Just had to buy an old friend and classmate's book after finally checking it out. It's been on my list of things to do. It's a sports psychology book by Dr. Jared Wood. (Doctor! Lord Jesus, help us all, Jared Wood is a doctor!) I bought it hoping that it may give me a few ideas in my own job. A ScrumMaster is a coach of sorts for a software development team. It's pretty unlike coaching a football team, maybe the furthest thing from while still being able to refer to oneself as a coach. Maybe more like coaching a golf team. But just in Jared's blog I saw enough similarity to think his book may help.
The stories Jared tells about high school football bring back a ton of memories. I have recurring dreams about high school football. It was one thing I just wasn't very good at, and I desperately wanted to be. To tell the truth, at the time, I desperately wanted to be good at everything. My friends, though, the kids I grew up with, my pals, were good at football. Jared, Ryan, Chad, Ryan (a different Ryan), Eric, Terry, Bill, did I mention Ryan? They did other things in the offseason - maybe basketball, maybe baseball, but football was all-important at Frankenmuth High. That's a slight exaggeration; it wasn't all-important... but really pretty damn important.
And truthfully, it wasn't so much the sport itself that was so important. For me, it was being with my friends that was important. Yes, Mom, if my friends jumped off a bridge I would probably do it too. I wanted to be just like them, which meant playing football. Genetics conspired against me mostly. I think I was still 5'4" at the end of my sophomore year, adding a whole 3 inches over the next year, and I was still the smallest guy on the varsity team. Also, truth is, as competitive a person as I am, I'm not so much competitive with other people; I was competitive with myself. I was okay with losing as long as I "did my best" as my mother would say. I wanted to set PR's with running. I was never going to be the biggest, fastest, or best athletically, but as long as I was better each day, I was... okay with it. Jared, on the other hand, hated to lose. When I hear about those great athletes like Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods who don't so much like winning as they just hate to lose, I think of Jared. I don't think he took pleasure in winning so much as it was a relief.
I guess I've come to experience that same feeling over time. There are times in some competition where you simply know you are better than your opponent. You know that the only way to lose is by beating yourself. That's when winning comes as a relief. Nowadays, I mostly only ever get to feel this directly while beating some poor souls at a trivia game. Still there is the indirect experience of rooting for the Broncos and the wash of relief as we pound the Raiders into oblivion again. (I'm sorry that my Lions fan friends cannot enjoy this. Every win is a God-damned celebration for you.)
In his last post, Jared tells this story of Coach Munger, our high school football coach, yelling "Run it again!" at practice.... Over and over he'd yell it. Mind you, Coach Munger would yell this in a game. If we ran "sweep-right" and someone missed their block he'd go halfway out on the field and scream, "Run it again!" for us to hear, the opposing team to hear, the fans and all the rest of the world to hear. And we would, and we'd run it better.
So at one practice we're running this play where the wing in the formation, normally lined up outside the tight end, is lined up off the line between the the tight end and tackle. His job is to come through the line and wipe out the inside linebacker with a block while the ball gets handed to the fullback, Jared in this case, on a dive following right behind the wing. I played back-up safety so I was the safety on the scout team. On this particular play when the inside linebacker gets wiped out, I'm supposed to fill in behind and tackle the ball carrier. Well Jared may have had seventy pounds on me at that time (not to mention Jared was also probably the only person on the team faster than I was), so the first time we run it, he just steamrolls me.
For some reason, Jared turning me to pudding on the practice field isn't good enough for Coach. "Run it again!" he yells. Same play, linebacker wiped out, I fill in, and Jared goes over me like a Mack truck. From my vantage point on my back on the practice field staring up into a slate gray, autumn Midwestern sky I can't tell what nit Coach has to pick with his first team offense, but I hear him yell, "Again!" So I haul my body up off the ground, cursing a bit under my breath and get ready for superstar fullback to come through again. This time, as he blows me up I grab some jersey or pad and hang on for dear life, eventually dragging him down twenty yards past the line. Coach is already yelling, "Run. IT. Again," as we are picking ourselves up. "Sorry, man," Jared mutters to me. Right then, I wanted to just say to him, "Fuck you. I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I want to knock you 'ass-over-tea kettle'," (as the coaches would say). I don't know what I actually said, but I know we ran it a couple more times because I remember being pretty steamed that he apologized to me. I'd love to say being angry made a difference; I'm pretty sure I thought it did at the time and that I was better at least at absorbing the impact.
Then like every other person who has played the game, you realize that you won't ever play it again. I'd love to go back. Even to be as small as I was then, I'd love to have one more season or one more game. One more practice with those guys or even one more play, as a backup safety waiting for the fullback, Doctor Wood, to come barreling through that line, because this time it would be different.
(You can get Jared's book for yourself at his site. I'm only through the first couple chapters, but I know I will have much more to say about this as it pertains to Scrum and coaching.)
The stories Jared tells about high school football bring back a ton of memories. I have recurring dreams about high school football. It was one thing I just wasn't very good at, and I desperately wanted to be. To tell the truth, at the time, I desperately wanted to be good at everything. My friends, though, the kids I grew up with, my pals, were good at football. Jared, Ryan, Chad, Ryan (a different Ryan), Eric, Terry, Bill, did I mention Ryan? They did other things in the offseason - maybe basketball, maybe baseball, but football was all-important at Frankenmuth High. That's a slight exaggeration; it wasn't all-important... but really pretty damn important.
And truthfully, it wasn't so much the sport itself that was so important. For me, it was being with my friends that was important. Yes, Mom, if my friends jumped off a bridge I would probably do it too. I wanted to be just like them, which meant playing football. Genetics conspired against me mostly. I think I was still 5'4" at the end of my sophomore year, adding a whole 3 inches over the next year, and I was still the smallest guy on the varsity team. Also, truth is, as competitive a person as I am, I'm not so much competitive with other people; I was competitive with myself. I was okay with losing as long as I "did my best" as my mother would say. I wanted to set PR's with running. I was never going to be the biggest, fastest, or best athletically, but as long as I was better each day, I was... okay with it. Jared, on the other hand, hated to lose. When I hear about those great athletes like Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods who don't so much like winning as they just hate to lose, I think of Jared. I don't think he took pleasure in winning so much as it was a relief.
I guess I've come to experience that same feeling over time. There are times in some competition where you simply know you are better than your opponent. You know that the only way to lose is by beating yourself. That's when winning comes as a relief. Nowadays, I mostly only ever get to feel this directly while beating some poor souls at a trivia game. Still there is the indirect experience of rooting for the Broncos and the wash of relief as we pound the Raiders into oblivion again. (I'm sorry that my Lions fan friends cannot enjoy this. Every win is a God-damned celebration for you.)
In his last post, Jared tells this story of Coach Munger, our high school football coach, yelling "Run it again!" at practice.... Over and over he'd yell it. Mind you, Coach Munger would yell this in a game. If we ran "sweep-right" and someone missed their block he'd go halfway out on the field and scream, "Run it again!" for us to hear, the opposing team to hear, the fans and all the rest of the world to hear. And we would, and we'd run it better.
So at one practice we're running this play where the wing in the formation, normally lined up outside the tight end, is lined up off the line between the the tight end and tackle. His job is to come through the line and wipe out the inside linebacker with a block while the ball gets handed to the fullback, Jared in this case, on a dive following right behind the wing. I played back-up safety so I was the safety on the scout team. On this particular play when the inside linebacker gets wiped out, I'm supposed to fill in behind and tackle the ball carrier. Well Jared may have had seventy pounds on me at that time (not to mention Jared was also probably the only person on the team faster than I was), so the first time we run it, he just steamrolls me.
For some reason, Jared turning me to pudding on the practice field isn't good enough for Coach. "Run it again!" he yells. Same play, linebacker wiped out, I fill in, and Jared goes over me like a Mack truck. From my vantage point on my back on the practice field staring up into a slate gray, autumn Midwestern sky I can't tell what nit Coach has to pick with his first team offense, but I hear him yell, "Again!" So I haul my body up off the ground, cursing a bit under my breath and get ready for superstar fullback to come through again. This time, as he blows me up I grab some jersey or pad and hang on for dear life, eventually dragging him down twenty yards past the line. Coach is already yelling, "Run. IT. Again," as we are picking ourselves up. "Sorry, man," Jared mutters to me. Right then, I wanted to just say to him, "Fuck you. I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I want to knock you 'ass-over-tea kettle'," (as the coaches would say). I don't know what I actually said, but I know we ran it a couple more times because I remember being pretty steamed that he apologized to me. I'd love to say being angry made a difference; I'm pretty sure I thought it did at the time and that I was better at least at absorbing the impact.
Then like every other person who has played the game, you realize that you won't ever play it again. I'd love to go back. Even to be as small as I was then, I'd love to have one more season or one more game. One more practice with those guys or even one more play, as a backup safety waiting for the fullback, Doctor Wood, to come barreling through that line, because this time it would be different.
(You can get Jared's book for yourself at his site. I'm only through the first couple chapters, but I know I will have much more to say about this as it pertains to Scrum and coaching.)
