended those plans, and a principal at a junior high school eventually informed the young teacher he would be coaching seventh-grade girls basketball and eighth-grade volleyball.

He laughed then, too. One opportunity became another. High school volleyball became club volleyball. Club coaching led to college. Utah State led to New Mexico State. What never changed was the joy he found in coaching itself.

Along the way, there were chances to leave. Programs with bigger budgets called and power conference jobs became available. Friends wondered why he kept saying no.

Jordan's answer came from another coach, a longtime friend who had left a good situation only to discover the next opportunity wasn't necessarily the better one.

"Don't try to be happier than happy."

Jordan still repeats the advice almost as a personal motto.

"I made a commitment to NMSU, and they committed to me," he said. "They improved my salary. They improved the budgets. They made volleyball a priority. I stuck with NMSU, and I'm really happy I did. It's got everything I need. I like the weather. I met my wife here. We have a son. This is home for me."

There is a temptation when someone spends nearly three decades in one place to assume comfort replaced ambition. Jordan would probably argue the opposite.

Building something over 29 years demanded more patience than chasing the next job ever could. It demanded recruiting athletes instead of stars, teaching instead of expecting, trusting that culture would eventually matter more than talent, and believing that every new season begins not with the players who left but with the ones standing in the gym today.

The lights inside the Pan American Center still come back to him sometimes and not because Hawaii was on the other side of the net nor even because the Aggies won.

But because, standing there before the match began, he realized he wasn't looking at a crowd. He was looking at what nearly three decades of staying had built.