I married a basketball nut. This is her most wonderful time of the year.
I enjoy sports, too, but for deeper and more practical reasons. I’ve long considered football (the American variety) a metaphor for life. For example, Nick Saban’s “process” is one of my key clinical tools:
“Don’t think about winning the SEC Championship. Don’t think about the national championship. Think about what you needed to do in this drill, on this play, in this moment. That’s the process: Let’s think about what we can do today, the task at hand.”1
The Washington Post recently published a long profile on Kim Mulkey, the women’s basketball coach at LSU. She’s unquestionably great in objective terms—four national championships—however, this paragraph stopped me cold:
“As a head coach, you’re responsible for so many people; you’re taking on a role that leaves a very lasting impression,” a former Baylor player says. “You might be able to win us a championship, but are people going to want to come back and see you?”
That’s the side of coaches (and leaders more generally) that people seldom see. Nobody writes stories about that.
But I’ve seen it. Joan’s a basketball nut because her father, Dan McCarrell, was a college basketball coach. Former players and assistant coaches are always calling “Mac” on the phone to reminisce about past triumphs—but also to thank him for the springboard into later non-athletic successes.
The trophy case and championship rings are nice, but there are bigger prizes. ✸
- Ryan Holiday. The Obstacle Is the Way. New York: Portfolio / Penguin, 2014, p. 87