Theatre Isn’t Sports: Rethinking High School Competitions

by Chris Peterson

Recently, a reader named Jason McAdams, left the following comment under a thread asking for hot takes when it comes to theatre.

"Competitive high school/educational theatre - including the Jimmys - is fundamentally toxic as a concept and is a benefit only to the “business” of show business, not the art or artists."

The idea that competitive high school and educational theatre, including the Jimmy Awards, is fundamentally toxic and benefits only the business of show business rather than the art or the artists has been on my mind. There is truth in that statement, but the reality is not so clear-cut. Like most things in theatre, there are layers worth exploring.

Theatre is not sports. The concept of schools competing against one another with their productions has always concerned me. Theatre is built on collaboration, on collective storytelling, on creating something that comes alive between performer and audience.

Turning that into a contest of who wins or loses feels like a distortion of the purpose of theatre itself. It can set up rivalries between schools when the real goal should be celebrating creativity and community. I do not think schools should be battling each other over whose production of Into the Woods was better. Art does not work that way.

There is also the burden placed on young people when theatre becomes competitive. High school students already juggle academics, tests, and the pressure of preparing for college. Layering on the expectation that their art will be judged against others risks shifting their focus from self-discovery to external approval. That can send the wrong message—that what matters most is a trophy or an award, not growth or joy. For students still finding their artistic voice, this pressure can be damaging.

But the other side of this argument is harder to dismiss. These competitions, when structured well, provide opportunities that can truly change lives. They give visibility to students from small or underfunded programs who might never otherwise be noticed.

A rural high school without money for elaborate sets and costumes can still find its star performers recognized. The Jimmy Awards in particular have given many students the chance to be mentored by professionals and to be seen by industry leaders, opportunities they would not have had on their school stage alone.

For many, these events also build community. Meeting peers from across the country who share a passion for theatre can be transformative. Students realize that they are part of something larger than their own program, and those friendships and networks often endure beyond the competition. In that way, competitions can reinforce the sense of belonging that theatre naturally fosters.

Where I worry is when the business begins to eclipse the art. If competitions are designed to feed the Broadway pipeline, if students are treated as products for industry consumption, then the critique feels absolutely correct. High school theatre should not exist to serve commercial interests. Students are not commodities. The moment the purpose shifts away from education and expression toward marketing and profitability, the heart of theatre education is lost.

The solution may not be to eliminate competition entirely, but to rethink how it is framed. Adjudication could emphasize storytelling, collaboration, and innovation rather than polish or perfection. Feedback and mentorship could take center stage over ranking. Festivals could prioritize shared experience and artistry instead of rivalry. There are already models of this in practice—programs that balance recognition with workshops, showcases, and opportunities for students to learn from one another.

The Jimmy Awards and similar events could move more firmly in this direction. Keep the showcase aspect, but soften the competition. Highlight students from a range of schools, elevate diverse voices, and focus on growth rather than winning. That way, students still receive visibility and opportunity without the toxicity that comes from reducing art to a scorecard.

In the end, the purpose of theatre education should be to cultivate empathy, creativity, and confidence. If competitions help accomplish that, they can be valuable. If they push students toward rivalry and commodification, then they fail. The question is not whether competition belongs in theatre but how we structure it, and whether it truly serves the students who are giving so much of themselves to the art.

I share the concern that competition can turn theatre into something it should never be. Yet I also see the value in what these programs can offer, especially for students from smaller schools with fewer resources. What matters most is that we keep the essence of theatre—collaboration, storytelling, and community—at the center. Without that, no award will ever matter.