Tag: details

On Special Teams

The kicker placed the ball on the tee, while his teammates lined up on either side of him.

The crowd in the stands waited anxiously.

The kicker took a few steps back, raised his arm, and ran toward the ball, booting it high in the air.

At the far end of the football field, a member of the opposing team caught the ball. He ran toward the sideline, with the kicker’s teammates in hot pursuit.

Suddenly the ball carrier broke free of the pack and strode toward the end zone. It took a last-ditch effort from the kicker to get him to the ground.

This sequence wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t going to end up on any coach’s highlight reel.

But it wasn’t calamitous either. The opposing team didn’t score. No damage was done.

At least, that’s the conventional wisdom.

Ask 12 people what they want, and you’ll get 16 different answers.

This adage has some truth to it, as we pride ourselves on our uniqueness.

And yet, there are times when we’re destined to be part of the pack. There are moments where our erstwhile individuality regresses to the mean.

Our fascination with David vs. Goliath is one of these areas.

It’s a story that many of us know so well. The diminutive David felling the mighty Goliath with a well-aimed slingshot.

David vs. Goliath introduces us to mismatches – how they appear to the naked eye and how they play out in real life. We love the characters in such a saga – the bastions of might and the plucky underdogs.

But our fascination can quickly devolve into obsession. We tend to view any matchup we come across as a David vs. Goliath contest — mostly because that’s what we want to see.

But such depictions are often inaccurate. In fact, many times, the combatants in these encounters are more evenly matched.

This is particularly true in the game of football. There might be some matchups at the youth, high school, or college level that end up lopsided. But the playing field is much more even when you get to the pros.

There are too many good players dispersed across the league for one team to dominate. Indeed, we’ve gone nearly two decades since a team won back-to-back Super Bowl championships.

This parity can sometimes yield great theater. Epic back-and-forth games. Entire fan bases holding their collective breath.

But all too often, it yields a slog. A slugfest between two evenly matched foes that is, for all intents and purposes, a draw.

When such stalemates take place, the smallest things can make all the difference. The bounce of the ball, the timing of a turnover, or the performance of special teams.

Special teams are the player units that handle possession changes. When the team kicks the ball off or punts it to the opposing team, the special teams unit is on the field. The same goes for field goal attempts and the extra points that follow touchdowns.

Special teams can seem mundane and technical — as forgettable as they are obligatory. And since special teams units spend so little time on the field, it’s tempting to explain away their flubs.

A near catastrophe might leave points off the scoreboard, or put the opponent in scoring position. But that might not really decide the game. The workhorse units – the offense and defense – can compensate for these shortcomings.

The same goes for special teams in other sports. A hockey team can win plenty of games even if it struggles on the power play. Soccer teams can still get results, even if their corner kicks are hopeless.

Those moments when the opponent has a player in the penalty box, or when a set play is drawn up – they don’t necessarily decide the game.

But they’re hardly insignificant.

Every morning starts the same way for me.

I get up, shave and brush my teeth. Then I make my bed.

Pulling the covers neatly into place, unruffling the sheets, straightening the pillows – this all might seem insignificant. If I waited until later in the day to take on this task, or if I failed to tackle it at all, my world wouldn’t fall apart.

And yet, I am determined not to leave home without a made bed every morning. Because there is no substitute for attention to detail.

I’ve come to recognize that the little things can make a big difference. That setting a good foundation, and preserving that bulwark, can drive sustained success.

Sure, the big ideas might grab the headlines. But the details allow them to see the light of day.

And yet, we seem to have forgotten this.

You see, it’s become fashionable these days to skip the fundamentals. To ignore the minutia and focus on solely on the big concepts.

I’m not sure where this movement came from. Perhaps its origins are tied to the recent tech boom, whose ethos states that we can innovate our way around every problem. Perhaps the growth of the attention economy is to blame.

Regardless, such lopsided focuses are hopelessly misguided.

We didn’t land a man on the moon simply by building a rocket. There was a team on the ground checking every detail at every step along the way.

Without that group, the men in the spacesuits wouldn’t have had a chance of setting foot on the moon. And without us focusing on the little things, we don’t have a chance of seeing success.

Special teams matter.

On a snowy winter night, the Green Bay Packers took the field for a home playoff game.

The Packers had earned the right to be here. They’d won the most games in their division and conference, earning them the right to host all playoff football games until the Super Bowl. They were led by the eventual league Most Valuable Player. And they sported a stingy and tenacious defense.

Yet, the Packers had a glaring weakness — an atrocious special teams unit.

That sequence described at the start of this article? It had happened to the Packers more than once over the course of the season. And yet, the Packers overcame those gaffes time after time.

But on this night, their good fortune would run out. Green Bay had a field goal blocked in the first half of the game. In the second half, the opposing team blocked a Packers punt, grabbed the ball, and ran into the end zone for a tying touchdown.

The other team would ultimately win the game on a field goal with time expiring. Green Bay didn’t have enough players on the field at the time of the play, giving them no chance of blocking the kick.

Had even one of these sequences gone right, the Packers would likely have moved on to the next round. But instead, their season ended in bitter disappointment.

It’s a sobering reminder that details are not trivial. That no part of the whole is truly insignificant. That special teams mean something.

It’s a message that should not fall on deaf ears.

Let’s learn from these misfortunes. Let’s be better about sweating the small stuff. Let’s not cast away the details in favor of glamour.

We have everything to gain from this shift in focus. It’s time we commit to it.

Forests and Trees

Vision.

It’s perhaps our most vivid sense.

We process the world through pictures. Through color. Through light and through shadows.

Vision facilitates our memories. It keeps snapshots of the faded past crystal clear in our minds.

Vision captivates our dreams. It makes these experiences so lifelike that we mistake them for reality.

Vision even crosses the void. When darkness sets in, our other senses kick into overdrive to compensate for what we now cannot see.

Yes, vision is essential for how we interact with the world. From the days of cave paintings to the modern day, it’s been a central part of our narrative. It’s served as a universal language.

And yet, much still gets lost in translation.

The view from my patio is leafy and green.

Not far from the railing — maybe 10 feet away — there is a large canopy of trees. And as I sit on my deck chair and take in the fresh air, the branches and leaves of the nearest tree extend out toward me, like a set of olive branches.

I love this view. It provides shade during the scorching days of a Texas summer. It provides a screen from the curious gaze of neighbors. And it provides solace from the noise and distractions that otherwise clutter my life.

And yet, this setup has its drawbacks. The trees rob me of the chance to gaze across the vast landscape. To feel the radiant warmth of the late morning sun. To ponder what lies beyond the horizon — or even see the horizon at all.

Fortunately for me, there are areas within walking distance that provide me such opportunities. But even then, there are tradeoffs. I must leave my leafy perch behind and venture out into the world.

I must decide whether to gaze upon the forest or look at the trees.

Details matter.

They might not shine like a marquee light. But they resonate.

Sure, you try and can go without them. You can stumble through life without paying attention to the little things. You might even get away with it, for a time.

But eventually, such brazen disregard for the details carries a hefty price.

So, I don’t risk it.

Yes, I have long obsessed over details. I’ve soaked up information like a sponge. I’ve looked carefully before I’ve leapt.

I’ve dumped my own health data into spreadsheets and crunched the numbers. I’ve read reviews before making a purchase. I’ve called service providers to make sure I understood how the fine print would impact me.

These habits have stemmed from my obsessive-compulsive nature, and my low tolerance for risk. But they’ve also plugged into a larger pattern.

For our society is addicted to detail.

Detail provides us the edge we need to thrive. And it provides the roadmap to live out our fantasies of perfection.

So, we follow its guidance.

We internalize adages like Take care of the little things, and the big things will follow. We make those words our ethos.

But all our efforts ring hollow.

We’re still missing part of the picture.

Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.

This line is widely attributed to Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese military strategist.

Phrases like these fill book called The Art Of War. That text is ostensibly about military strategy. But it’s found a far wider audience in the modern world.

In the face of fierce competition, business leaders, politicians and enterprising individuals have all flocked to military texts like The Art Of War. They’ve scoured the words of legendary tacticians, searching for translatable takeaways.

And of all the takeaways, these eight words stand our most of all.

For if we fail to consider the bigger picture, the details don’t matter. The minutia become meaningless.

We must get a glimpse at the entire forest to get a true understanding of the trees.

Some years back, I took a gondola ride up the western face of the Sandia Mountains, near Albuquerque. I had read that Sandia Peak had the best view of the city, and this was the best way to get to it.

The ticket was expensive for a gondola ride. As I boarded, I discovered why.

The gondola ride was not billed as transportation. It was meant to be an experience.

Trips were listed as flights. And a tour guide spoke with riders throughout the journey.

As soon as I heard the guide’s boisterous voice on the intercom, I rolled my eyes and tried to tune him out. This was not something I’d signed up for.

And yet, about halfway up the mountain, the tour guide pointed out something I couldn’t ignore.

Do you see that tiny black speck down there? he asked. That’s actually boulder the size of this tram car. 

I was floored. It was hard to imagine that something that appeared so tiny was actually larger than me.

The mental calculus hurt my brain. Years later, I still wince while trying to wrap my head around that fact.

That moment on the gondola encapsulates the relationship between the forest and the trees.

The 30,000 foot view provides context, but so does the ground-level perspective.

In moments of strife, we put blinders on.

We narrow our perspective, honing in on what can help us to survive the moment at hand. We consider our next move, in hopes of eradicating the threat — both now and in the future.

We focus solely on the trees.

Such a focus can help us to survive a brief shock. It can provide a lifeline in the wake of a storm, an attack or the loss of a job.

But if the struggle persists, everything breaks down.

Our laser focus makes us rigid. Our lack of perspective prevents us from adapting to our new reality.

And so, we endorse radical solutions. We turn to answers that may help in a pinch, but might have disastrous long-term consequences.

But this pattern cannot sustain itself.

Long-term crises require a dual perspective solution. They require us to focus on the forest and the trees.

We can’t just throw the most radical solutions at distressing disruptions — such as pandemics or recessions. There’s only so much runway for such stunts.

No, we must take a different tact.

We must first consider the overarching vision, the bird’s eye view. Then — and only then — can we descend into the particulars with an actionable plan.

Putting this plan into action requires a lot of it.

It means exploring the gray areas between the extremes. It means promoting sustainable behaviors. And it means thinking three steps ahead — even as the future remains wildly unpredictable.

This is hard work. Uncomfortable work, even.

But with so much at stake, we can’t hide from it.

So, let’s broaden our minds and widen our perspectives. Let’s not choose between the view of the forest and that of the trees.

Each should have its place on our plans.

Let’s make those plans a reality.

Distilling It Down

I am process-oriented.

Much like an engineer, I think in terms of previous steps and next steps. Aspects and ingredients. Time and place.

These are important components on their own. But when they’re brought together in a cohesive way, that’s where the rubber meets the road.

It takes careful coordination for many of the occurrences in our lives to take place. The right set of factors must line up just so for the end result to be memorable and noteworthy.

Sometimes, recognize this chain of events. Other times, we’re oblivious to it.

Either way, the end result gets the most attention. When things just work out, the how’s and why’s don’t seem to leave a lasting impression in our memories.

We focus on the shiny objects we see. On the warm fuzzies we feel.

We fixate on the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow more than the leprechaun that led us to it.

And yet, without all of the right elements in place, we wouldn’t be basking in the glory.

Without a firm foundation, the greatness of serendipity would never be realized.

So, I make it my mission to distill down every process I can.

To look at what the elements are. To consider what’s needed to drive success. To be aware of the circumstances that could lead to failure.

A great example of this is cooking. I love to cook, and I love the satisfaction of getting a dish just right. It awakens senses of fulfilment and satisfaction I rarely experience otherwise.

But that result hardly comes out of the blue.

Getting a meal just right requires the right elements in place. If the ingredients are subpar, the cooking apparatuses are inefficient or the timing is off, a meal can turn into a disaster.

Just one missing element can trip up a dish. While I can still salvage a meal without top-notch meat, a fully functional oven range or precise cooking times, the end result just won’t be the same.

Distilling down the process helps me find the path to success in the kitchen.

But this technique is effective in many other areas as well.

In fact, just about anything that requires a decision can be distilled down to its core elements.

For each decision is a part of a process that leads to a result. And each decision involves root factors that can be considered.

We might not want to evaluate these factors, time after time. But we should take the initiative to do so.

For looking at the minutia gives us agency. It allows us to discover what drives success. It provides us the opportunity to iterate and grow.

We owe it to all those around us to have this depth of focus and commitment to precision. Just as importantly, we owe it to ourselves.

So, continue to dream big. But think small as well.

Focus on distilling it down.

Down and Dirty

How badly do you want to know all the details?

The inner workings of a process, a product, an organization, or anything else you might cross paths with in life.

This information can be valuable. But buyer beware.

You might get more than you bargained for.

In 1906, Upton Sinclair’s novel The Jungle shook America to the core.

The book was an inside look at the meatpacking industry. Sinclair, a muckraking journalist, spent several months working undercover in meatpacking plants as he gathered material for the book. And readers were not ready for his no-holds-barred expose of what life was really like behind the curtain.

The Jungle detailed oppressive working conditions and unsanitary health practices in meatpacking plants. As Americans read the book, they suddenly found their steaks, pork chops and Bratwursts to be far less appetizing.

It turned out, learning how the sausage gets made was a bit too much information. Uproar over the book eventually led to codified employment protections and food handling procedures. But the stain it left on our consciousness was permanent.

The Jungle changed the way we look at the details. And it sparked an interest not only in knowing the details of a process, but also in ensuring they’re up to par with our expectations.

That’s why the book is still talked about, more than 100 years later.

Times have changed, but the message remains the same.

Today, we’re obsessed with how the sausage gets made. We crave transparency throughout the supply chain. No longer is ignorance bliss.

We now demand control over every step of the process. And we demand accountability, by threatening to turn elsewhere if even a single link in the chain doesn’t meet our standards.

This phenomenon isn’t restricted to the companies we buy from, the governments we vote for or the entertainment options we patronize. It extends to our own interactions as well.

In the age of social media, we can learn all we can about everyone we know, and everyone we don’t. We soak this information up like a sponge. And use it to associate, or disassociate, with others.

The point is clear: Details matter. The more transparent and clean those details are, the more likely we’ll support the person, product or organization behind them.

We’ve reshaped societal behavior with this principle. But are we demanding too much?

Are we headed to a point of no return?

You see, our requirements for transparent details comes at a premium. A cleaner, more ethical process doesn’t come cheap.

Yet, we can’t stomach paying more for the convenience. In money, trust or social capital.

We’re hard-wired to search for the discounts. To get the most bang for our buck.

This chasm between what we demand and what we’re willing to give up for it is problematic. It leads providers to get down and dirty to meet our expectations. But once we find out about these tactics, we shame the offending providers and move to greener, cleaner pastures.

It’s a brutal cycle. And one that’s entirely unsustainable.

So, where do we go from here?

Do we dare take accountability for our own skewed expectations? Do we dare devote more time, money or energy to people and entities that go the extra mile for quality?

It’s unlikely. The Why pay more? question is too deeply embedded in our consciousness.

With that in mind, maybe it’s better if we don’t know how the sausage is made. If we focus more attention on the end result, instead of scrutinizing the intermediate points to no end.

Obviously, we’d still need to be aware of some details — particularly as they pertain to health and safety. But otherwise, peering behind the curtain might do us more harm than good.

Whichever way we turn, one thing is clear. Transparency comes with a cost.

If we aim to know all the details, we best prepare to get down and dirty.

The Little Things

January is an interesting time.

The holidays have come and gone, the calendar has reset, and people are diving into those resolutions.

But while Out With The Old, In With The New is all the rage on these short, chilly winter days, it misses the point.

Yes, much of life is about improvement — improving ourselves and the world at large.

But it’s also about the little things. The moments and sensations that remind us what it is to be alive.

The reflection of sunlight off a passing car on a blue, sunny day. The feeling of hitting the water during the perfect cannonball. The warm fuzzies we get when we see a loved one smile.

These all should matter.

For while these things don’t help us achieve, they allow us to feel. And feeling is what both defines and protects the unique human brand of accomplishment.

Protecting our ability to achieve is vital, as machines are taking over tasks that were once manned by people. With the advent of Machine Learning, computer programs are now able to take on more complicated roles than ever before. While these developments certainly make things more efficient, they also eliminate job opportunities and make prosperity more difficult to come by for many people.

It might sound bleak, but have no fear. The dawn of Skynet is not imminent.

Why? Because machines can’t see the little things.

They can’t feel. They can’t build connections off of empathy. They can’t mend fences or solve the complex issues that the world faces.

They don’t get goosebumps on their forearm or chills up and down their spine. They can’t comprehend delight or despair.

They’re here to do a job, and that’s it.

We’re here for more than that. Not just to live, but also to know how it feels to be alive.

That’s what this shared ride called life is about, what it should be about.

So, take a moment to breathe in that crisp winter air, to gaze at that stunning sunset, to spend more time around the people who make your heart flutter.

The little things are a big deal.