by Bill Walsh
He discussed how to wear the uniform, how to dress for meals, how each player was expected to keep his locker in order. He told players how he wanted them to respond to coaching, how to take notes during lectures, how teaching would be done, and what to expect from each assistant coach.
Brown covered such specifics as punctuality, the training-room rules, what would happen when players were waived (this always sent a chill through the group), and the overall environment he intended to create. Furthermore, he shared his policy of treating each player—stars, backups, veterans, rookies, free agents—equally, with the same high level of respect and dignity.
Each year his lecture, and this was only a sampling of topics, lasted about four hours (and voluminous printed material supplemented the lecture). Paul Brown was thorough enough that when the Bengals personnel left the meeting room they knew precisely what they were supposed to do in the coming weeks and that their head coach expected them to enthusiastically adhere to every procedure, policy, and timetable he had specified.
Needless to say, he continued with this kind of direct and clear communication in the months that followed—in practice, during games, and elsewhere.
What he laid out was measurable. And he measured it on a regular basis—his version of your company’s year-end review. (You will note that I included some of Brown’s material in my own Standard of Performance and expanded greatly on it. Like Paul Brown, I attempted to be clear, specific, and direct in putting forth my own requirements concerning actions and attitude.)
Vince Lombardi had a similar appreciation for the benefits of direct—specific—communication. Supposedly, he started each season’s training camp by assembling the team and announcing, as he held it over his head, “Gentlemen, this is a football.” That’s how Vince began his introduction of the fundamentals of his particular system, with clear communication. Both Brown and Lombardi understood the necessity of spelling out in detail what you expect from employees and doing it in a manner that is unambiguous and comprehensive.
It is an important element in why these great coaches succeeded. Employees can thrive in an environment where they know exactly what is expected of them—even when those expectations are very high.
When it comes to telling people what you expect from them, don’t be subtle, don’t be coy, don’t be vague. What is your version of, “Gentlemen, this is a football”?
Don’t Mistake Grabbin’ for Tackling
There’s another story about Vince Lombardi worth mentioning because it points out a high-priority responsibility of any leader. During a game in which his Green Bay Packers were giving up one gain after another, as the opponent marched down the field, he screamed out at his defensive players, “Grabbin’, grabbin’, grabbin’! Nobody’s tackling!!! What the hell is going on out there?”
Lombardi could see that his defensive players were not getting it done, were not really doing the hard job of tackling runners. He let them know that “grabbin’ ” was not their job description and simply going through the motions was going to get them beat.
A leader must know when his team is making a lot of noise signifying nothing. UCLA’s coach John Wooden summed it up like this: “Don’t mistake activity for achievement.” (John Wooden, Wooden on Leadership.) Lombardi was more graphic in his language but was addressing the same issue.
Communication Creates Collaboration: Big Ears Are Better Than Big Egos
In an earlier time, leadership—most visibly in sports, but also commonly in business—required no greater people skills than those of a blunt-force object. Ohio State’s Woody Hayes, Alabama’s Bear Bryant, and Green Bay’s Vince Lombardi all enjoyed their image as hard taskmasters whose primary people skills appeared to be intimidation and humiliation.
Henry Jordan, one of Vince’s top players, reportedly said, only partially in jest, “When Coach Lombardi says, ‘Sit down,’ I don’t look for a chair.” (When asked if Lombardi gave his stars special treatment, Jordan replied, “No. He treats us all the same—like dogs.”) Leadership in sports and business has generally moved away from this forceful, heavy-handed approach, although there are still plenty of examples of it—some very successful, in fact.
While leadership still involves occasionally using a heavy-handed approach—“my way or the highway”—collaboration is required more than ever these days to obtain optimal results. These results only occur when you are able to bring out the full potential of your personnel. Quality collaboration is only possible in the presence of quality communication; that is, the free-flowing and robust exchange of information, ideas, and opinions. And “having big ears”—the skill of being a great listener—is the first law of good communication. (The second law is “When you’re not listening, ask good questions.”)
For me it meant I had to set aside certain aspects of my own ego—e.g., talking too much—and really listen to what talented individuals in the organization had to say. I had to learn that communication is not a one-way street; it’s a two-way, three-way, every-way street. This is a challenge for some of us to put into practice, because it’s usually a hell of a lot easier to tell somebody what to do than to listen to his or her suggestions and ideas (especially when you think that you have all the answers on a wide range of subjects).
As a group, I wanted each of us to be as interested in finding out what others thought as in telling others what we thought. (Of course, I also didn’t want a staff made up of talented people who just sat there listening all the time.)
At 49er staff meetings everyone understood they were expected to participate, communicate, and collaborate, to be part of the discussion regardless of the topic being addressed. I would go around the conference table seeking input from each coach, scout, and executive. If someone said, “That’s not something I’m familiar with, Bill,” I told them firmly, “Talk to somebody who can get you familiar with it.” (Among other things, this had the added advantage of keeping everyone on their toes and tuned in. They never knew when I would solicit their opinion on something.)
An individual doesn’t need to be an expert to ask an intelligent question or offer useful insights. A sentence beginning with the words “This may sound dumb, but . . .” can be the start of a fruitful discussion if you’ve hired talented and intelligent people. The person most familiar with a topic—you, for example—can get myopic, in need of an outside perspective.
I also knew that fear of being shunted aside or told, “That’s a stupid question,” keeps valid questions from being asked. Rarely was anyone working with me derided for their inquiries or opinions. (Of course, by hiring smart people I eliminated the vast majority of dumb questions.)
Nor did I ever want staff members or others to have cause to say, “Hey, nobody listens to me,” just because their idea or suggestion wasn’t used. Communication means people will disagree—strongly at times—but they must understand that disagreement should not fester. “Get a cup of coffee, put your arm around the shoulder of the person you’re bumping heads with, and say, ‘Let’s talk about this,’ ” was my directive. “You’re not always right, nor is the other person. Sometimes you’re both wrong. Sometimes there are three sides to a coin.” I wanted to work with people smart enough to have independent thinking but strong enough to change their opinion when evidence or logic suggested it.
Communication is complex. It’s not just the King’s English. Body language, gender connection, age connection, role connection, affluence and wealth connection, receiving or taking directions, and the state of mind of one person or another are all elements in communicating with someone.
It’s not just being able to talk back and forth. It’s recognizing when to say it, how to say it, when to listen, whom you’re talking with, how they feel, what you’re trying to get down to, how important the circumstance is, what the necessity is timewise, and how rapidly the decision must be made.
These are complex skills you must possess as part of your own basic Standard of Performance that is part of your leade
rship inventory. While a healthy ego is crucial in leadership, it turns unhealthy when self-confidence becomes arrogance, assertiveness becomes obstinacy, and self-assurance becomes reckless abandon. This is manifested when communication from leadership amounts to “Shut up and listen”—when your ego gets bigger than your ears.
Ironically, a big display of ego is sometimes hiding insecurity or lack of confidence. That kind of individual is overly protective of his or her turf or attempting to establish position in the pecking order by making others conform to his or her wishes. This, of course, reduces or removes creative vitality and collaboration.
If you are uncomfortable walking around your team’s workplace, awkward and out of place, you are a disconnected leader—not really part of the team. Sitting in your office with the door closed and issuing edicts from on high is not communication, and is certainly not collaborative leadership.
You should be willing to go to someone’s office or desk and help him or her do his or her job. You want to be able to facilitate what people are doing when necessary. The 49ers coaching staff—including me—was not hidden away like a secret cabal that was seen only occasionally. Among many other things, at least once a week each coach spent his lunch hour in the locker room with the team. Eating a tuna fish sandwich and drinking a Pepsi next to players was an unassuming way to break down barriers and facilitate organizational familiarity, which facilitates better interaction. Your can also learn a lot while eating your sandwich.
(Obviously, there was also constant interaction every minute during practice and at other times during the day, but often it was in the context of preparation or planning. Not informal, casual “How’s the family?”- style interaction.)
This was similar in a way to the approach of Dave Packard and Bill Hewlett, founders of Hewlett-Packard and charter members of Silicon Valley. They called it “management by walking around.” Both men were constantly circulating and talking with their employees in the labs, production areas, and research facilities, recognizing that personal communication was often necessary to back up written instructions.
Dave and Bill were not alone in this approach. Silicon Valley has many billion-dollar companies whose CEO will work directly with a maintenance person when it’s important, or sit down momentarily with middle managers and help them do their job. There is no stratification or pecking order where they try to figure out where everybody fits socially. There just isn’t room for a hierarchy.
Jack Welch, former CEO of General Electric, called it “boundaryless” communication and worked hard to remove barriers to the flow of information within the corporation. Everybody is in the loop and expected to participate.
As a former boxer, I’d suggest that if your left hand doesn’t know what your right hand is doing, you’ll get knocked out. Your right hook must be in sync with your left jab. For this to occur, your brain must communicate so your hands can collaborate. The same principle applies in business and in sports.
Be a King Without a Crown
Even though I had virtually complete autonomy through most of my ten years as head coach of the 49ers, I was never called Coach Walsh. In fact, everyone in the organization was addressed by their first name, including me. I wanted no barriers such as rank or title to clog up productive interaction, no chain of command to produce a sense that instead of a real team we were just a collection of isolated individuals on a totem pole of power belonging to small independent units.
Rank, titles, or inferred status can impede open communication in an environment where people thrive on helping one another. Here’s just one small instance that demonstrates how the absence of such barriers manifested itself in our organization.
At halftime during a midseason game with the New Orleans Saints, I told our offensive team that if we got near the Saints’ thirty-yard line I was going to call a specific pass play that I’d been saving for the situation. Sure enough, early in the third quarter we got to the Saints’ twenty-seven-yard line, but in the heat of the moment I forgot about the play I’d promised in the locker room to use.
Steve Young, our backup quarterback, who was standing close by, immediately leaned over and reminded me of what I had said earlier. I listened; we scored. (This example demonstrates two important points: (1) Young understood and practiced communication and collaboration. He felt free to speak up even though it might be embarrassing to me since in the heat of the moment I had completely forgotten what I said earlier, and (2) Steve was selfless, team first, in bringing forth information that his “rival” quarterback, Joe Montana, would use successfully.)
I wanted no separate divisions where people felt that the only thing that mattered was their specific area of responsibility, that somehow their welfare was separate from that of the rest of us. Steve was like that—a team player.
Thus, the defensive coordinator understood that doing his job was not all that mattered—that the welfare of the offense was not somehow another island of no concern to him. Everyone understood the only welfare that mattered was the organization’s. If our ship sank, we all drowned.
For that to happen—for individuals to merge their own interests with those of the team—good communication must exist in an open atmosphere where intellectual interaction is a given.
Former UCLA basketball coach John Wooden has always urged, “Be more concerned with finding the right way than in having it your way.” When you reach the point where someone in your organization comes up with an idea better than the one you’ve been extolling for weeks or months and it makes you happy, you’re an authentic communicator and collaborator.
A leader who just wants to hear “yes” is like a child who only wants to eat candy. Soon the youngster’s teeth are gone. Likewise, a leader who wants people standing in line to agree with him or her will soon be history, having sailed into the sunset as captain of the ship of fools.
This involves setting aside your ego, resisting the temptation to let the world know how smart you are or think you are. If you’re doing your job, the team will recognize your abilities. In turn, you must recognize their talent and bring forth their potential in a collaborative way.
A sales manager who resists input from his or her sales team automatically limits its potential; a manager who holds forth at the conference table might as well be sitting there alone; a football coach with small ears and a big ego will soon be watching the game on television at home instead of from the sidelines.
“Listen and learn” isn’t a bad motto; neither is “Listen and lead.” In most organizations the leader’s example sets the tone for everyone else. One of the greatest and most neglected skills in leadership is the ability to listen. If someone told me that leadership is as easy as one, two, three, I’d reply, “Only if the one, two, and three are as follows:1. Listen
2. Learn
3. Lead”
Fourteen of the assistant coaches who worked with me at San Francisco went on to head coaching jobs in the NFL or at the college level. I believe a big part of the reason for this extraordinary upward mobility was that they were fully included in the communication and collaborative decision-making process during their tenures with me. They were also good listeners.
They did well because our organization valued communication and collaboration; I did well for the same reason. Everybody can be a winner when “Be a Good Listener” is at the top of your leadership mission statement. Good collaboration begins with big ears.
Create Uncertainty
Great leaders are not necessarily predictable people. One of the best I’ve ever known is Pete Newell, who for many years was head basketball coach at the University of California-Berkeley. Among other things, his team won the national championship—March Madness—in 1959, and he was later voted Coach of the Year. His teams were consistently competitive, well taught, and among the nation’s best.
Coach Newell did lots of things right, but I was particularly intrigued by his ability to keep individuals sharp and on their toes—to keep them from
falling into a mental comfort zone, which can occur when the person in charge becomes too predictable. This comfort zone is dangerous because it creates an often almost imperceptible lowering of intensity, focus, and energy, which leads directly to reduced effort, additional mistakes, and diminished performance.
Watching Pete’s Golden Bears during practices at their gym in Berke ley, I saw that he could suddenly become very worked up, severe, and critical—lashing out without warning or apparent cause. He would spot some minor miscue, and suddenly everything would change. It was something to witness—out of the blue, lightning and thunder from Newell over seemingly nothing situations.
And then just as quickly—usually, but not always—his verbal and emotional squall would pass. When he had addressed the little “issue” that had set him off, Pete would become lighthearted and even engage in humor as the practice resumed. But it was evident the players were now on edge and would subsequently ebb and flow with his demeanor, attitude, and emotions—looking to him for a response and reacting to his behavior. He was the focal point the others responded to.
Of course, the little “issue” that had set him off—for example, a pass that he declared not crisp—was often an excuse to fix the larger concern, which was usually the level, or lack thereof, of intensity, energy, and attention.
Players were kept on their toes because Pete Newell was somewhat unpredictable. They knew that a toughness lurked within and that he was willing and able to bring it forth if he felt it necessary. It kept them on their toes.
Effective leaders often have this quality. They understand that if you’re predictably difficult or predictably easygoing, others become predictably comfortable. In a highly competitive environment, feeling comfortable is first cousin to being complacent.