Big ideas don’t seem to come from the Cobb County School District headquarters’ gymnasium-style conference room. There was no visible startup hoodie, no cold brew on tap, and no exposed brick. Just teachers, some obviously anxious, others strangely composed, awaiting their eight minutes in front of a panel of judges who have the authority to approve the projects they have been working on for months in their classrooms. However, observing Cobb Tank in person gives one the impression that something more significant than a school function is taking place.
The district’s yearly innovation grant competition, Cobb Tank, is based on the hit television program Shark Tank. In order to compete for grants of up to $10,000 per project, teachers and schools present their ideas to a panel of “sharks” that consists of administrators, educators, and outside experts. Since its inception, the competition has awarded well over $70,000 per year, supporting everything from sensory development classrooms to environmental education initiatives and music prototyping labs. Nearly $70,000 was given to eight schools for science, engineering, literacy, and other subjects in just the 2025 edition.
It’s not just the money that makes this worthwhile. Well-funded university incubators draw media attention, venture capital interest, and polished pitch decks created by students who have access to networks, co-working spaces, and mentors that most people spend their entire careers attempting to establish. None of that is used by Cobb Tank. There is no startup advisor for an East Cobb middle school teacher. She has eight minutes to convey her convictions, her students, and her classroom budget. Constraint may be precisely what sharpens the ideas.
Think about Dickerson Middle School student Lawton Willingham, who left an early Cobb Tank with almost $11,000 to start a program for music programming and prototyping. Or the instructors of the Hightower Trail who promoted spin bikes as a real race to a healthier lifestyle. These are reimaginings of what a classroom can accomplish rather than incremental improvements. Dr. Adam Casey, who oversees the district’s STEM and innovation initiatives, referred to it as “what innovation in education is all about,” and when the facts are presented, it’s difficult to disagree with him.
The shark panel from 2025 gave the proceedings genuine legitimacy. Principals, safety directors, and Amanda Dillard, a special education teacher and the district’s 2025 Teacher of the Year, were seated next to an associate professor from Kennesaw State University. Presentations were not what they were searching for. Innovation, sustainability, and a direct effect on students were what they sought. Compared to many pitch competitions, that filter is more honest.
Additionally, there is something noteworthy about the pitcher. These aren’t business owners looking to get out. They are educators—people who, by most accounts, are already overworked—who decide to devote more time to creating projects, composing applications, and standing in front of cameras to defend their pupils. That’s a different kind of motivation than what stock options generate, which may help to explain why the concepts seem grounded in reality.
There is a place for university incubators. However, there is a feeling that the innovation taking place in Cobb County’s schools—scrappy, underfunded, and desperately needed—is resolving issues that startup culture doesn’t always bother to acknowledge. How many of these initiatives expand outside of their initial classrooms is still up in the air. However, Cobb Tank is currently creating something more difficult to produce than a pitch deck in eight-minute bursts: a sincere conviction that the idea is important.
