Remember this Titan (12 page)

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.

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.

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 it 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 it 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.