My son-in-law’s girls’ basketball team played their last game of the season several days ago. Most of the girls are young; some almost new to basketball. None were tall or solid enough to deflect opponents who were both. Nor were the girls able to power up shots from under the basket with any consistency. But they worked hard. And were not intimidated by their opponents. Or discouraged by widening gaps in the score.
And that persistence reminded me of another quality, another behavior I love to watch in play during games: refusing to linger in missteps, shaking it off, letting it go. The “it” in question is any kind of blunder: missing a basket, traveling, overthrowing a pass, stepping out of bounds. Any of the dozen moments in basketball’s fast-paced action where a player makes a mistake.
In the office worlds I knew, the unease, the consequences, the “what ifs” of a mistake lingered. And consumed more head space than they warranted. I could drive 100 miles home from Missoula and keep returning in my mind to the moment when I should have said “hell no” to a slick contractor trying to ignore a historic site’s significance. Or kick myself for failing to remember an argument that had worked with another agency. Even to fret over a meeting that became contentious rather than productive. Montana, you see, gave me many traveling miles in which to second-guess myself. Or to chafe over embarrassing moments. In fact, I was good at second-guessing myself even during a meeting. Symbolically taking my eye off the ball of the discussion in process and worrying over what I might have said.
I have an all-too-vivid memory of the price I once paid for wallowing in a bad experience. I’d had a sit-down with Montana university system staff, most especially their attorney. Universities—universally—functioned as little fiefdoms answering to no one and no law. And that behavior cost Montana a variety of historic buildings, gutted or torn down to satisfy a university president’s ego. Notwithstanding the Montana Antiquities Act. The system attorney should have known better, but chose not to. After what I hoped would be a brilliant showdown and wasn’t, I headed from the meeting in downtown Helena the two miles back to the Historical Society. At about 50 miles-an-hour in a 25 mile zone. And was pulled over for speeding and an expired driver’s license. Before the afternoon was finished, I’d had to summon Dave for a ride to the courthouse, secure my new license, speak with traffic judge Myron Pitch, pay a fine, and call Dave for another ride to my abandoned car. Many lessons that day.
The Lady Bulldogs did none of that. Such behavior on a basketball court would spell disaster. The moment a basket doesn’t fall, a player better commit to a rebound or a steal or heading up court with greater savvy and speed than the opponent. ANY mental time devoted to “oh shit, I should have made that basket” becomes a costly distraction. Compounds the risks. And morphs into debilitating self-criticism that undermines the automatic confidence needed for the next shot.
I suspect every sports fan knows this truism and takes it for granted. I suspect Matt taught that very behavior. Not all coaches—or parents—do. The line between coaching better skills and brewing self-doubt is a fine one. Because I hadn’t been watching for a while, I saw the principle, the skill, with new eyes. And respect.
Watching Matt’s team play, I could feel in my gut the angst that the girls MIGHT have experienced in those missed-shot, bad-pass moments. And I loved that they were all business instead. That they had already learned to shake off any of the frustration that I entertained and let it go. These players will, I think, be all that more adept, attuned to what matters as they play in our grownup world. ©
