The Score Takes Care of Itself

by Bill Walsh

  If you watched Joe Montana interact with a group of athletes, he wasn’t the guy you’d pick out as “the Man” around whom everything focused and everyone congregated. He didn’t appear to need attention or acclaim and was good at sharing credit. Others sought and fed off attention, but not Joe. This is a little unusual among superstars in sports (or business).

  Nevertheless, this superb player (by way of Pennsylvania’s Ringgold High School and the University of Notre Dame), a guy who never saw a professional football game in person until he played in one, was a leader of the highest caliber who led with one fundamental and powerful leadership technique: his own example.

  There were several reasons for his effectiveness that became apparent as I watched him over the early years. Of course, Joe had the talent, but talent alone won’t make you a leader (as we see each year with various NFL teams and assorted CEOs). He had courage, but the ability to risk physical injury from human wrecking machines like the New York Giants’ great cornerback Lawrence Taylor did not in itself instill loyalty in his teammates.

  Beyond his rare talent, there was something else working for Joe that had a profound effect on others and created a willingness to accept him as the on-field leader—the kind of leader you would put your faith in and follow into battle. And it was something that is especially applicable in a corporate setting.

  Joe Montana’s leadership was grounded in this key characteristic: Despite the fact that he was the starting quarterback, with all of the trappings that come with that position, he never played favorites or believed that a person’s reputation, status, or credentials entitled him to special treatment. When you worked with Joe, you were treated as an equal. There were no stars in the Montana system, including Joe Montana. That corny old cliché, “One for all and all for one,” could have been written with him in mind.

  His leadership skills were demonstrated more by behavior on the field or in the locker room than by what he might say just before or during the game. Joe’s interaction with other players and coaches was democratic, sincere, and understated. He led with his own talent, quiet confidence, and unassuming demeanor.

  Joe never stood up and gave a rah-rah speech to our team at halftime, but as the gravity of a situation increased, so did his own intensity. He could become almost trancelike at times of heightened pressure. This accounted for the amazing thirty-one fourth-quarter comebacks he engineered during his NFL career. Equally impressive—perhaps more so—is the fact that in four Super Bowl games he never threw a single interception.

  Joe didn’t have to talk the talk because he walked the walk. And without really working at it, he found that everyone else was walking the walk right behind him.

  What he did and the way in which he did it offers a great model that is applicable in any setting. Joe Montana is one of the best examples I have ever seen that proved you don’t need to shout, stomp, or strut to be a great leader—just do the job and treat people right. Isn’t that an essential element in getting people to trust and follow you?

  Incredibly, his personality and style didn’t change when Joe began to emerge as maybe the best quarterback in history and the center of attention for every football writer and television reporter in America. He remained conscientious about sharing credit. Consequently, nobody resented, was jealous of, or envied all the adulation and publicity he received.

  These traits, which I’m sure were instilled by his parents, Theresa and Joe Sr., were a perfect match for the Standard of Performance I had established within the 49er organization. A fundamental component of my system was the recognition that everyone in our organization—regardless of his or her responsibilities, reputation, or paycheck—was a respected member of the group. Others had to be taught this, but Joe understood it before he ever put on a 49er jersey.

  I was lucky to have a quarterback in my years at San Francisco who exhibited this important leadership quality right from the start. His leadership example of doing your job, treating others with respect, expecting people to do their jobs, and holding them accountable is a formula for success that will work in any good organization.

  Montana’s kind of leadership is a great starting point, in my view, for what any good leader strives to do, namely, bring out the best in people. In order to manage people effectively, you must act responsibly and professionally in your capacity as leader. In this regard, you should employ an approach that is based on the following principles:1. Treat people like people. Every player on our team wore a number; no player on our team was “just a number.” Treat each member of your organization as a unique person. I was never pals with players, but I never viewed any of them as an anonymous member of an organizational herd.

  2. Seek positive relationships through encouragement, support, and critical evaluation. Maintain an uplifting atmosphere at work with your ongoing positive, enthusiastic, energizing behavior.

  3. Afford everyone equal dignity, respect, and treatment.

  4. Blend honesty and “diplomacy.” At times, it is both humane and practical to soften the heavy blow of a demotion or termination with compassion and empathy. It will also help prevent or reduce a toxic response that can ripple through the organization when word spreads that someone feels he or she has been treated roughly without cause. Nevertheless, “rough treatment” serves a purpose occasionally.

  5. Allow for a wide range of moods, from serious to very relaxed, in the workplace depending on the circumstances. Set the acceptable tone by your own demeanor, and develop the fine art of knowing when to crack the whip or crack a joke. In the middle of our second Super Bowl season, Joe Montana threw three interceptions against Cincinnati in the first half. We were getting beaten decisively. What was the correct response from me? Bark at him to bear down and try harder, scold him, or what? As he came off the field following his third interception, I pulled him over and asked him innocently, “How’s it going out there, Joe?” He got my joke, and I think it took off some of the pressure and anger he had at himself. Things improved, he got going in the second half, and we won. Maybe in another situation my approach would have been more critical. You have to have a feel for it.

  6. Avoid pleading with players to “get going” or trying to relate to them by adopting their vernacular. Strong leaders don’t plead with individuals to perform.

  7. Make each person in your employ very aware that his or her well-being has a high priority with the organization and that the well-being of the organization must be his or her highest professional priority.

  8. Give no VIP treatment. Except on a very short-term “reward” basis that is understood as such—for example, a special parking spot for the employee of the month.

  9. Speak in positive terms about former members of your organization. This creates a very positive impression and signals that respect and loyalty extend beyond an individual’s time on your payroll.

  10. Demonstrate interest in and support for the extended families of members of the organization.

  11. Communicate on a first-name basis without allowing relationships to become buddy-buddy. Deep resentments can develop when others see you playing favorites by exhibiting a special bond with select members of the group.

  12. Don’t let differences or animosity linger. Cleanse the wound before it gets infected.

  One of the great strengths of General George S. Patton, perhaps one of the best general officers in the history of the U.S. military, was his ability to work with and lead those individuals under his command. The manner in which he did this is applicable beyond the military to sports, business, and leadership in a broad range of areas.

  In his “Letter of Instruction Number 1” (from War As I Knew It), which was written for officers under his command in the U.S. Third Army, Patton offered six key dictates. You should evaluate each one and determine whether you can utilize it in your own “command.”

  1. Remember that praise is more valuable than blame. Remember, too, that your primary mission as a leader is to see with your own eye
s and be seen by your own troops while engaged in personal reconnaissance.

  2. Use every means before and after combat to tell troops what they are going to do and what they have done.

  3. Discipline is based on pride in the profession [my italics] of arms, on meticulous attention to details, and on mutual respect and confidence. Discipline must be a habit so ingrained that it is stronger than the excitement of battle or the fear of death.

  4. Officers must assert themselves by example and by voice. They must be preeminent in courage, deportment and dress.

  5. General officers must be seen in the front line during action.

  6. There is a tendency for the chain of command to overload junior officers by excessive requirements in the way of training and reports. You will alleviate this burden by eliminating non-essential demands.

  There is much in Patton’s letter to think about. Obviously, some of it pertains only to war, but almost all of it has relevance to what you do if you adopt and adapt it appropriately: praising rather than blaming; getting out and working amid your “troops”; precisely describing what you want done; taking pride in the profession; paying attention to details; creating habits that hold up under pressure; and removing nonessentials in the workload. It’s all great stuff from a great leader.

  Don’t Let Anybody Call You a Genius

  Nobody, including me, expected the 49ers to win the Super Bowl so soon after I was hired as head coach—going from a 2-14 record my first year to world champions twenty-four months later. (To put it another way, we lost twenty-six of the first thirty-five games I coached; then sixteen games later we won Super Bowl XVI.) Consequently, and in part because of the complexities of our pass-based offense, the media began referring to me as “the Genius.”

  When the name was first attached to me, I was naive enough to be flattered and did nothing to discourage writers from using it. I may have even been thinking, “Hey, maybe there’s something to it.” I hope not, but everybody likes to read and hear good things about themselves. Besides, what possible downside could there be?

  I learned soon enough that an inflated label like “Genius,” or any other form of hyperbole, comes with a big downside—that buying into what people say about you can create both external and internal problems, making your life and job a lot tougher than they already are. It happened very soon for me.

  Following our first Super Bowl victory, the San Francisco 49ers lost twelve of our next twenty-two games—just over 50 percent. (In fact, our record was 3-6 in the strike-shortened season immediately following that Super Bowl championship.)

  Soon some writers, coaches, and fans began using the nickname “Genius” dismissively, even derisively. When a play backfired, somebody in the stands would inevitably shout, “There goes the Genius again,” or “Hey, Genius, back to the laboratory.”

  I learned that opposing coaches would incite players by talking sarcastically about the big “Genius” who was sitting calmly at his desk in San Francisco thinking up new ways to embarrass them on Sunday. Reporters wrote columns analyzing whether I was a “Genius” or a flash in the pan; whether the West Coast Offense was real or a house of cards.

  I must admit, all of this was painful for both me and my family. Believe me, my wife, Geri, never operated under the illusion that she was married to a genius. In fact, at one point, after a hard-fought but narrow loss to the New Orleans Saints at Candlestick Park, she and I were leaving the stadium when an older woman wearing a 49ers scarf noticed us and eagerly rolled down the window of her car and waved in our direction. “Bill, Bill Walsh? May I ask you a question?” she inquired. We walked over to within a few feet of her car, and I leaned toward her open window with a smile on my face.

  Suddenly she erupted: “You stupid son of a bitch! That was the worst job of coaching I’ve ever seen. You owe me a refund.” She rolled up her window and drove away. Geri and I stood there stunned, embarrassed. Then we started chuckling. “She shouldn’t talk to a genius like that,” my wife said with a smile. “By the way, don’t forget to clean out the garage when we get home. We need to make room for all of your trophies.”

  The incident only reminded me of what I already knew; namely, that the title I really wanted—the title that indicated the highest praise—was “teacher” or “coach”; combined, they make you a leader. The “Genius” label was an albatross around my neck.

  Nevertheless, it’s easy to get caught up in or enamored of lofty titles, praise, and flattery as you subconsciously attempt to become the character others have created out of who you are. That character isn’t you, but it’s an addictive attraction if the plaques, awards, and commendations start rolling in. Believing your own press clippings—good or bad—is self-defeating. You are allowing others, oftentimes uninformed others, to tell you who you are.

  The real damage occurs when you start to believe that future success will come your way automatically because of the great ability of this caricature you have suddenly become, that the hard work and applied intelligence you utilized initially are not as crucial as they once were. That’s when you get lazy; that’s when you let your guard down. When that happens, you’re not a genius—you’re a genuine fool.

  When the “Genius” title turned on me, I backed away from it as far as I could get. A story got going among fans that the sign on my parking space at 49ers headquarters said “The Professor.” It wasn’t true, but it would have been an improvement over “The Genius.”

  The Leverage of Language

  You demonstrate a lack of assuredness when you talk constantly in negatives. When attempting to help someone attain that next level of performance, a supportive approach works better than a constantly negative or downside-focused approach.

  I could be very cutting, very sharp in criticizing a player or coach, but I always made an effort to counter it by following up the barbs with more upbeat input immediately afterward. I avoided creating a chain of negatives. Here’s an example.

  One Tuesday morning during a preseason workout at our training facility in Santa Clara, California, future Hall of Fame quarterback Steve Young was practicing a crossing pass route with Brent Jones. Steve threw a bad ball. His mechanics weren’t right—in fact, they were sloppy, especially for someone at his high skill level. Young wasn’t focused on what he was doing; instead, he was just going through the motions. This may not sound serious—one pass among many at practice—but it is a cardinal sin in my philosophy.

  I was standing directly behind him with my arms across my chest and said sternly, “Lousy! That was laughable, Steve. Damn it, do it again, and this time do it right.” I was very stern, trying to jack up his intensity and get him focused on what he was doing.

  The squad reset, and Steve took the snap, dropped back three steps, and threw a second pass—this time with a beautiful and perfect motion, physical artistry that made it a little work of art. I said, “That was good. Stay with that,” and walked away rubbing my hands together. He looked over at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Steve had gotten my message (and the message wasn’t so much about his throwing motion as it was about his concentration). My praise was sparse, but meaningful because it was rarely effusive.

  When I criticized or gave feedback to someone, it wasn’t defeatist. It was always focused on the here and now and never conjured up images or incidents of poor play over the previous days or weeks (for example, “Your motion was lousy. That’s why you’ve been throwing interceptions for the last three weeks. How long is it going to take to get it right? I’m getting tired of seeing this over and over.”).

  It creates a sense of piling on, of browbeating. When that happens, you lose credibility and respect because the subject of your continuous criticism sees it as a personal attack. Others see it and react the same way. (This is not to say I never piled on or wasn’t occasionally guilty of browbeating.)

  If you’re growing a garden, you need to pull out the weeds, but flowers will die if all you do is pick weeds. They need sunshine and water. Pe
ople are the same. They need criticism, but they also require positive and substantive language and information and true support to really blossom.

  If you’re perceived as a negative person—always picking, pulling, criticizing—you will simply get tuned out by those around you. Your influence, ability to teach, and opportunity to make progress will be diminished and eventually lost. When that happens, you become useless, a hindrance to progress. When your feedback is interpreted as a personal attack rather than a critique with positive intentions, you are going backward.

  Constructive criticism is a powerful instrument essential for improving performance. Positive support can be equally productive. Used together by a skilled leader they become the key to maximum results. Most of us seem to be more inclined to offer the negative. I don’t know why, but it’s easier to criticize than to compliment. Find the right mixture for optimum results.

  Don’t Beat Around the Bush (When Describing a Bush)

  Former Cleveland and Cincinnati head coach Paul Brown taught me a lot during the eight years I worked for him as an assistant coach. Among his many talents was direct communication. He was clear, specific, and comprehensive without an ounce of ambiguity. I like his approach and recommend the same for you. Here’s an example of how he insured that everyone was on the same page.

  On the first day of each season’s training camp, Brown would give a lecture to the squad that covered his own Standard of Performance—what he expected (demanded) in all areas. Of course, a leader’s personal example is perhaps the most powerful teaching tool, but words have their own power and specificity.

  Brown would start each season with the phrase, “Gentlemen, let’s set the record straight,” and then proceed to do exactly that. Step by step by step, specific after specific, he would cover every aspect of being on the Cincinnati Bengals football team.