Coaching Philosophies and Removing Gall Bladders

A very good friend of mine is a highly skilled and respected surgeon. Years ago we played volleyball together and had many hours on long trips to solve most of the world’s problems.  Despite that world peace was in the offing I don’t recall any world leaders asking for our solutions.

At length we discussed personal motivation and values that mold philosophies providing guidance for individuals in their respective professions.

One comment he made has stuck with me through the years.

“I have done several hundred gall bladders”, he said, (I assume he meant cutting them out using acceptable surgical procedures.) “To me, each surgery is one of many.” he continued, “But, for the patient it is the only one.  I never want to take that single gall bladder for granted.”

He explained to me that prior to each surgery he reviews the chapter on “Hacking Out Gall Bladders Correctly” despite having it virtually committed to memory.  His review is basically symbolic but central to his philosophy of treating each patient as an individual.

Coaches work with groups: Teams, tryouts, camps, and clinics.  We look out over a sea of young humanity. At times, it is difficult to see the individuals in the mass, each with her or his personal dreams and goals.  Yet, the coaches’ decisions, mannerisms, voice inflections, facial expressions, and gesticulations can have huge influence on each individual.  Further, one verbal or non-verbal message sent can be received differently by different people.

Coaches have some basic decisions to make regardless of the subject: What is good for the individual and what is good for the team?  Are they compatible? If not, which way to go?

Do our coaching philosophies accommodate the individuals’ growth or just winning? 

Do our coaching philosophies hold up under the pressure of institutional and personal needs to win when a sacrifice of an individual is imminent?  If we don’t have a strong, functional philosophy to guide our decisions, the temptations of the competitive moment can overwhelm an individual’s welfare.

The movie “Hoosiers” is obligatory viewing for any real athletic aficionado.  There is one scene that illustrates the coaching dilemma when the competitive moment runs contrary to philosophy.

The Cinderella team, little Hickory High School, is playing in the Regional finals with the winner advancing to State.  Indiana did not classify schools by student body numbers so that all schools big and small participated in one all-state play-down. Based on a true story out of the early 1950’s it has its Hollywood moments but, if you are a sappy-sucker like me watching these things, the embellishments enhance the story.

Coach Gene Hackman (actually an actor showing great coaching potential) faces an intense situation where one of his key players opens up a previous wound.  Hickory’s bench is pathetically weak.  The time is running down, the crowd screaming, the teams separated by a basket. The player comes to the sideline where the volunteer country doctor looks at the wound.

“Patch him up!”  Coach Hackman demands.

“I can’t!” says the sawbones.

“PATCH HIM UP! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

The doctor cringes and looks for needle and thread, while Hackman looks at the wound then verbalizes his educated diagnosis:  “You’re fine.  Get back in there.”

The kid eagerly concurs, his pain masked by the adrenaline and intensity of the moment.

Hackman starts to walk away, scratching his head, obviously reconsidering his decision of the moment. He calls a time out, tells the protesting boy to take a seat, and subs in a marginal player.  Relieved, the doctor puts away his sewing kit.

The coach’s philosophy kicks in to make a sound judgment for the player’s welfare.  Tough call.  The good news in this scenario is that Ollie, viewed as the team mascot and last option, goes in and, in the waning seconds, drops in two free throws to win.

 He probably had some help from Hollywood.

Each coach must decide in a reflective, non-competitive, moment, on a philosophy he or she can live with even in the direst circumstances. Is your philosophy compatible with institutional administrators’ and the community’s expectations?  We are never tested in theory discussions.  The real test of our coaching philosophy comes when program results are on the line.  How does yours hold up?

Think about it: If you are having a gall bladder or some other organ removed you want a surgeon who is guided by a sound philosophy.  Don’t you?

Bill Neville

CHILLY HILLY

Twenty years ago my older brother signed us up to pedal in what is considered by the bicycling community as one of the best organized rides in the known universe, the Chilly Hilly. On the day before the event we went to the pre-ride convention and bicycle-stuff swap.  We sauntered about looking at new technology, drooling over ultra lightweight equipment that, at least, would lighten the pocketbook. We watched in awe as expert mountain bikers jumped their two-wheelers over a pile of logs, a picnic table, and a few people. There were thousands of bicycle enthusiasts anticipating the opening event of the season.

I can recall the day being spectacular, warm for a February 23rd; not a cloud in the sky, the surrounding bodies of water sparkling with the snow covered Cascades and Olympics shouldering up on the horizons.  After spending the day cruising around we drove back to my house.  The first thing I saw was my very pregnant wife talking with an old friend who just arrived.  They weren’t chuckling it up, rather talking with animated concern. 

“What’s up?”  Asks I.

“My water broke.  We need to get to the hospital”, answers my wife.

“No way!” I respond with sensitivity.  After all, due date was 5 and1/2 weeks away.

“Are you kidding?” (This was harder to say as my foot got deeper down my throat.)

“See you tomorrow morning?”  My brother, whose mind was still on the ride, said, indicating that our sensitivity, was inherited.

That night my son, Ramsey was born.  Barbara, my wife took no pain-masking drugs, immediately terminating any possible future sympathy I might have shown for previous paper cuts. My brother called, briefly asked about his new nephew and then asked what time we should meet for the 33-mile ride.

“Uh. . . I don’t think it would be a good idea if I rode tomorrow.” I whispered, demonstrating that I was learning about being more sensitive.

“Ahh. . .You would be back before they even wake up,” He responds.  I stuck to my guns; he went on the ride, and, in fact, got to the hospital just a few minutes after mother and son woke up.  Fortunately, I was actually there when their eyes opened.

That leads in to this: Barb, Ramsey, and I finally rode the Chilly Hilly on Sunday after the boy interrupted the ride 12 years ago.

Like the day he was born the weather was spectacular.  The ride takes place on Bainbridge Island, a 35 minute ferry boat voyage across Puget Sound from downtown Seattle.  The island is the focal point for the book and movie Snow Falling on Cedars, a story about the many Japanese immigrants that farmed on the island and then lost their land and hope when they were interned during World War II.

4000 cyclists of all ages, sizes, and shapes, riding all manners of two-wheeled technology crammed the early morning boats.  The bright sun, reflecting off the Olympic Mountains to the west and the Cascades and Seattle skyline to the east accentuated the traditional colors of the Northwest of aqua blue and forest green.  But, in February the Sun provides little heat.  Hence: The “Chilly” in the name. 

In a few minutes we discovered the origins of the “Hilly”.  Oh. Baby.  My son kept asking how Lance Armstrong would do.  “He would scoff at this.” I gasped.  I knew this since at least 2000 colorfully lycra-clad, svelte, longlegged, riders and 100 obese, centenarian ladies passed me. 

We toured among the evergreens, the undulating road dappled with sunlight.  We exchanged greetings with people as they ripped by.  Occasionally, we passed folks, using the tortoise and hare philosophy.

Besides a great ride, the feeling of being part of a common event involving a wide variety of people, engaging in a healthy, positive experience is exhilarating.  It is another item in a long list of what is good about life.  It was a special birthday riding along talking about everything from Lance Armstrong to the history of the island and cramping, screaming, thighs.

Yes, the quads can speak. 

Their vocabulary is limited but the message was clear: “Stop! You moron!  If you don’t we WILL put an excruciating expression on your face!”  They did. And then I stopped.

I walked around for a few minutes like a penguin until my quads only whispered.

Cresting yet another long hill that featured stunning views of the water and mountains, a race volunteer provided motivating words,

“Only six miles to go!  Steep downhill! Big curve! Then! Just two more hills and you are done!”

If my Quads weren’t sniveling I think I would have dismounted and belted him.  Ramsey was too far ahead to get him to stop and spin a few Tai Kwon Do kicks at the volunteer who got to the top of that hill via car. (I saw it parked behind some trees.)

I caught up with Rams because I can roll faster down hill than he can.  We rode to the finish together as the sun was hovering above the Olympic Mountains. 

Barbara?  At one of the refreshment stops she took a certified shortcut back still pedaling 20 miles.  When we rolled in she was reclining in the sun reading her book.

We were tired in a relaxing, satisfied sort of way joining thousands of our fellow citizens in an unspoken camaraderie. 

Some of these things keep getting a little more difficult with the recovery taking a touch longer.  But, they will have to take me out on a litter before I stop challenging myself to do just a little bit more while enjoying these adventures with my family. 

Have a great week!

  

“But I Already Know That!"

A few years ago I worked with Karch Kiraly on a summer camp program for junior girls.  Our staff included Angela Rock, Steve Timmons, Mike Dodd, and Eric Sato.  All of these players – now coaches- were the staff.

On the first day we covered the fundamentals, teaching through various activities with the focus on reinforcing correct execution.  That evening we heard that one of campers called her dad and told him that she already knew the things we were teach and was expecting to learn “advanced” skills.  Karch and the others were shocked.  They wondered if we were teaching the correct things. I assured them we were.  The next morning at the first camp gathering I reviewed what Karch had done in his illustrious career. (Voted as the greatest volleyball player in the world in the first 100 years.  This vote was by the International volleyball Federation – not some trumped up marketing scheme.)  He is known for his incredible ball handling skills and focused play. He had no idea where I was going with this.

After reviewing his accolades for the girls I asked him, “After all of the time you have trained and played, have you mastered the basic skills?”  As he always does, he seriously considered the question.  He slowly shook his head and said, “Nope.  I never have.” 

“WHAT?” says I, dramatically incredulous, “How can that be? You are the greatest player ever!  I am completely disappointed.  And this early in the morning, too!  Because one of the girls here told her Dad that she already knew the skills we taught yesterday. Karch, I am stunned. Throughout your 24 year career you practiced the fundamental skills EVERYDAY?  Just like we did in camp yesterday?”

Karch nodded and said quietly and seriously, “Yup. Every day.

Point made.  Point taken.

Occasionally we will have parents or players ask if the next session a will be the same as the last.  The answer is yes and no.  To get better the players must do many contacts with good feedback.  To stand the trial of time any great building must be built on a strong foundation.  So it is with volleyball.  The precise, consistent fundamentals are the foundation of great volleyball for both players and teams.  So the “yes” part is that we hammer home the correct techniques and ways to practice them daily.  Every contact matters.

The “no” is that we change up the activities in each session to have the players practice applying the skills to the unique situations that randomly pop up in volleyball.  Also, we increase the complexity and performance standards of the activities based on the improvement of the players.  We try to make the learning process enjoyable and rewarding.  We want the players to love the game.  However, there is no getting around the quality repetitions one must execute to get good.

 There are several studies done that to perfect any skill takes 10,000 hours of mindful, consistent practice.  It requires a lot to be good.  It takes a lot more to be great.

We do our best to give the most efficient and effective instruction as possible. 

When the groups are formed we don’t know the makeup of the skill level despite describing what we do.

I have the attitude that every situation is an opportunity to learn; to get better.  No team or group as the exact level of playing competency.  When a player goes to their high school team there will be players who are better and those who are worse.  There will be players with great attitudes and those with questionable ones. 

We often hear, “My daughter needs to play up so she gets more challenged.”  Does that mean that the players who are already “up” are now going to play down?  They need fewer challenges?  It is the same with the playing time issue that crops up in every team.  “My daughter needs more playing time.”  If that happens, of course, another player is going to get less.  There are always two sides to these issues.  There is a challenge and opportunity in every situation.  If a player is better than those around her then her challenge is to elevate the play of those players.  If a player is not as good as others it is an opportunity to demonstrate her willingness to get better with great effort thus elevating the play of those around her. 

I have had the honor and opportunity to coach both men and women at the Olympic level many of whom have won Gold Medals, and I have coached 12 – 13 year old girls.  With the world class players there is one constant:  they play to the situation in which they find themselves.  They do not wish they were in a better situation.  They make the situation they are in better.  They elevate the play of those around them.  They do not snivel about playing time.  They assess where they are and figure out how they can earn it and make their team better. 

We do our best to match up skill levels.  But because of schedule conflicts and individual assessments of their own abilities it is difficult to do.  However, there are always opportunities for the players at every level to get better.

As one might imagine I have little sympathy for anyone who says “I have already learned that” or “I need a greater challenge.” The lessons may differ but if one has an attitude of learning, the learning never stops.