There are players that are rough and tough and others whose knees are knocking. There are those that are sharp as razors and some as dull as mud. The emotional make-up of your team will run the gamut from titanium to egg shells. And this is why they call you coach. It is your responsibility to evaluate the potential of each individual and then help him or her realize it.
There was a time I tried to treat everyone equally. I raised the performance bar and told people to get over it. For some it was too low and for others it was too high. The high potential athlete felt underchallenged and the low potential player felt diminished when the bar cracked him in the nose. In both cases I lost.
It was the 1968 season and I was feeling pretty good about myself. During the summer practice sessions I rode my guys hard. One young man, Jack Coogan, didn’t care for it. At 325 pounds he was the biggest guy on the field. After a series of forty-yard sprints Jack asked if he could be excused to go to the bathroom. He never returned.
The next season Jack came out again. Same drill. Summer workouts were meant for suffering. Everyone would run and everyone would feel the pain. Jack had gotten a year older and a bit more confident. He decided to speak up. He asked if he could show me something. I said okay. He dropped his pants and pointed to his inner thighs. They were blistered, blood red, and oozed pain. He had rubbed them raw. “I can’t do the sprints coach.” My first reaction was to tell Jack to suck it up but then I realized he might want to take another visit to the bathroom.
I stood there and surveyed the wounds. Anybody who could have lasted as long as he did wasn’t a wimp. Jack might have been as tough a player as we had but he was operating under different circumstances.
On that day enlightenment penetrated my thick skull. People were not equal. Everyone had their strengths and their weaknesses. There were differences. To treat everyone the same was profoundly stupid and blatantly unfair. We had a number of heavy players that fell into the Coogan category. I adjusted. I made wind sprints optional. I came up with a few other drills that got the desired results. The problem went away and Jack Coogan became a dominant player and an All-Metro selection. In retrospect, I wonder why it took me so long to figure that out.
The epiphany arrived and I changed. When I did, I transformed a dropout into a star. The lesson was learned. My success would hinge on my ability to elevate the performance bar to the right level. Placement was the key. I’ve learned that there is nothing wrong with asking a player what they thought. Their input plus my capability analysis determined how high we would go. When I allowed my player to be part of the process, every challenge was met with success and every success became an energizing force.
I’m not the first person that has figured this out. Any coach of consequence understands the deal. That’s why bad teams have been fixed overnight and great teams have been destroyed in the same amount of time. Fletcher Christian was a terrific team player and then one day he said, “I quit.” When he did, half a team went with him. Bligh was never the same.
To make sure I treated people fairly, I began to break my players down into three categories.
The Blue Chipper. This is the player that has it all. He or she is not hard to spot. They are key to championships. Keep raising the bar until they tell you they have had enough. Take a break and then raise it again. No matter what you demand of a Blue Chipper, he or she will attempt to get it done.
My assistant coach, Glenn Furman understood the concept. We were in the playoffs and had our hands full with a very tough team. Our star defensive end got injured and came to the sidelines. The next down was critical. Furman had the answer. He turned to John O’Connor and told him to go in and play the position. The only problem was this Blue Chipper was our quarterback and had never played a down on defense. He was glad to accommodate his coach. As O’Connor ran onto the field I stood in shock. Our franchise was about to vanish. He rushed the passer, knocked the ball free and recovered the fumble. He turned his jersey around and then took us into the end zone.
The Plugger. This player has not been fully developed but has substantial potential. The Plugger has been underutilized and knows it. The Plugger has been waiting for you to make them better. When your developmental plan takes a Plugger from operating at 40 percent to 65 percent, that gain is significant. Now multiply that number by the number of Pluggers on the team and all of a sudden you’re in a ticker tape parade.
The Kantby. The Kantby does not possess the skill or capability to do what needs to be done. These are the people that you need to point in a different direction. Life is not fair, but you can be. You can also be sensitive and kind as you explain why the situation may not be right for them. Some of the most productive people on the planet were playing in the wrong arena and when they were encouraged to go somewhere else, they rewrote the record book.
When I began to establish “acceptable” performance points based upon potential, I got better results. When I treated people fairly they not only performed at a higher level but also had a better attitude. When people fail they are disappointed. They search for answers. They scrutinize behavior. They wonder if they were treated right. You’ll become the target of their inquisition. Thumbs up or thumbs down. If you have treated people fairly they know it and with that knowledge they will let you play another day.
Facilitating the process means telling it like it is.
Too many people struggle with the concept. I think the foundation for deceit begins in childhood. One day you awaken and begin to question the world around you. You want answers. Why doesn’t the fat guy in the red suit use the front door? How can the reindeer get full on two cookies and a stick of celery? Does Santa outsource? The charade continues. The suspicions mount. Why doesn’t the tooth fairy adjust for inflation? Where does the Easter Bunny get the chocolate? Facts are not forthcoming and you remain confused. If you’re lucky, some cold-hearted bastard gives it to you straight. “Your mom ate the cookies.”
We cannot open the paper, turn on the television, or surf the Internet without being exposed to someone in trouble because of communication or a lack thereof. The “straight scoop” is critical to elevating performance. I’ve discovered candor is productive. I’ve learned that people want the truth. Sooner is better. Prolonging the inevitable wastes time and squanders resources. Both are hard to come by. Hiding the facts has never served anyone well—at least not in the long term. Make the assessment, deliver the goods and then get on with what has to be done.
Facilitating the process means having fun.
There are those that believe fun is foolish, fun is a waste of time, fun is a sin. They will tell you that enjoying yourself is the first stop on your trip to hell. I’m not one of them. It wasn’t always that way. I had so little fun growing up, I never gave fun gave much thought. That changed one day during a philosophy class at Peabody. The instructor entered. He looked like a mop, dressed like a mop, and talked like a mop. I thought about dropping the course. All of a sudden I was laughing, holding my belly, stomping my foot, and regretting that the class would have to come to an end.
Somewhere along the way he introduced the fact that fun should be an objective. Fun was a means to the end. Fun was an attraction. Fun was a reward. Fun was the lure. He told us to never lose sight of the fact that accomplishment was the goal.
If you want people hooked on your deal, start with a little fun. Gradually you can introduce the pain. They will accept it as long as they know that if they meet the goal the fun returns. If you make the fun, fun enough, it becomes addictive. People will do whatever they have to do to get back to the party. Some of the best leaders I’ve seen make the environment a ball. Why not? Let people experience Mardi Gras and then explain, if you don’t give your all, you’ll be asked to leave.
Since I was a kid, I’ve pursued activities that kept me physically fit. There was a time I was a “no pain no gain” disciple. It worked for me. It doesn’t work for everyone. I remember one day in a gym overhearing a woman tell her trainer i
t took forty-three years to realize she needed to get in shape.
Immediately her trainer identified fifteen exercises that would turn Jello into steel. They started and you could see the pain on her face. The discomfort was evident. It soon turned to agony. They made it through ten exercises and she told him she had to stop. She did and never came back.
Had her trainer understood that if it took that long to get to a gym, her motivation was suspect. Had he had a class from the Mop, he would have understood he needed to change a mindset. That would start by showing her that exercise was fun. Four exercises would be fine. Make them easy. After each set he would give her a Tootsie pop and a foot massage. Once she realized exercise was far more enjoyable than she envisioned, she might buy into it. Once she did he could increase the work load and take her north. He never got the chance.
Facilitating the process means challenging people to be better.
Most people have no idea what they are capable of doing. Circumstances are a wonderful way to show people they are better than they think. History is filled with examples of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. They rose to the occasion. People have stood on top of the Matterhorn and raised their arms in triumph. The same happened on the Eiger, Mount Blanc, Zugspitz, and the Jungfrau. What a terrific achievement. And then there was the guy who did them all in thirty-six hours. He was my hero until I read about the blind man that climbed Mount Everest. Some are puzzled by how performance can reach such lofty levels. I wondered also, but now realize, that the human spirit is incredible and when people are challenged that spirit is ignited. People love to be challenged. They can’t wait to be challenged. They need to be challenged.
Think about it. Can you remember any of the people in your life that allowed you to be less? I remember those people that made me struggle. I remember those people that gave me pain. I remember those people that made me sweat. I remember those people that made me hurt.
When I was underchallenged I may have thought it was okay but that was only because I didn’t understand the consequences. I didn’t know that depriving me of the opportunity to excel was a felony. I don’t hold them in contempt because I’m sure they did it out of ignorance.
There was a time when I was ignorant. I remember a terrific athlete. He showed up and did everything better than everyone. What I didn’t know was that he was better than anyone operating at 70 percent. I never thought about asking him for more. Had I, we may have gone undefeated.
GET IT UP
In my early years I didn’t fully appreciate the link between challenging people and performance. I didn’t understand that most people operate at a fraction of their capability. I fell prey to the 110 percent cliché. I would think, if they are giving that much how can I ask for more? My attitude changed one morning as I read the story of a Vietnam Vet who had his legs blown off. To bring attention to a cause he supported, he committed to cross America on his hands. Picture that. He would reach out, lift himself up and place his body back down. At about nine inches per effort he moved his 140 pound torso across the Rockies, Mojave desert, and amber waves of grain. Neither rain, snow, sleet, hail, burning sun, hunger, pain, or loneliness stopped him from accomplishing his goal. Strapped to a leather pad, inch by inch he thumped his way east. Three years later when he arrived at the Statue of Liberty he had concluded his remarkable physical feat.
His effort made me ponder situations where I had asked for more and not received it. At the time I was naïve. I accepted what I got. I figured their tank must be empty. I no longer do. One hundred and ten percent—ridiculous. One hundred percent—forget about it. Eighty percent—I don’t think so.
PROOF POSITIVE
The year was way back when. The football season was over and I was on to track and field. I always enjoyed coaching track because of the “one on one” nature of the job. I liked the individual aspect of the interaction between coach and athlete. In between efforts you got to talk about all kinds of neat stuff. Uniforms were lighter and you didn’t have to use a megaphone to get your point across.
This particular season I had a talented discus thrower who I believed was better than his performance showed. His distances made you yawn. If you ever got hit in the head with a discus he’d thrown it wouldn’t raise a lump. My guy had never thrown the discus more than 115 feet. A major meet was coming up and a newspaper wanted facts. I gave them the skinny. He would be somewhere between 114 and 115. If nothing else he was consistent.
The article came out and they got it wrong. His name appeared and it was predicted he would do 150 feet. At that range he was the favorite. I showed him the article. He liked what he saw. He’d never been the favorite. Not ever. He was an only child and he wasn’t the favorite.
I challenged my guy by reminding him he was the favorite. I told him I expected a victory. A smile spread across his face. He said he was going to go get new shoes. He would press his shirt, wash his shorts, put on deodorant and comb his hair. He said he wanted to look good when he received his medal. I told him not to pluck his eyebrows.
His day in the sun arrived. The competition was pretty much doing what was expected. They were all around 115. “The Favorite” was announced. What a challenge. Ernest liked what he heard. All eyes were on “Discus Boy.” There was judge in the field who knew Ernest. He was standing at one hundred and fifteen feet, one inch.
Ernest stepped into the circle and launched the disk high into the sky. It went over the judge’s head and landed at 147. He blew the competition away. He took home the gold, the girl, and a new attitude.
One way or another leaders find a way to tap dormant energy. If you are looking to get a job done you may not need to hire another person. Just get the three people to pick it up 30 percent.
Facilitating the process might mean you leave it alone.
When I first started coaching track in Roswell, I inherited a great athlete—Leonard Wilder. He was champion pole-vaulter and hurdler. The problem, as I saw it, was that he went off the wrong foot when he vaulted and took too many steps in between hurdles. I made him switch. Soon after, my methods had taken him from twelve to nine feet in the vault and the hurdles became a threat. I was dumb but I wasn’t stupid. I told him he could go back to his old ways. He did and set records in both events.
Some things need to be fixed and some don’t. If you start to tinker and the tinker doesn’t work, put the tinker on the shelf.
Facilitating the process means being consistent.
Hot and cold, wet and dry, in and out, on and off is hard to grasp. The teenage mind has not fully developed and one of its shortcomings is inconsistency. Having a role model that is stable has always paid off. People want to know what you stand for and what you believe in. It’s difficult to muster commitment on a moving target.
Facilitating the process means hiring assistants that can teach.
Over the years I’ve heard the argument that a staff was short handed. I never understood it. There are coaches everywhere. They may not have the title but who cares. Being a coach is not a label but a process. Anyone who can communicate a message can coach. Wendel Swain was a biology teacher and Bill York slept with a slide rule. Both were great. People knew what they were supposed to do and did it.
Facilitating the process means expanding your focus.
There was a point in my coaching career when the here and now was all that mattered. A winning season consumed my focus and was at the heart of my effort. That changed. It might have been the result of a player’s success after Yoast, or it may have come from the realization that a football field cannot be seen from space. Sure winning was important but what was so much more valuable were the lessons that competition taught. They were tangible. They were marketable. Those lessons transformed young men and women into productive members of society. The field provided a classroom and that classroom became a bridge to a better life.
Veda Nicely was one of those Blue Chippers that needed a little extra help. As a hurdler she was as good as i
t got. But Veda was like a lot of young people who have been known to succumb to peer pressure. She was as smart as she was fast and that meant honors classes. Her crowd told her that was the wrong thing to do. Why would you want to study if you could rap on the corner? She was about to take the bait when Bob Atkins showed up. He explained the importance of an education and what it would mean in her life. He didn’t put down the rapping thing, he just pointed out it was more fun to rap on a corner you owned. The message got through and Veda excelled on and off the field. She made her way to Bowie State and graduated Magna Cum Laude. Other successes followed. She is now impacting kids in the Prince Georges County school system.
Not every story has a happy ending. Of all the kids I’ve coached, Tracy Fells was the most likeable. He was an athletic star the day he was born. He was a great young man. His mom had brought him up right and it showed. Whenever Tracy was around, things just seemed to be better. I loved Tracy Fells. In his sophomore year I started to detect a change. He was making a name for himself in football and on the streets. One day I called Tracy into my office and told him I had heard some rumors I didn’t like. I suggested he slow down. I pointed out he had a great future and he didn’t want to screw it up. I thought he paid attention.
His senior year he brought the Titans another state championship with a remarkable goal line stand. He had a scholarship to Grambling and was destined for the NFL. As a defensive end his instincts were never wrong but as a young man he struggled with finding his way. He liked clothes and the money needed to buy them. He had a new car and a lot of gold. I questioned him about it and warned him again. My input fell on deaf ears. Dealing crack was easy money; 5,000 a day beat flipping burgers. He found out differently.
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