It’s that time of year again, as pitchers and catchers report early for spring training and position players trickle into camp in preparation for the upcoming season. Professional baseball players say that spring training is the best time of year for them because it signals a fresh start, gets their competitive juices flowing, and offers the promise that once again everybody is starting over. This season, as every season, everybody has a chance. Everybody has a shot at the championship. For me, as a coach of youth baseball, it’s a chance for a valuable life lesson.
Eric Gagne was tendered a minor league contract by the Los Angeles Dodgers. Gagne has experienced the highest highs in his profession, having set franchise records for the Dodgers and records within Major League Baseball. He won the Cy Young award in 2003 as the best pitcher in the National League, and is a three-time All Star. Gagne has also struggled mightily in his profession, having been linked to steroid use and fallen to the ranks of the possibly washed up veterans. Gagne probably knows that he will either make the roster for the Dodgers in 2010 or be forced into retirement as a minor league player that nobody wants.
Sports can be painfully, brutally truthful. Every player, regardless of how gifted he may be, will be left behind by his sport at some point. Players who are truly passionate about their sport do everything they can to play as long as possible. And every time a player works out, he tests his body. Every time a player studies film, he pressures himself to get an edge. Every time a player takes the field, he wills himself to perform.
And every day a player stays in his sport, he is challenged by the other athletes around him. What a great life lesson.
The Dodgers will break training camp this season, and Eric Gagne will either be a member of the 25-man roster or he won’t. The opportunities for him to prove his worth to the team will have been taken. The judgment of his abilities will have been made. His future in Major League Baseball will have been identified. Gagne will be in the same position he had once been in as a young player when he tried out for his youth teams, his high school teams, and his minor league teams. He will once again be in the same position he had once been in when he tried out for the Dodgers in 1995.
We are all tested. Life continues to test us as we work to maintain our standard of living or improve our situations. We are challenged with raising families, maintaining relationships, and improving our communities. Life is full of tests.
So, as a coach, I will talk with my teams about spring training. I’ll talk about Eric Gagne and his work to make the cut. I’ll talk to them about facing the challenges of making their high school baseball teams. And I’ll talk with them about the work needed to get As or Bs on their math tests. Or the attention to detail they will need as they prepare for their SATs.
And I will certainly talk about the fulfillment Eric Gagne will feel if his hard work and determination land him a spot with the 2010 Los Angeles Dodgers.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Desire, Preparation, Confidence, Execution
Desire and execution: How badly do you want it and will you perform when given the opportunity?
There is no consistent performance without desire. It is possible to rise up unexpectedly and make a play by being in the right place at the right time. A player might even have a great day, in “the zone,” and perform well for a couple of hours. But nobody makes it to the Hall of Fame without desire. Nobody has won a season or series MVP award without desire.
Only through desire can an athlete wake up each day and find ways to become a better player. Only through desire can a player constantly study the game (his game) looking for ways to improve. Only desire makes a competitor think about his food, his sleep, his mental health and his responsibilities against the backdrop of his sport. Desire focuses our daily activities.
It may sound obsessive, and perhaps it is. Should I stay up late even though it may hurt my performance? Should I eat those french fries even though there is no nutritional value in them? Should I blow off my homework even though I may get a bad grade and get cut from the team? Should I hang out on the street corner and risk getting in trouble with the law? Should I play four hours of video games even though it may damage my eyesight? Should I not practice today because I can practice tomorrow? Or the next day? Or the next?
Without desire, there is no preparation. There is no studying. There is no practicing. There is no analyzing or consideration or understanding. Desire drives work. Desire fuels the repetition needed to become comfortable in competition.
It’s the last inning. There are two outs. The tying run is at third. The winning run is at second. A batter stands at the plate, waiting for a pitch. The pitcher toes the rubber, considering what to throw. The fielder looks around the infield at the runners and thinks about his options. Why is the hitter calm? How does the pitcher methodically review his pitch sequence and draw the nerve to throw an off-speed pitch? How can the fielder move smoothly to the ball, scoop it and throw it routinely to record the final out? The answers all rest in the hours of work, study, practice and preparation that each of these athletes pressed through on their roads to this moment.
Desire enables athletes to walk that road. Desire enables the preparation. The preparation builds confidence. The confident athlete is then free to perform. He can execute the play he knows without thinking.
Desire. Preparation. Confidence. Execution. All linked to success. How badly do you want it and will you perform when given the opportunity?
There is no consistent performance without desire. It is possible to rise up unexpectedly and make a play by being in the right place at the right time. A player might even have a great day, in “the zone,” and perform well for a couple of hours. But nobody makes it to the Hall of Fame without desire. Nobody has won a season or series MVP award without desire.
Only through desire can an athlete wake up each day and find ways to become a better player. Only through desire can a player constantly study the game (his game) looking for ways to improve. Only desire makes a competitor think about his food, his sleep, his mental health and his responsibilities against the backdrop of his sport. Desire focuses our daily activities.
It may sound obsessive, and perhaps it is. Should I stay up late even though it may hurt my performance? Should I eat those french fries even though there is no nutritional value in them? Should I blow off my homework even though I may get a bad grade and get cut from the team? Should I hang out on the street corner and risk getting in trouble with the law? Should I play four hours of video games even though it may damage my eyesight? Should I not practice today because I can practice tomorrow? Or the next day? Or the next?
Without desire, there is no preparation. There is no studying. There is no practicing. There is no analyzing or consideration or understanding. Desire drives work. Desire fuels the repetition needed to become comfortable in competition.
It’s the last inning. There are two outs. The tying run is at third. The winning run is at second. A batter stands at the plate, waiting for a pitch. The pitcher toes the rubber, considering what to throw. The fielder looks around the infield at the runners and thinks about his options. Why is the hitter calm? How does the pitcher methodically review his pitch sequence and draw the nerve to throw an off-speed pitch? How can the fielder move smoothly to the ball, scoop it and throw it routinely to record the final out? The answers all rest in the hours of work, study, practice and preparation that each of these athletes pressed through on their roads to this moment.
Desire enables athletes to walk that road. Desire enables the preparation. The preparation builds confidence. The confident athlete is then free to perform. He can execute the play he knows without thinking.
Desire. Preparation. Confidence. Execution. All linked to success. How badly do you want it and will you perform when given the opportunity?
Monday, February 8, 2010
Pros Versus Joes (Amateurs)
The terms “professional” and “amateur” has been used to demonstrate a level of quality for some time now. We have come to assume that if somebody is good enough to get paid for something then he must be good. And for a long time it was a heavy blow if somebody said, “He’s such an amateur.” In reality, getting paid or not has no intrinsic bearing on quality.
I had one of my teams at a tournament a couple of weeks ago. As usually happens, I had the opportunity to meet and talk with a variety of coaches. In fact, I have long since lost count of the number of coaches I have had had conversations with (good, bad or in between). One of the great things about coaching youth sports is the opportunity to meet new people and hear different ideas.
At this particular tournament, I met a coach who is fortunate enough to actually earn a living from running youth baseball teams. In my short time with him, he struck me as a great guy, earnest in his work, and caring toward his players. I’m convinced he earns every penny of his paycheck.
As we talked, Coach lamented how difficult it has been lately in our area to attract and maintain players because “there are all these dads that get pissed off at me and think they can run their own teams.”
Both of my boys have played for professional coaches. Some of those experiences have been great and others have been acceptable. I have never pulled my kid from a professional coach because I was disappointed with the coaching. Or, more to the point, I’ve never pulled my kid from a team because I was angry with a professional coach. Dissatisfaction with a specific coach was never a reason for me to start coaching.
I started coaching youth baseball because I watched dozens of coaches over the course of six years before I became convinced that I couldn’t do any worse. When I saw coaches who were bad, they were really bad. When I saw coaches who were good, they were really good … but no better that I felt I could be. And pay (or lack thereof) made no difference in the assessment.
I watched Coach pretty closely when we played our game against him. I liked his demeanor. I liked his field presence. I liked the way he handled his players. During the three hours he and I shared the same field, he gave me every indication that he was a good coach. And he’s a pro.
I, on the other hand, am an amateur. I do not get paid. In fact, I lose money because of my involvement in this sport. I am an anti-pro. I am less than amateur.
But I do a pretty good job.
Before amateurs lost respect in our lexicon, they were revered. At least in terms of athletics. The amateur athlete was considered the pure athlete. Even the act of hiring a coach was unthinkable to a pure, amateur athlete. And, of course, that was an overly simplistic view.
Pay doesn’t matter. Quality matters. Pay may or may not follow quality, but quality always comes first.
I had one of my teams at a tournament a couple of weeks ago. As usually happens, I had the opportunity to meet and talk with a variety of coaches. In fact, I have long since lost count of the number of coaches I have had had conversations with (good, bad or in between). One of the great things about coaching youth sports is the opportunity to meet new people and hear different ideas.
At this particular tournament, I met a coach who is fortunate enough to actually earn a living from running youth baseball teams. In my short time with him, he struck me as a great guy, earnest in his work, and caring toward his players. I’m convinced he earns every penny of his paycheck.
As we talked, Coach lamented how difficult it has been lately in our area to attract and maintain players because “there are all these dads that get pissed off at me and think they can run their own teams.”
Both of my boys have played for professional coaches. Some of those experiences have been great and others have been acceptable. I have never pulled my kid from a professional coach because I was disappointed with the coaching. Or, more to the point, I’ve never pulled my kid from a team because I was angry with a professional coach. Dissatisfaction with a specific coach was never a reason for me to start coaching.
I started coaching youth baseball because I watched dozens of coaches over the course of six years before I became convinced that I couldn’t do any worse. When I saw coaches who were bad, they were really bad. When I saw coaches who were good, they were really good … but no better that I felt I could be. And pay (or lack thereof) made no difference in the assessment.
I watched Coach pretty closely when we played our game against him. I liked his demeanor. I liked his field presence. I liked the way he handled his players. During the three hours he and I shared the same field, he gave me every indication that he was a good coach. And he’s a pro.
I, on the other hand, am an amateur. I do not get paid. In fact, I lose money because of my involvement in this sport. I am an anti-pro. I am less than amateur.
But I do a pretty good job.
Before amateurs lost respect in our lexicon, they were revered. At least in terms of athletics. The amateur athlete was considered the pure athlete. Even the act of hiring a coach was unthinkable to a pure, amateur athlete. And, of course, that was an overly simplistic view.
Pay doesn’t matter. Quality matters. Pay may or may not follow quality, but quality always comes first.
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