It was two days before Thanksgiving and one of my team leaders, Lindsey Kentner, approached me about allowing the team to go home on Thursday. Even though we had the day off, I had told the team I wanted them to remain in Charleston. I understood her request, the need for the players to go home, to see family and friends, to feel loved and appreciated by those who were closest to them.
Yet, I told her no. It was a hard decision, one I hated to make. It is not easy to tell a young person that sacrificing Thanksgiving with the family is necessary in order to get a win. It wasn't about being home or with the family. I would have loved for each one of them to enjoy that special day with loved ones. The problem is the fatigue attached to the travel.
We are tired. We played three games in four days last week, two of them on the road four hours away from home. Even with a day off on Sunday, the team had not recovered by Monday's practice. We were lethargic, barely moving. Worse than the physical symptoms of fatigue, our brains were not working. In the next seven days, we have three more games.
A few years ago, I allowed a group of players to go home for Thanksgiving. When they came back, we lost our next two games. They couldn't move. I swore then I wouldn't ever allow a team to travel over a single day and a half. I haven't yet.
I haven't been home for Thanksgiving since I was 17 and that 32 years ago. First as an athlete and then as a coach, I've been busy playing games or practicing. One year I was in Budapest, Hungary preparing for the World Championships. Another year, the team was on the bus driving 8 hours away for a game after having gorged on turkey and dressing. I didn't know then turkey was a natural sedative. I learned another hard lesson that year. We lost that game too.
I am not saying a game is more important than family. I don't believe that for a nanosecond, but I do know the hard work and dreams we have are worth the sacrifice for a single year. I hope they forgive me. I hope they understand I was looking out for their best interest. I hope they know they can have many more family Thanksgivings unless, of course, they choose to coach.
I am thankful this year I have this team. I am thankful for the wonderful people they are. I am thankful for their efforts. I am thankful they know their coach is just helping them find their dreams.
ONE HEART. ONE DREAM!
Friday, November 26, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Burning The Ships
Before every game I always provide the team with a small five minute motivational talk. Most of the time these chats are small stories I have read or heard. Last night as I was contemplating what words would inspire the team for the first game of the season, I rambled through many stories. The one that stuck was the burning of the ships.
A captain was in a war and he had taken his troops across the ocean to a battle they much needed to win. He knew if they lost this battle, they would probably lose the war. Once his men had gotten off the ships and safely to the land, he order his men to burn the ships. He told them there was no going back, no retreat. There was only the possibility of winning or dying.
I don't believe for a moment a game is between winning or dying, but it should be played with the idea of no retreat. There should be no looking back, no thought of a way out of the battle before the team. If we knew we would either die or win, how would we play? Would we not play with urgency and passion?
This is what I asked of the team: to play with determination, heart, a deep love and trust in themselves and the team.
THEY DID.
We needed to change the way we have played defense in the past. We were not aggressive enough. We were looking to detain not destroy. We needed to determine for our opponents what they were going to do, not allow them to create as they wished.
Last night was the first step in changing our attitudes. We played with the idea of going forward and creating what we wanted. If we can only play like this every night--play as if there was only one option--we would win every game.
I want them to keep this vision of the burning ships, see it in their dreams, smell the smoke of the dying embers, and hear the water gushing around the hulls. I want them to keep the resolve, the fortitude, and the fierceness of believing in the necessity of winning.
I don't want to make winning everything, and I won't burn the vans as we enter the gymnasium. I do want to make the will to win important, because it is. It is the essence of success not only on the court but in all they will do in life. I want them to know they can.
ONE HEART. ONE DREAM.
A captain was in a war and he had taken his troops across the ocean to a battle they much needed to win. He knew if they lost this battle, they would probably lose the war. Once his men had gotten off the ships and safely to the land, he order his men to burn the ships. He told them there was no going back, no retreat. There was only the possibility of winning or dying.
I don't believe for a moment a game is between winning or dying, but it should be played with the idea of no retreat. There should be no looking back, no thought of a way out of the battle before the team. If we knew we would either die or win, how would we play? Would we not play with urgency and passion?
This is what I asked of the team: to play with determination, heart, a deep love and trust in themselves and the team.
THEY DID.
We needed to change the way we have played defense in the past. We were not aggressive enough. We were looking to detain not destroy. We needed to determine for our opponents what they were going to do, not allow them to create as they wished.
Last night was the first step in changing our attitudes. We played with the idea of going forward and creating what we wanted. If we can only play like this every night--play as if there was only one option--we would win every game.
I want them to keep this vision of the burning ships, see it in their dreams, smell the smoke of the dying embers, and hear the water gushing around the hulls. I want them to keep the resolve, the fortitude, and the fierceness of believing in the necessity of winning.
I don't want to make winning everything, and I won't burn the vans as we enter the gymnasium. I do want to make the will to win important, because it is. It is the essence of success not only on the court but in all they will do in life. I want them to know they can.
ONE HEART. ONE DREAM.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Forgetful Coach
When I was in training for the Olympics, we trained year around two times a day six days a week. No, this is not a story like the ones your parents told you about walking six miles in the snow, uphill both ways to get to school. This is a true tale.
So, when I train the Golden Eagles I think they should be able to tolerate a couple of two-a-days. They are young and fit and recover fast. They should be capable of handling a couple of days of practice where the days consist of getting up, going to practice, taking a nap and practicing again.
The problem occurs when I forget how intense I am. I tend to push a little bit. Okay, so maybe I push more than a little; maybe it is a lot. Then I forget how I ask them to think while they practice. It is one thing to just run up and down the court, but it is quite another to have to engage your brain every second of the practice.
Monday night after having two practices on Saturday and two on Sunday, I noticed how their brains had quit functioning. It is the first sign of weariness. The second is uncontrollable laughter. We had both symptoms on Monday night.
Imagine being a coach and spending fifteen minutes working on a skill, breaking it down into small portions, explaining why we do something a certain way, and then in the next drill expecting them to take what was learned and apply it into a faster, more complex drill. On paper this seems fairly reasonable, but when we moved from one drill to the next, they looked at me, squinting with that look of confusion as if the language I was speaking was in a tongue most foreign to their knowledge.
Then on top of that, imagine Shannon skipping to her next position on the court and everybody toppling over in laughter. It was cute, perhaps even deserving a chuckle, but a falling down, tears-down-the-cheeks laugh, is a little far reaching. When Lisanne tripped over her two feet, I thought we were going to have to resuscitate Chrissy who was curled in a fetal position on the court.
It was not a pretty practice.
I gave them Tuesday night off believing after 24 hours of recovery, they would return with rested legs and brains. In the middle of Wednesday's practice as they were struggling with the most mundane of skill work, I asked them if they were tired. I even quantified the question by telling them it was not a trick question. I understand players are often afraid of admitting to being fatigue. When they told me they were okay, I responded by yelling at them to get after it.
This was when I knew they were not okay. They were physically trying to pick up their intensity. Their faces showed their determination but their legs and minds would simply not obey.
Later when I asked them why they didn't tell me they were tired, they all said they thought it was a trick question. I am not like the coach who asked if his players were tired and when they said they were tired, he said, "Well, you are not in good enough shape. Let's run some more." After a while, he asked them again, "Are you tired?" When they responded no, he said, "Well, you haven't worked hard enough. Let's run some more."
I am not that coach, BUT I am the coach who forgets how demanding I am and the one who forgets to cut back practice time. I forget we do more in two hours than most teams do in four. I forget how hard I ask them to go every drill.
Bless their hearts that they keep trying to give even when their legs are too weary to move and their brains can't keep signals straight. Bless them that they will forgive this forgetful coach.
ONE HEART! ONE DREAM!
So, when I train the Golden Eagles I think they should be able to tolerate a couple of two-a-days. They are young and fit and recover fast. They should be capable of handling a couple of days of practice where the days consist of getting up, going to practice, taking a nap and practicing again.
The problem occurs when I forget how intense I am. I tend to push a little bit. Okay, so maybe I push more than a little; maybe it is a lot. Then I forget how I ask them to think while they practice. It is one thing to just run up and down the court, but it is quite another to have to engage your brain every second of the practice.
Monday night after having two practices on Saturday and two on Sunday, I noticed how their brains had quit functioning. It is the first sign of weariness. The second is uncontrollable laughter. We had both symptoms on Monday night.
Imagine being a coach and spending fifteen minutes working on a skill, breaking it down into small portions, explaining why we do something a certain way, and then in the next drill expecting them to take what was learned and apply it into a faster, more complex drill. On paper this seems fairly reasonable, but when we moved from one drill to the next, they looked at me, squinting with that look of confusion as if the language I was speaking was in a tongue most foreign to their knowledge.
Then on top of that, imagine Shannon skipping to her next position on the court and everybody toppling over in laughter. It was cute, perhaps even deserving a chuckle, but a falling down, tears-down-the-cheeks laugh, is a little far reaching. When Lisanne tripped over her two feet, I thought we were going to have to resuscitate Chrissy who was curled in a fetal position on the court.
It was not a pretty practice.
I gave them Tuesday night off believing after 24 hours of recovery, they would return with rested legs and brains. In the middle of Wednesday's practice as they were struggling with the most mundane of skill work, I asked them if they were tired. I even quantified the question by telling them it was not a trick question. I understand players are often afraid of admitting to being fatigue. When they told me they were okay, I responded by yelling at them to get after it.
This was when I knew they were not okay. They were physically trying to pick up their intensity. Their faces showed their determination but their legs and minds would simply not obey.
Later when I asked them why they didn't tell me they were tired, they all said they thought it was a trick question. I am not like the coach who asked if his players were tired and when they said they were tired, he said, "Well, you are not in good enough shape. Let's run some more." After a while, he asked them again, "Are you tired?" When they responded no, he said, "Well, you haven't worked hard enough. Let's run some more."
I am not that coach, BUT I am the coach who forgets how demanding I am and the one who forgets to cut back practice time. I forget we do more in two hours than most teams do in four. I forget how hard I ask them to go every drill.
Bless their hearts that they keep trying to give even when their legs are too weary to move and their brains can't keep signals straight. Bless them that they will forgive this forgetful coach.
ONE HEART! ONE DREAM!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Feeling Better But Not Taking Any Excuses
After our second scrimmage, I was able to calm down a bit. Just a week ago, I was on a rampage seeking out the competitive nature of the team. I felt I had to reach down inside their chests and pull it out of them. I was exhausted from the strain of pulling and I'm certain they were pooped out from having to give more than they believed they had.
While we didn't perform awesome in our second scrimmage, we did manage to look better and to compete. This was what I wanted--passion. I wanted to see it on their faces and feel it coming out of their pores. I wanted to smell it on their breaths and hear it in their voices.
I know this: if we will compete as if our hearts would break in half without the victory then we will win games. If it means so much to them they will go outside of who they are to play, then we will be champions.
Often times they want to tell me this is not who they are as if that excuse will mean something to me. I see it for what it is--an excuse not to be better. If they tell me they cannot shoot outside, then I tell them to work on their shot. They can shoot outside if they practice it. If they tell me they are not fast enough, I tell them they are smart enough to appear fast. If they tell me it is not in their nature to talk loudly on the court, I tell them then winning doesn't mean enough to them to change.
I believe they can do whatever it is they really want to do IF they get rid of their fear about it. They fear failure too much. If they have an excuse, then they can rationalize why they can't get it done. If I don't accept excuses, then they must face themselves. This is scary!
Cruel aren't I?
I've seen players get outside of themselves to become amazing. Two years ago, we had a player named Kika Carman, a quiet person who barely spoke loud enough for us to hear her when standing right next to her. When she was a freshman, we always had to ask her to speak up during positive circles. Nobody could hear what she said. By the time she was a senior, she was a no-nonsense captain who told teammates what they needed to do, when they needed to do it and how. She wanted to win. Her leadership took us to a 26-7 record.
So, no I don't accept their excuses. I know they all can be better than the players I see today on the court. I've seen others come before them who became more. They can too.
ONE HEART. ONE DREAM.
While we didn't perform awesome in our second scrimmage, we did manage to look better and to compete. This was what I wanted--passion. I wanted to see it on their faces and feel it coming out of their pores. I wanted to smell it on their breaths and hear it in their voices.
I know this: if we will compete as if our hearts would break in half without the victory then we will win games. If it means so much to them they will go outside of who they are to play, then we will be champions.
Often times they want to tell me this is not who they are as if that excuse will mean something to me. I see it for what it is--an excuse not to be better. If they tell me they cannot shoot outside, then I tell them to work on their shot. They can shoot outside if they practice it. If they tell me they are not fast enough, I tell them they are smart enough to appear fast. If they tell me it is not in their nature to talk loudly on the court, I tell them then winning doesn't mean enough to them to change.
I believe they can do whatever it is they really want to do IF they get rid of their fear about it. They fear failure too much. If they have an excuse, then they can rationalize why they can't get it done. If I don't accept excuses, then they must face themselves. This is scary!
Cruel aren't I?
I've seen players get outside of themselves to become amazing. Two years ago, we had a player named Kika Carman, a quiet person who barely spoke loud enough for us to hear her when standing right next to her. When she was a freshman, we always had to ask her to speak up during positive circles. Nobody could hear what she said. By the time she was a senior, she was a no-nonsense captain who told teammates what they needed to do, when they needed to do it and how. She wanted to win. Her leadership took us to a 26-7 record.
So, no I don't accept their excuses. I know they all can be better than the players I see today on the court. I've seen others come before them who became more. They can too.
ONE HEART. ONE DREAM.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
