Remember this Titan

by Steve Sullivan

  In 1989 Tracy Fells was convicted of selling narcotics. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. The government was looking to send a message. Ten years was normal. Tracy got twenty. He would be the first to tell you he has no one to blame but himself. He knew what was right but chose to ignore it.

  When you expand your focus you will be coaching more off the field than on it and for me that just seems right. A winning game pales in comparison to a winning life.

  Facilitating the process means building trust.

  Trust is the glue that binds husband to wife, father to daughter, teacher to student, leader to follower. If you are going to succeed as a coach you need to establish trust. Young men and women are putting their time, effort, health, and success in your hands. They would like to know that you are a trustworthy custodian.

  Do yourself a favor and never ask for trust. Trust is not about words. Trust is about deeds. When you exhibit consistent credible behavior over time, you will be trusted. Don’t ask for trust . . . earn it.

  Facilitating the process means eliminating fear.

  Fear has been around for a long time. Coaches have been addressing it forever. The great writing coach Shakespeare said that “our doubts are traitors that make us lose the good we often may gain by fearing to attempt.” How about this: “Fears are thieves that steal confidence and diminish potential.” When people are afraid, they don’t want to attempt. When someone doesn’t attempt, nothing happens. As a coach you have to make it happen and if you have a bunch of fearful people everything slows down.

  In 1966 there was a terrific three-sport athlete from a competitive school. He pitched, quarterbacked, and shot hoops. At six feet six inches he was a dominant physical force and anytime you played against him you were in trouble. That was until his father showed up. I’d heard the stories and wondered how he could be dominated by his dad. When his seven-foot tormentor arrived, I had my answer.

  There was an instant change. Strikes became balls and touchdowns became fumbles. The reason was obvious. He was terrified with what his dad would do to him if he didn’t shine. That fear inhibited his performance. He got away from Dad and went on to have a great college career and became a star defensive end with the Dallas cowboys.

  He was always great but when impacted by fear he was less.

  Removing fear starts by identifying fear. You’ll find it in the eyes. You’ll hear it in the voice. You’ll see it in the legs. It’s born in the mind but lives in the heart. Fear has been known to incapacitate the best. Nothing of consequence has been built on fear.

  People are afraid of rejection, failure, embarrassment, change, injury, and a host of other things. Someone may not tell you they are afraid but there will be signs. Look for them. Fear shows up in what people say and what people do. Look for fear in the back of the line. You’ll find it with the light on. Once you think you know where the fear resides do something to remove it. People don’t like to be afraid. They don’t like the feeling of being afraid. Whoever removes fear from someone’s life becomes a pal.

  Your responsibility is to create a sanctuary of safety. That doesn’t mean it will be pain free but it will be injury free—physically and emotionally. Trust will help. If people believe that they are going to be okay and then are, you just scored. Let people extend themselves. Let them eat the forbidden fruit. When they have, and nothing bad transpires, you’ll probably see a smile.

  Overcoming fear is an energizing agent and when someone realizes that fear was just a four letter word, “dare not” will be replaced by “dare a lot” and then everything goes north.

  Facilitating the process means holding people accountable.

  I’ve found in my coaching and teaching career that most people live in the present. They think about the future but for them the future is a fuzzy notion that has little influence on their lives. When someone screws up and you don’t do anything about it you send the message that the sheriff doesn’t care. To an individual who is prone to temptation you have just given them the key to the chicken coop. And as we all know it’s only a matter of time until someone sees the feathers in their mouth. The last few years have shown what happens when people aren’t held accountable. I suspect every executive that has gone to jail had been given a pass somewhere along the line. Had they been administered a little justice at the first sign of trouble, their lives wouldn’t be in shambles.

  MY FAVORITE BIRD

  What you might find encouraging is when justice needs to be dispensed it is often the result of self-adjudication. You’ll find, more often than not, if you have led people fairly, they will police their own actions. I think it has something to do with human beings having . . . a conscience.

  Do you remember the mini-series Lonesome Dove? This masterpiece showcased life, death, love, commitment, loyalty, challenge, fairness, and trust. Lonesome Dove, in my opinion, the finest movie ever made, was about leadership.

  Some people think of it as a cowboy movie. I saw it as two coaches taming the west. While I could probably write a book on the intended meaning of each night’s episode, at this juncture I’m only interested in the events surrounding the segment on horse rustling. Excuse me, make that accountability.

  Augustus McCrae and Woodrow Call had finally tracked down the bad guys who had been robbing, killing, and burning sodbusters. When they came across the group, much to their surprise, they found their good friend, Jake Spoon, present.

  They’d spent a decade as Texas Rangers with Spoon, and their feelings ran deep. Unfortunately for him, their commitment to justice ran even deeper. He pleaded his case by stating he had linked up with the scoundrels as a means of getting through dangerous territory. He explained he had not been a perpetrator in any of the acts, and proclaimed his innocence.

  While both of them believed Spoon told the truth, the fact still remained, he crossed the line. As Spoon sat with neck in noose, you could feel him processing that input. Suddenly, he kicked his horse. When I saw it my first reaction was that Spoon initiated the action to spare his friends. He didn’t want them to live with the guilt that they had killed their friend. I no longer hold that opinion.

  There would have been no sleepless nights. McCrae and Call loved Spoon but that didn’t matter. Jake Spoon had crossed the line and it was time for him to pay. He knew it and so he hung himself.

  As you go through life you will encounter people that cannot see the line or choose to ignore it. When it happens you need to do something.

  My Roswell football team had made it to the championship. I was not all that optimistic because my star running back had violated some rules and I decided to put him on the bench. Halfway through the game a couple players asked me to let him in. I said no. We went on to win. Afterward, those same two players thanked me for holding firm. I guess it taught them something. The player I punished never thanked me but I got the feeling he understood why I took the action. I don’t know how he turned out but if he paid attention to the message I sent, he turned out better than if I’d let him run.

  I’ve found people may not want to be held accountable but they expect to be held accountable. Don’t give them a pass. When people aren’t held accountable more often than not they get worse.

  There are lots of ways to facilitate the process. I’ve given you a few. In finding others you are only limited by your imagination and a willingness to implement your plan. What is important is that what you do should be measured against one criterion—accomplishment.

  Accomplishment is a word with major ramifications. Accomplishment is about being better tomorrow than you are today. Accomplishment involves feeling good about what you did. Accomplishment leaves no doubt that you did your best.

  There are many who believe that accomplishment is a point on a performance continuum. For me it has always been a relative term. Accomplishment has nothing to do with where I am. Its significance lies in the distance I’ve traveled from where I began. If I began great and didn’t become greater, great means nothing. There
is no victory in maintaining the status quo. Accomplishment has meaning only when it is measured against what could have been, what should have been.

  That concept is lost on some. We are living in an age where hype is the coin of the realm. Being provocative makes you a star. When I was growing up, fame and fortune came about as a result of being better than the best. Today, an octopus tattooed on your face can get you front row seats. The nonsense has gotten pretty extreme, but with all things it is only a matter of time before the pendulum swings back.

  A MAN TO REMEMBER

  I never had a son. I always wanted one. Now don’t get me wrong. I adore women. I’ve spent my life around them and I’m better because of it. Dads and daughters have a special bond but so do dads and sons. More than once I wondered what my son would be like. Had I been able to make one (it takes a real man to make five girls) what would he have been?

  I wouldn’t have cared how he looked. Short or tall, green hair and pink eyes would have been just fine. Elephant ears and a cauliflower nose, so what. His blood would have been mine. That physical stuff doesn’t matter. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.

  My son would have had character and a twinkle in his eye. He would have treated people nicely. And done what was right. My boy would have tackled bias and blocked injustice. My guy would have made a point of speaking his mind. I know he would have wanted to leave the place better than he found it. No, I never had a son but I had Gerry Bertier.

  Gerry came into my life when he was in the eighth grade. His father had just died and like anyone who experiences a significant loss, I think he was looking to fill that void. We bonded immediately. I was a kind of surrogate father. Early on I knew there was something special about him. He had a determination and competitiveness that exceeded anything I had seen in someone so young. Not too many thirteen year olds understand realizing your potential tracks back to the present. For most youngsters, here and now is all that counts. For them, success in the future comes on a wing and a prayer. Gerry knew differently. He understood the future began today.

  Many young men I’ve coached are what I call one-linkers. They cannot see beyond the first link in the chain. To a one-linker expending effort means you’re tired. Period. That’s it. All over. Go home.

  To a multi-linker, effort means you’re tired.

  Tired indicates you did something. Something makes you better. Better wins. Winning gets recognition. Recognition gets a scholarship. Scholarship dictates an education. Education is a future. Future is a good job, a family, and a plasma TV. To a multi-linker tired is not the end of the process, it is the beginning. I can still hear Bertier as if it was yesterday. “Hey coach, I think I’ll do a few more laps.”

  The best athletes and most productive people I have coached never lost sight of the links in the chain. Gerry always seemed to be able to see the connections that others couldn’t. And when the links became blurred Gerry had me. That’s what coaches are supposed to do—bring clarity to confusion. With Bertier it was easy. Anytime he got off track the solution never required more than a minor adjustment. He was so focused and so dedicated you just had to think the thought and he was on it. He took that attitude to the playing field. He had all the physical equipment needed to play but it was his “don’t quit” mindset that made him a star.

  I’ve seen a lot of great plays over the years but one play stands out above all others. We were playing our rival Jefferson. It was tough game and victory was up in the air. Jefferson had a third and long and that was the kind of situation where my linebacking maniac got even crazier. He called his own number for a blitz. At full speed he went through the line like a missile through pudding. He saw the bull’s eye and readied to launch the QB into another county. There is one thing about being a legend that can be detrimental. People know your moves. Bertier had a reputation for suicidal aggressiveness. The other coach knew what he would do. A swing pass was called. A moment before Gerry hit his target the quarterback unloaded the pigskin to the fastest man on the field. Bertier hit the quarterback and rearranged his numbers. When he realized the ball was gone he jumped to his feet and ran the halfback down. He caught him at the five-yard line. I guess that meant that guy was the second fastest player on the field. They didn’t score and we won the game.

  I’ve contemplated that effort a thousand times. I cannot think of Gerry without picturing that play. It is indelibly etched in my mind. Not because Gerry made the tackle. Not because we won the game. Not because Herman patted me on the back. I remember that play because that play represents the spirit of the man. Of all the young men and women that called me coach, Gerry Bertier possessed a spirit like no other.

  As I’ve gotten older and my past is relived in memories, spirit is always there. I’ve thought a great deal about spirit. There was a time when spirit came up and I looked to the heavens. I didn’t realize that spirit is born on this earth and it is spirit that adds dimension to your life and the life of others. At times I didn’t understand the significance of the word. I believed spirit was something you could teach. I no longer do.

  Spirit comes in the genes. There are many things that can be learned but spirit is not one of them. From the very beginning, if you have been blessed with spirit you are lucky, because spirit is the pilot light of character. It is spirit that embraces adversity. It is spirit that confronts injustice. It is spirit that overcomes pain. It is spirit that allows a suffering child to smile and a dying soldier to forgive. Spirit said “give me liberty or give me death.” Spirit has been at the essence of achievement since achievement began. It was spirit that took Gerry Bertier from the darkest dark back to the light.

  A NIGHT TO FORGET

  It was December 11, 1971, and Gerry Bertier was on top of the world. The high school heartthrob and hometown hero had just been called the best defensive player in the country. Two hundred schools waited to offer him a scholarship. He was a unanimous All-Metro linebacker and was receiving the Titans Most Valuable Player award. I was his coach and had the honor of presenting him his trophy.

  The audience rose in a standing ovation. As I handed it to him I was surprised by the look on his face. On a night that should have been filled with happiness there was sadness in his eyes. His comment to me was, “Coach, I feel like it’s all over.” Five hours later Gerry lay crushed in the front seat of his 1969 Camaro after it slammed into a tree a mile from his home. When the doctors finished putting the pieces back together the prognosis was unanimous. Gerry had a 5 percent chance of living. A few weeks later Bertier was alive and getting stronger. The prognosis was unanimous. It would take two years in the hospital before he would be well enough to leave. Six months later he was out. They were right about his never walking again.

  In an instant his life had been turned upside down. In the hospital Bertier was given an almost lethal dose of negativity. It was the best thing that could have happened. Gerry was stubborn and he loved proving people wrong. He viewed bad news as a challenge. That’s what allowed him to make a remarkable recovery.

  But once he got out and realized the struggle that comes with being paralyzed he began to have doubts. A short time later he came to see me. Tears flooded his eyes. I tried to hold mine back. He told me he was going to commit suicide. When I heard the word I became enraged. “Gerry,” I yelled, “You were a great football player. You were a great athlete. And you were great not because you had the most talent. You were great because of what was in here.” I touched my heart. “And here.” I touched his temple. “It was your perseverance, your competitiveness, your never-give-up attitude that made you a champion. What happened to that? Was that killed in the accident?”

  He said nothing. I continued, “You’re letting what you can’t do stop you from doing what you can do.” He asked for an explanation. I told him about the Wheelchair Olympics. When I saw a spark in his eyes I knew the pilot light had ignited a flame.

  He laughed as he stated he’d have to give up the high jump but then asked if I would
coach him in the shot, discus, and javelin. I didn’t know my answer would connect us for the rest of his life. I had always accepted my responsibility as his coach and I would again. It would just be on a different playing field.

  I’m no different than anyone else when it comes to being clueless. I’d never spent any real time with someone who was handicapped and certainly not at Gerry’s level. Nothing worked from the nipples on down. I had suffered with Gerry after the accident as he tried to cope with his new circumstances. I was there to give him a shoulder if he needed it. I attempted to provide some encouraging words. But I never understood what he had to go through until I made that commitment.

  Gerry taught me everything I knew about working with a disabled person. It wasn’t an easy education. Gerry was known to speak his mind. In the politically correct world we now live in, he would have been a pariah. If a thought found its way into his brain it wasn’t long before it cascaded off his tongue. He never ever attempted to sugar coat anything. He was after everybody all the time but only if there was a reason. On occasion he put the “attack mode” part of his personality in neutral and became a reasonable guy.

  That happened early on in our quest to win him a medal. It was the first day that we were going to practice throwing the discus. Bertier had worked out in the weight room exhaustively to build his shoulder and arm strength. He was in terrific condition. Remarkably, in that he had no stomach muscles to help him leverage the weights.