That quote was from Chris Doyle, Iowa's strength and conditioning coach, and I read it in the Hawk Central article titled "The $12 paperback book that is inspiring Iowa football."
I've been debating about whether I should write this. Not because I doubt what I have to say, but because I wonder if it's worthwhile to post it here or to share it at all. Part of that is due to a sense that most people aren't really generous in their attitudes or intentions, that they're judgmental first and foremost, that they want to "win" not to be great but to salve some sense of insecurity that prevents them from being whole as persons. I've decided that it's worthwhile to write this even if it falls entirely on deaf ears, because by writing it I will, in my own way, further my own well-being and sense of responsibility to self and others.
This new paperback being read by the Iowa football team -- "Legacy" -- written by the All Blacks rugby team resonates with me as much as anything because a lot of the principles within it are principles by which I live by. My own life philosophy extends beyond its reach, but core components are located within it. I played football, I wrestled, and I played rugby in my teenage years and into my 20s. At those ages, I didn't have the words to express the principles I was living. Instead, I had examples (or "role models" if that works better for you) in the form of my dad and mom, aunts and uncles, grandparents, adult family friends, and a few teachers and coaches. And, hell, some of my peers.
In other words, I was surrounded by individuals who were gifted in critically important ways and, until I was well into adulthood, did not realize were as special and rare as they were. In other words, I was fortunate, incredibly fortunate in a way that not very many are. That has humbled me over time and my compassion and tolerance of others' struggles and sufferings have grown as I've aged because I've seen the difference in the cultural environments in which others were raised and were exposed to. I am often more amazed by what some consider to be a "mediocre" person than I am even an Olympic champion because I've been able to witness the difference in support and guidance. We are all too critical of ourselves and others in the wrong sorts of ways.
What I recall from both team and individual sports was a driving intensity to remain within the moment of competition for as long as possible, to try to never experience success or failure, but to always continue being in the "uncertainty of outcome." There is no "time" in which I am more alive than when the outcome of movement, speech, behavior is uncertain. Outcomes are a kind of death. You know the experience well enough, I think, in the sense that when "the game is over" -- even if you have "won" -- you're no longer living or witnessing that special time when what happens really matters. Over the course of our lives, we can probably easily identify the times when we felt most alive and those times have been when every second was an unknown in which we had the possibility and potential to create a different result.
These words are evidence of an attitudinal philosophy, a description of how life is or can be approached. But in a sense, thus far, they are vague and ambiguous. So if I give you an example, perhaps you might understand a little more clearly. I was a running back in high school and during my last game as a senior I made a 15-yard scamper into the secondary and went low to run over a safety early in the second quarter. He got lower than I did and his helmet hit the ball and it shot out of my arms another ten yards downfield where it was recovered by the other team. The score, at that time, was 7-7. They moved the ball down the short field and scored a TD. 14-7. I was quietly steaming on the sidelines, no one near me, pissed at myself for f****** up.
A young guy in uniform, a guy I didn't know, probably a sophomore who had been brought up to varsity after the JV season ended, came over to me right after the other team scored and said something to the effect that, "It's okay. It happens." Without thinking, without consideration of any sort, I simply exploded: "B******!!! I f***** up and they scored! It's totally f****** unacceptable!" I mean, I bit that guy's head off ... but I wasn't angry at him at all. I was pissed at the attitude, the idea that screwing up and letting everyone down could be acceptable in any way. His intentions were good and, in the scheme of things, it was the best thing he could have said because I was already tearing myself apart inside. I didn't need a soul to tell me I f***** up. I knew it. I certainly wasn't going to let myself off the hook and somehow his vocalization of an attitude that was meant to console infuriated me. Looking back, I can say definitively that I was rejecting any notion that it was okay for me to have failed in that way.
The thing was, I was already determined to make up for my mistake every single second I was on the field after that. But by crushing my teammates' sentiment, I inadvertently changed the attitude of everyone else around me: If the team's most important player wasn't willing to accept his own failures then maybe that's how we should all look at our own efforts. In other words, it's okay to expect more of ourselves and it's okay to be angry with ourselves for not performing up to our capabilities.
When we got back on the field following the kickoff I said to the guys in the huddle, "I f***** up and it won't happen again. Just open a hole and I'll do the rest." That play I squirted through a hole that a monster truck could have fit through and ran for 65 yards before being tackled at the two yard line-- I stiff-armed the guy into the ground for about five yards before I went down. Next play the QB took the ball into the end zone and we tied the game. We came out the second half and annihilated them, everyone on our team having a ball the whole time. I didn't want the game to end and I hated it when I was pulled so that the backups could get some time. But I was glad that the coaches had because I noticed that the guy who had told me it was okay was out there at running back and he was mauling guys, breaking tackles like a beast. It was awesome to watch him even if it was only a few plays. I was the first guy to hug him when he came off the field and he was smiling ear-to-ear, no sign of feeling chastised at all. I loved it and it turned out to be as fulfilling watching him succeed as it was for me to experience the success myself.
I think these are the words that start revolutions. It can't be all libertarianism or all communitarianism. There has to be a marriage between self and others, between I and team. We're better together than alone, but we also have to contribute specifically what we offer so that everyone else's offering is as good as theirs can be. I think this is the attitude that I saw in last year's Hawkeye football team. I think it might the attitude we see this year. I won't get into the dismay I feel that Americans don't feel that way about one another, that they don't consider themselves part of a team, a whole, but as a bunch of individuals--I mean, hell, I even appreciated the other teams that competed against us because if it wasn't for them then I wouldn't have been able to demonstrate what I could do. I certainly respected the safety that made me fumble the ball. He outplayed me on that run, he got lower than I did, and he made a play. How can i hate him for doing his job better than I did mine? If anything, I owed him a thanks for helping me refocus my attention so that I worked that much harder and better not to get beat the next time or the time after that.
I think there is something very important in having respect for "opponents." It's not a vague notion of sportsmanship, but something tangible that occurs within oneself, a sense of being part of something that matters, that what opposes me is not an enemy but a friend who does what they do in such a way that I am presented with an opportunity to perform better than I ever would have been able to without them. After the game (even if it is during the "game of life"), the rush of uncertainty may pass and then, hell, let's share a beer before we go at it again next time. Why not think like that? Why not live like that?
I've been debating about whether I should write this. Not because I doubt what I have to say, but because I wonder if it's worthwhile to post it here or to share it at all. Part of that is due to a sense that most people aren't really generous in their attitudes or intentions, that they're judgmental first and foremost, that they want to "win" not to be great but to salve some sense of insecurity that prevents them from being whole as persons. I've decided that it's worthwhile to write this even if it falls entirely on deaf ears, because by writing it I will, in my own way, further my own well-being and sense of responsibility to self and others.
This new paperback being read by the Iowa football team -- "Legacy" -- written by the All Blacks rugby team resonates with me as much as anything because a lot of the principles within it are principles by which I live by. My own life philosophy extends beyond its reach, but core components are located within it. I played football, I wrestled, and I played rugby in my teenage years and into my 20s. At those ages, I didn't have the words to express the principles I was living. Instead, I had examples (or "role models" if that works better for you) in the form of my dad and mom, aunts and uncles, grandparents, adult family friends, and a few teachers and coaches. And, hell, some of my peers.
In other words, I was surrounded by individuals who were gifted in critically important ways and, until I was well into adulthood, did not realize were as special and rare as they were. In other words, I was fortunate, incredibly fortunate in a way that not very many are. That has humbled me over time and my compassion and tolerance of others' struggles and sufferings have grown as I've aged because I've seen the difference in the cultural environments in which others were raised and were exposed to. I am often more amazed by what some consider to be a "mediocre" person than I am even an Olympic champion because I've been able to witness the difference in support and guidance. We are all too critical of ourselves and others in the wrong sorts of ways.
What I recall from both team and individual sports was a driving intensity to remain within the moment of competition for as long as possible, to try to never experience success or failure, but to always continue being in the "uncertainty of outcome." There is no "time" in which I am more alive than when the outcome of movement, speech, behavior is uncertain. Outcomes are a kind of death. You know the experience well enough, I think, in the sense that when "the game is over" -- even if you have "won" -- you're no longer living or witnessing that special time when what happens really matters. Over the course of our lives, we can probably easily identify the times when we felt most alive and those times have been when every second was an unknown in which we had the possibility and potential to create a different result.
These words are evidence of an attitudinal philosophy, a description of how life is or can be approached. But in a sense, thus far, they are vague and ambiguous. So if I give you an example, perhaps you might understand a little more clearly. I was a running back in high school and during my last game as a senior I made a 15-yard scamper into the secondary and went low to run over a safety early in the second quarter. He got lower than I did and his helmet hit the ball and it shot out of my arms another ten yards downfield where it was recovered by the other team. The score, at that time, was 7-7. They moved the ball down the short field and scored a TD. 14-7. I was quietly steaming on the sidelines, no one near me, pissed at myself for f****** up.
A young guy in uniform, a guy I didn't know, probably a sophomore who had been brought up to varsity after the JV season ended, came over to me right after the other team scored and said something to the effect that, "It's okay. It happens." Without thinking, without consideration of any sort, I simply exploded: "B******!!! I f***** up and they scored! It's totally f****** unacceptable!" I mean, I bit that guy's head off ... but I wasn't angry at him at all. I was pissed at the attitude, the idea that screwing up and letting everyone down could be acceptable in any way. His intentions were good and, in the scheme of things, it was the best thing he could have said because I was already tearing myself apart inside. I didn't need a soul to tell me I f***** up. I knew it. I certainly wasn't going to let myself off the hook and somehow his vocalization of an attitude that was meant to console infuriated me. Looking back, I can say definitively that I was rejecting any notion that it was okay for me to have failed in that way.
The thing was, I was already determined to make up for my mistake every single second I was on the field after that. But by crushing my teammates' sentiment, I inadvertently changed the attitude of everyone else around me: If the team's most important player wasn't willing to accept his own failures then maybe that's how we should all look at our own efforts. In other words, it's okay to expect more of ourselves and it's okay to be angry with ourselves for not performing up to our capabilities.
When we got back on the field following the kickoff I said to the guys in the huddle, "I f***** up and it won't happen again. Just open a hole and I'll do the rest." That play I squirted through a hole that a monster truck could have fit through and ran for 65 yards before being tackled at the two yard line-- I stiff-armed the guy into the ground for about five yards before I went down. Next play the QB took the ball into the end zone and we tied the game. We came out the second half and annihilated them, everyone on our team having a ball the whole time. I didn't want the game to end and I hated it when I was pulled so that the backups could get some time. But I was glad that the coaches had because I noticed that the guy who had told me it was okay was out there at running back and he was mauling guys, breaking tackles like a beast. It was awesome to watch him even if it was only a few plays. I was the first guy to hug him when he came off the field and he was smiling ear-to-ear, no sign of feeling chastised at all. I loved it and it turned out to be as fulfilling watching him succeed as it was for me to experience the success myself.
I think these are the words that start revolutions. It can't be all libertarianism or all communitarianism. There has to be a marriage between self and others, between I and team. We're better together than alone, but we also have to contribute specifically what we offer so that everyone else's offering is as good as theirs can be. I think this is the attitude that I saw in last year's Hawkeye football team. I think it might the attitude we see this year. I won't get into the dismay I feel that Americans don't feel that way about one another, that they don't consider themselves part of a team, a whole, but as a bunch of individuals--I mean, hell, I even appreciated the other teams that competed against us because if it wasn't for them then I wouldn't have been able to demonstrate what I could do. I certainly respected the safety that made me fumble the ball. He outplayed me on that run, he got lower than I did, and he made a play. How can i hate him for doing his job better than I did mine? If anything, I owed him a thanks for helping me refocus my attention so that I worked that much harder and better not to get beat the next time or the time after that.
I think there is something very important in having respect for "opponents." It's not a vague notion of sportsmanship, but something tangible that occurs within oneself, a sense of being part of something that matters, that what opposes me is not an enemy but a friend who does what they do in such a way that I am presented with an opportunity to perform better than I ever would have been able to without them. After the game (even if it is during the "game of life"), the rush of uncertainty may pass and then, hell, let's share a beer before we go at it again next time. Why not think like that? Why not live like that?
