Tag: results

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.

Principles and Results

I got set in the starting blocks, my heart pounding. To my left and right, 7 other runners did the same.

I was 11 years old, and this was my first track meet. There were people in the stands, coaches all around, and a slate of competitors who surely looked less green than I did.

All of this was intimidating. But at this moment, with the race impending, I was most terrified of one thing.

The starting gun.

I had issues with loud noises at this age. The flushing of industrial-strength toilets would terrify me. So would the honking of car horns and the firing of guns.

When I heard these sounds, my heart would skip a beat. I’d freeze, startled like a deer in the headlights.

Such a response would be devastating in this 100-meter race. I needed to get off the blocks quickly when called upon.

So, I tried to block out my fears. I reminded myself to be ready to run.

And when the gun went off, something unexpected happened. I reacted impeccably, rising into a sprinter’s position and taking off.

Now, I was flying down the track, outpacing the other kids by a few steps. Fear had evaporated into opportunity. I had a real chance to win this race.

Yet, as I thundered ahead, I worried that I was out of balance. My legs felt like they were leading the way, dragging my upper body along.

I knew that I needed to be in sync, so I leaned forward to compensate. But I leaned too far, and I took a tumble.

Now, the pack of competitors was far ahead of me, charging for the finish line. My legs were bloodied from the asphalt track. My hopes were dashed.

Even so, I wasn’t going to give up. I got back on my feet and charged forward with all that I had. And I crossed the finish line.

Just like that, my race was over. I was left to think about what might have been had my sprint not gone awry. That would be the narrative of this experience.

Or so I thought.

In school the next day, my teacher called me to the front of the class. She asked me to pull up my pant legs, so the class could see my scraped knees.

My teacher then explained that while I hadn’t won a medal in the 100-meter contest, I’d done something just as noteworthy. By getting back up and finishing the race, I’d shown courage, determination, and heart. And that was worthy of recognition.

Upon hearing this, my classmates applauded.

In hindsight, this seems like a special moment. A moment worth cherishing.

And indeed, I do hold this memory dear these days. But back then, I remember feeling supremely confused.

After all, I had fallen. I had failed.

There were no medals to show for my effort. No sterling race splits. There was just a row at the bottom of the results table with my name and unspectacular race time on it.

Why was I now being feted?

I didn’t know quite how to react.

There is no substitute for hard work.

So proclaimed one of America’s greatest innovators — Thomas Edison.

Edison’s inventions are widely known, but the winding journey toward such success are not. There were hundreds of challenges, setbacks, and outright failings along the way.

Many would-be innovators would have thrown in the towel in the face of such adversity. But Edison didn’t. He kept trying. And eventually, he turned those struggles into success.

Today, we laud those who have followed Edison’s lead. We single out those who try hard, and who stick with it through adversity.

Still, such positive attention ignores a key fact. Our effort doesn’t always correlate to our performance.

As I’ve explained before, effort and execution are two entirely different things.

In my 100-meter race, I had failed miserably at one of those tasks. And yet, everyone was acting as if I hadn’t done anything wrong at all.

It didn’t seem right.

There is a narrative out there claiming that America was built on hopes and dreams. But our society relies on results.

Results are how we evaluate performance in a free-market economy. It’s how businesses are valued. It’s how athletes are defined. It’s how musicians go Platinum and movies break the bank.

Even in a changing world, there is little appetite to change this model. We might squabble about providing a social safety net, but we still believe in singing for our supper.

Yes, if one was to brand an American mantra, it would likely be Deliver results.

And yet, that is not the recognition we espouse. We focus instead on principles.

Principles are how I ended up with that round of applause just for finishing a race. Principles are what drive us to recognize others for their work ethic, passion, or chivalry.

We celebrate these attributes because they’re culturally significant. We want to live in a world full of determined people who still have the presence of mind to care about their neighbors.

But if we focus too much on that side of the coin, we’re setting ourselves up for trouble.

In 1970, economist Milton Friedman wrote a New York Times Magazine article that changed the business world.

The Friedman Doctrine mandated that a public company’s only objective was to provide value to its shareholders. It tossed aside any grand sense of principle and zeroed in on the bottom line.

The Friedman Doctrine helped spur the rise of cutthroat capitalism. In the years that followed, businesses went to great lengths to drive results and increase their valuations.

Innovation soared and shareholder value exploded. But it wasn’t all rosy.

In the years following the Friedman Doctrine, corporate America abandoned its sense of humanity. Workers became more expendable than ever before, and the compensation gap soared. A focus on results for some did not provide benefits for all.

These days, there is a backlash to this pattern. Scholars and activists have demanded more from companies than an increase in stock prices. Employee empowerment and corporate social responsibility are among the items on their wish lists.

But progress in these areas has been staggered.

For while we feel strongly about principles, they don’t usurp results.

Companies must demonstrate success to stay in business. A runner must cross the finish line first to get the gold medal.

We put a lot of attention on how we can get there. But in the end, what matters is that we do get there.

So, let’s take a fresh perspective.

Let’s treat principles as table stakes, rather than exalted virtues. And let’s redirect our focus on the results they can bring.

The way we carry ourselves matters. But our achievements matter even more.

The Secondary Effect Quandary

Cause and effect.

It’s a pattern that defines our lives.

When something happens to us, it has an impact. It shakes up the status quo and forces us to adapt.

The pattern of cause and effect has led humanity to adapt over the millennia. It’s transitioned us from primitive beings to the architects of advanced societies. It’s led to the practice of analysis in business, government and other subsets of life. And it’s allowed us to consider two time dimensions at once.

Yes, as we seek to move forward, it’s critical that we understand cause and effect patterns.

And yet, we continue to miss the mark.

For three months in late 2001, the skies over the New York Harbor were obscured by an ashy haze.

It looked like a plume of smoke was coming from Wall Street. That plume was actually dust and debris from the wreckage of the World Trade Center.

Every time I saw that plume, my entire body would seize up. For a moment, I’d be motionless.

The plume of debris was a visceral reminder about what happened in September of that year. It was a chilling warning of how that day would continue to affect me.

I was supposed to be one of the lucky ones. I didn’t lose anyone I knew in the attacks. I didn’t see the planes hit the towers firsthand. I didn’t have to run for my life as an avalanche of debris encroached upon me.

When the texts are written of that dark day, my story won’t be mentioned in them. From a historian’s perspective, I wasn’t part of the effect of that event.

And yet, I’ve carried the trauma of that moment with me every day since the attacks. That baggage has been with me for more than half of my life.

I don’t share this to claim victim status. The victims of that attack are the ones who lost their lives, and the loved ones who continue to mourn their loss.

But it’s clear that the attack had a wider impact. An indelible impact on anyone nearby who, on that day, believed our life was ending. An impact on anyone who encountered a heavily armed National Guardsman, imploring them to Go! Get out of here! An impact on anyone who saw the dust plume piercing the sky like a funnel cloud.

That someone was me. But it was also millions of others.

We might have been spared the primary impacts of the disaster. But the secondary effects are still scarring.

In the wake of disruptive change, it’s natural to think of the direct effects.

The rise of digital technology spelled the end for companies like Blockbuster and Kodak. The rise of nationalist movements in several countries represent a threat to immigrants.

These effects are well known and widely shared. Case studies illuminate the fall of analog players in the digital world. Endeavoring journalists warn of the dangers populism can bring to certain segments of society.

But while it might be poignant to feature the travails of these victims, their stories are just the tip of the iceberg. There is so much more under the surface.

Indeed, many consumers struggled in the transition to digital. Those who were not tech savvy faced challenges learning new techniques. And losing brands like Blockbuster and Kodak did not make that transition any easier.

And even if nationalist movements directly impact immigrants, those who rely on those immigrants for services are also impacted.

The secondary effects matter. So why do we keep ignoring them?

At the moment I’m writing this, the world seems as bleak as ever.

A global pandemic continues to rage, causing widespread devastation. The economy is in turmoil, as industries strain to recover from a series of lockdowns.

The primary effects of all this are not hard to find. Lives lost. Jobs lost. Families torn apart by illness or financial ruin.

It’s all a crushing reality.

Our society has largely failed to protect our lives and our livelihoods. And that puts us in a tough spot — one with no path ahead that spares more carnage.

Instant answers — such as unveiling economic incentives or imposing new lockdowns — might seem tempting. In theory, these solutions would remove half of the problem — thereby making it easier to focus on the other half.

But such plans have a familiar flaw.

They ignore the secondary effects.

Economic incentives only help if there’s business to be had. So long as consumers remain skittish due to health concerns, businesses will continue to struggle.

And lockdowns come with their own closets of skeletons.

There is the isolation factor. As we spend months without seeing our loved ones or celebrating special occasions, we lose social connectivity. As this pattern drags on, it’s hard not to feel that the world has passed us by.

There is the health factor. Staying home can make us more sedentary, leading to a new set of health issues.

And there is the essentials factor. With so many people locked down, the masses turn to a select few to deliver essential items — such as food or supplies. The divide between those staying safe and those taking on exponential health risks intensifies.

These issues might seem like minor grievances. After all, they pale in comparison to the specter of death and joblessness plaguing our society.

But that doesn’t make them irrelevant. Far from it.

Indeed, if we let these concerns go unchecked, they might plague us long after the crisis subsides. Months of quiet distress can lead to years of traumatic damage.

It’s what happened in the fall of 2001, when a plume of debris over the New York sky haunted anyone who laid eyes on it.

And now, history is poised to repeat itself.

It’s time we recognize the signs.

It’s time we see the gravity of secondary effects. And it’s time we factor those effects into our decision making.

For no matter how much we might think otherwise, choices are neither tidy nor simple. Change is difficult, and its aftereffects can be messy.

Sure, the primary effects of our moves might seem clear. But it’s what lies below the surface that will ultimately define us.

Let us not ignore that. Not now. Not ever.

A rebel might be without a cause. But a fool fails to consider the effects.

Now is no time to be foolish.