It’s the fourth quarter of the end of season Winter Basketball
League Tournament. We’re playing basketball on the South side of Dallas, which
means winning is everything. Winning means more on the south side of the
tracks, because losing is considered the worst possible outcome. I can already
see the disappointment in their eyes. My team is ready to emotionally shutdown.
They will keep playing, but their hearts won’t be in it anymore. This is the
moment I’ve been coaching them towards all season long. Never giving up. Regardless
of the outcome. I call a timeout and talk with the team.
I don’t remember what I said. I do remember encouraging my
players to finish well, to effect what they can. Do what they can do, and leave
it on the court. I remember telling one of my players now was his time.
I told him to dunk the ball.
Dunking in basketball is a psychological weapon. It’s also
ridiculously difficult to do when the other team is pressing you hard. You know
weeks and months in advance you can physically dunk the ball, but mustering the
courage to dunk for the first time in a game, let alone in a high pressure
situation, keeps you playing it safe. My message to the team was just that. Don’t
play it safe, leave it all on the court.
My team goes out with renewed vigor. There is a
determination in their eyes, a refusal to give up, that drives them.
Sure enough, the player I encouraged goes for the dunk. He
gets shut out. The other team discovers what he’s trying to do, and they want
to stop it at all costs. We hustle back on defense, force a turnover, and the
ball ends up in the right person’s hands. Sprinting down the court, he’s got
three defenders in front of him. I know what he’s going to do. The other team
knows what he’s going to do. The crowd knows. Our bench knows. For a moment we
all hold our breath as he leaps into the air, headed straight for the hoop.
We wait.
It’s not about whether he can or cannot dunk. It’s about a
refusal to give up. A stubborn refusal to let the other team decide how we are
going to play the game. This moment encapsulates everything I’ve been trying to
teach them about character for the past ten weeks.
The ball goes over the rim, and through the hoop. Chaos
breaks loose. Everyone affiliated with my team goes nuts, but the other team
doesn’t like it, not one bit. One of the other team’s players decides the best
thing to do is to punch another of my players. Who had nothing to do with what
just happened. That’s when this story gets interesting.
One of the smaller players on my team, the only kid who’s
not originally from the south side of Dallas, decides watching his teammate get
punched isn’t cool. He gets off the bench and gets directly between his
teammate and the guy who punched him. Take in mind the heroic defender is about
125lbs/57k and the guy he’s defending is about 200lbs/90k. I wish I had seen it
happen. I was too busy celebrating.
The referee didn’t like the post dunk events either, but he
didn’t see the punch. All he saw was a player come off the bench and get in
someone’s face. The least likely player on my team to break rules gets ejected.
All because he stood up for his teammate. All because our team is refusing to
give up.
I’d like to tell you this story has a Cinderella ending. It
doesn’t. We lose. But I’m proud of my team. They realized something that day.
It wasn’t about the sport, the competition or even the referees. Being on a
team is really about playing for each other. Losing still hurt, but we knew we
had more class than the other team. We walked out knowing that we had done our
best.
That was all that mattered.
Losing carries with it a stigma. The same stigma as failing
to achieve a goal, missing a deadline or anything else that can be considered
not winning. Society celebrates achievement. It hates losing and labels those
who miss their goals as losers. No one wants to be a loser. Considering every
competition has one winner and many losers, you’d think our attitude towards
losing would be more positive. You’d think we’d learn to encourage one another,
build each other up and focus on what we can do better next time, but that’s
not what often happens. Instead of encouragement and coaching, losers often get
blamed. “You screwed up! You suck, you’re terrible, go home and think about
what you need to do better!” Instead of building up they get torn down. Why?
Because the person doing the yelling and abusing is afraid of being labeled a
loser. Out of that fear comes an ugly disease that threatens to rot one’s soul
to the point they stop trying. They become what they’ve always feared, someone
who’s afraid to try because the idea of losing is too overwhelming. No one wins
without losing.
As an athlete and coach I can tell you losing is difficult.
It always makes you question what went wrong and what you can do to make it
better. There is no need to promote fear or anger in order to get someone to
perform differently.
I’ll never forget my fifth season coaching on the north side
of Dallas. It was a perfect season. We lost every game.
I’ll never forget the last game of that season. We were down
by one point and my team was trying their hardest. They were completely engaged
and were not giving up. We played until the very last second, and that’s when
we got fouled.
With no time left, one of my players stood on the free throw
line and held the game, and arguably the season in his hands. That’s a lot of
responsibility for twelve year old. He takes his first shot. It hits the rim,
bounces off the backboard and rolls around the basket. Everyone takes a breath.
It tips to the side and falls. No goal.
He lines up for his second shot. We need this one to tie and
go into overtime. He bounces the ball, takes aim and releases. It looks like a
great shot. It hits the front of the rim, bounces over the basket, and bounces
a few times on the tiny platform between the basket and the rim.
The room goes completely silent.
All I want is for my player to know that regardless of the
outcome I know he’s tried his best. I want so very badly for the team to have a
win this season. I want them to hold their heads up high and feel like they
accomplished something, that they can at least see their skills have progressed
by holding something tangible, even if it’s something as intangible as the
feeling of winning.
The ball rolls to the side and falls off the hoop.
As I did every game that season, I called the parents and
players to the side to talk about the good things that happened during the
game. To give put-ups to the players for their efforts in practice and on the
court. It had never been harder to say something positive. We were all
devastated. We were all sad. There was little to say.
So I said this, “I am proud of you, each and every single
one of you, for how you played. You gave it your best the entire time and never
once gave up. Losing sucks, and losing hurts. But what gives me joy is knowing
you gave it your best. No one can take that away from you. [addressing the
player who missed the final shots] You gave me everything today. I know those
missed baskets hurt. I know you’ll think about them for days to come. Don’t let
those failed baskets drag you down. Use them to fuel your efforts at practice.
Know that the next time you attempt those shots you’ll make them. Keep your
head up, because we can only get better from here. We will get better. Keep
working hard, continue giving me your best effort and we will improve. That’s
why we’re here. To learn how to give our best, that’s why we play sport. At the
end of the day it’s not about the scoreboard, it’s about the attitude we learn
to approach life with. We are here to learn to support each other, encourage
one another and give it all we have. You guys have what it takes. It’s been an
honor being your coach and I can’t wait to coach you next season.”
Those may not be my exact words, but that is exactly what I told
them. Out of that team of eight, five players returned next season. Those five
players became the backbone of my team. We didn’t win every game after that,
but my players consistently encouraged one another and held each other up during
games. Over the next three seasons I watched players transform. From kids who
weren’t entirely sure about this basketball thing into dominant players on the
court. I had the privilege of watching one young man all eight seasons. He
transformed from a kid who was nervous about sport, because of his weight, transform
into one of the most passionate players and team leaders. He discovered he had
a part to play on the team, that his part mattered and that he personally could
affect the outcome of each game. That is what coaching is all about. Developing
players into who they can be.
What has been sweet about coaching on the north and the
south side of Dallas is this: both my teams and players have gone on to be
victorious in other things. My South Dallas team won a championship. My North
Dallas players have gone on to play for other teams and have coached their
teammates with the same values I have coached them. While I may be out of
contact with many of my players, we are not out of contact through the memories
we created. Those memories will last for a lifetime. Those are the good
memories that came by making the best of difficult moments. It is those
memories that spur us onward, not the fear of losing.
