by Pete Carroll
There are so many examples of the power of visioning. That power of creating a vision is so great that it can actually work for you as well as against you.
I clearly remember one day when I was visiting Watts, in Los Angeles. I asked a young man what his vision was for his life. His matter-of-fact response was “I’m either going to jail or I’m gonna die.” Shocking as that was, the odds were that he was probably right, and they were increased by the fact that he was already laying out that path in his own mind. If there was ever a clear example of a negative affirmation, that was it. I could only respond by saying, “You’re probably right. As long as that’s the vision you hold for your life, that’s likely what you’re gonna get.”
The power of one’s vision and affirmations is incredibly strong. I have always believed that what you expect is usually what you get. You draw it to you. A great example of that was our 2004-2005 USC football team.
USC was playing the Oklahoma Sooners in Miami for the national championship. It was the night before the game, and I was searching for the right words to say.
It’s not very often that I find myself at a loss for words when it comes to talking to the team the night before a game. After a while in this profession, you develop an instinct for what a team needs to hear at a given moment. But on the night of January 3, 2005, as I was preparing to address our USC Trojans on the eve of the national championship game, I was stumped. I just couldn’t find a topic that felt big enough to fully convey everything I felt about this incredible group of people and what they had already achieved. I wanted to tell them how excited and confident I felt about going into the next day’s game with the whole country watching. I didn’t just want to remind them how much I believed in them—how certain I was that we were going to win. What I wanted—what I needed—was to make them feel the absolute truth of why I believed in them so deeply at that moment, of why the next day’s outcome felt so sure to me. But the words kept eluding me. And the clock kept ticking.
We’d had an extraordinary lead-up to this national championship game. Both teams had a perfect year—something only one of us would still be able to say the following night. This was just one of the many reasons why the buildup had been so huge in the weeks leading up to the game. The media coverage had really gone overboard. The press was having a field day, with many predicting that the matchup could well turn out to be the biggest college game in history. The scrutiny and pressure were intense, but our guys had survived it with classic Trojan poise and style. We were in great shape, mentally and physically, going into the game. We had been through a month of preparation that had gone almost perfectly, and we were ready. The trip from Los Angeles to Florida, the stay at the hotel in Miami, everything had gone just as we had envisioned it. No one was getting distracted or into any trouble. Everyone was sticking to the script.
As a team, we couldn’t have been closer. There were seniors on the team who had been freshmen when I arrived at USC, so in a sense we had all grown up together. The moment we were walking into was really the culmination of the ideas we had conceived and the program we had worked so hard to build. It felt as if every step of the way, everything had gone exactly as planned.
That feeling reminded me of a concept my friend Michael Murphy had introduced me to years earlier, something the researcher W. G. Roll called the “long body.” Roll studied the way that group intentions manifested within Iroquois tribes. While his research falls into the realm of parapsychology, the concept really resonated with what we were experiencing at USC. When in a focused state similar to what Maslow calls “peak performance,” individuals within the groups Roll studied seemed to develop a single consciousness, acting with one will. As Roll described it, “The Tribe is likened to a body connected where, once connected, it operates as a single entity functioning, sensing, and feeling as one. A Tribal-Mind-Body where members share a Tribal nature, a Communal nature, that they instinctively own, a Mental connection, a Knowing, a Long Body.” When a team can get into that kind of state, the resulting group exhilaration and sense of invincibility allows them to see and reach potential they never would have dreamed of as individuals. It is as if the team shared one heartbeat.
I have traditionally used the night before a game as an opportunity to have a big meeting that sets the tone for our attitude and approach the next day. Still at a loss for an inspirational topic, I certainly wasn’t about to pass on that night in Miami. It was ironic, really. After four years of work and dedication focused on a single vision, we were standing at the precipice of the biggest opportunity that you could ever have in college football—four years and thousands of hours of preparation to go from dream to reality, and fifteen minutes before our meeting I still didn’t know what I was going to say to our guys.
Finally, it dawned on me that the reason I was struggling so much was that I just couldn’t think of a more inspiring example to put in front of our guys than to tell them the truth about what we had accomplished. There was literally nothing I could say to them that would be more effective than simply reminding them how we had gotten to where we sat that night. Once I realized that, it was easy. Over time, they had all joined in and made a commitment by saying, “I’m in,” which meant they had accepted the vision and philosophy of our program. By doing so, they had allowed us to push them to their limits, and here we were, the night before the national championship game, together one final time.
Every person in that room that night was there because he had made a commitment, practice by practice, game by game, to be a part of this program. Together they had committed to the vision to “do things better than they have ever been done before.” As I entered the team meeting room, I knew I was looking at much more than just a soon-to-be-championship football team. I couldn’t wait to tell them what we had accomplished, that they were living proof that you can create whatever you envision as long as you are willing to always compete and stay on course with your objective.
With total commitment and hard work, we had done just that. Now all we had to do was go play the game. This may have sounded overly confident or arrogant, but it wasn’t even hard to say. We just knew it on the inside. What excited me the most was the realization that our players would be able to draw from this example long after the 2005 Orange Bowl.
The game turned out to be a wonderful celebration of a championship season. We had done something I had always dreamed of, winning every game and totally maximizing the potential of a season and a team. A philosophy had been shared by a group of young men and coaches and had resulted in a wonderful achievement on the field as we won 55-19. More important, the lessons learned both on and off the field would stay with us for a lifetime.
The philosophy we lived by had given us the guidelines and structure to create a championship program. The foundations for establishing a winning formula were in place. We had set a vision and stated an affirmation. Now the real challenge was on: Could we do it again? . . . and again? . . . and again?
20
WINNING FOREVER ON AND OFF THE FIELD
The experience at USC carried far beyond the playing field. Working in our nearby communities allowed us the opportunity to reach out on numerous occasions to people from our surrounding neighborhoods. I will forever be grateful for all the relationships and the lives we touched late at night on the streets of LA. But in addition to our activities on the fields of USC and the work in the surrounding communities, there was another world of experiences we would encounter that no one could have predicted.
The principles of Win Forever, which remind us to compete and always strive to do our best, at times took on an entirely new meaning. We found ourselves as team members, challenged to not only endure some of life’s most gripping tests, but also to respond and support in ways we never could have imagined. Principles so basic to our football team helped us hang together, and our ability to never stop competing on the field would prove instrumental off the field as well. We learned that being supportive would be cruci
al, as off-the-field challenges continued to come our way. And finally, our always enduring will to be positive and to hold on to the belief that something good was just about to happen, no matter how dire the circumstances, would truly prove to be worthwhile. We were continually inspired as a team by the strength and courage demonstrated by those individuals and families caught in the middle of the tragedies that everyday life sometimes brings. Our team at USC has shown this strength of character time and again.
On September 28, 2009, we were 3-1, and preparing for a big Pac-10 matchup against the University of California, Berkeley, when an assistant strength coach came rushing to my office. There had been an accident in the weight room, he told me, and Stafon Johnson was being rushed to the emergency room. He had been on the bench press when a bar loaded with 275 pounds slipped out of his hands and fell directly on his throat.
Bleeding from his mouth and nose, barely able to breathe, Stafon was rushed to the California Hospital Medical Center. During emergency surgery lasting for more than seven hours, doctors were miraculously able to repair a crushed larynx, damaged throat, and critically injured airway. After several more surgeries and weeks of recovery, the doctors credited his overall athleticism, fitness, and mental fortitude for his survival and said they expected him to make a full recovery.
Clearly, our first priority was Stafon’s recovery and for a while, it wasn’t clear whether or not he would be able to speak again. At the same time, his injury was a major blow to our team and our season. An extremely talented player, Stafon was also our emotional leader. In his absence, we were missing not only his skills but also his positive influence on the rest of the team.
When we arrived at Memorial Stadium that weekend, our players were prepared to play but naturally had Stafon’s health weighing on their minds. That night, in our team meeting, the coaches and I talked to the team about playing with the passion Stafon had, the poise he embodied, and the strength he possessed. My hope was that, if we couldn’t have him playing with us, at least we’d have the example of his courage to push the team to play their best, and we did. That Saturday night, our players kept the motto “Lean on Me” going, and defeated Cal 30-3.
Our 2009 season was an uncharacteristic one for us, as we endured four losses, all within our conference, to Washington, Oregon, Stanford, and Arizona. Each one of those losses tore me apart. As coaches get older, the losses begin to outweigh the victories, but there was something that helped me keep my perspective: meeting and getting to know a very special young man named Jake Olson.
Mark Jackson, USC senior associate athletic director for football, met the Olson family prior to our game at Notre Dame. They had wanted to bring their twelve-year-old son, Jake, to South Bend to watch the Trojans, his favorite team. We love our young fans, but this was no ordinary fan. Jake was about to undergo surgery that would take his vision away from him.
Jake had been diagnosed at the age of one with a condition known as retinoblastoma, or cancerous tumors, in both eyes. Doctors had been forced to remove his left eye when he was a baby, but with chemotherapy and radiation, they had been able to save his right eye. That right eye had shown Jake his world. It had shown him his parents, Cindy and Brian, his twin sister, Emma, and eventually USC football. Jake was an outgoing kid and he came right up to me at practice. He knew our players inside and out and had a special fondness for our center, a position he played on his flag football team.
The ultimate competitor, Jake had beaten cancer eight times, but the ninth time, that September, the disease got the best of him. Doctors told him that they would have to remove his right eye, leaving him blind. It was a heartbreaking situation, but at least we were able to give him one of the things he wanted most—to see USC play Notre Dame in person.
We tried to make Jake’s experience memorable by including him in our Friday walk-through, pregame activities, locker-room frivolity, and my postgame press conference. He had a blast in South Bend, taking in the game day experience with his family and enjoying the victory with our players.
The following weekend, Jake was our guest again, this time at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. From the team bus to the postgame locker-room celebration, Jake was involved in everything. After the game, we spoke and he told me how much fun it had been to ride with the guys on the bus, participate in the Trojan walk, and hear the team chant his name in the locker room after our 42-36 win over Oregon State.
We endured some tough losses in the next few weeks, but as Jake was preparing for surgery, he was our inspiration. He was doing everything he could with his last few weeks of vision, and doing it with a sense of competitiveness and dignity that would have been extraordinary for anyone, much less a twelve-year-old.
The night before the surgery he came to practice and hung out with our guys. When someone asked him if he was scared, Jake replied that it wasn’t so much blindness he was frightened of as it was the prospect of not making the most of those last few hours and minutes of sight. Hearing that gave us all a new perspective. Here was a twelve-year-old kid, the personification of courage, on the verge of losing his vision, and here we were, grown men feeling sorry for ourselves after losing a few games.
Six days after surgery Jake showed up at Heritage Hall, making good on a promise to our players. When he walked in the door on Monday afternoon, our team was jacked to see him in spite of the fact that we had been dealt a tough loss only two days earlier. In the face of his example, there was no room for pessimism or negativity. He may have been a boy among men, but it was we who leaned on him. The presence of someone as strong as he was, as confident as he seemed, and as impressive as he sounded was something we all needed.
Jake was on the sideline for our next game against UCLA, a victory, and in the locker room afterward. As we sang our fight song and shared high fives all around, I couldn’t help but watch Jake and just be blown away by his competitive nature. While it could be said that cancer beat Jake on the ninth attempt, I think all of us at USC would disagree. Jake still won, just in a different sort of way.
Another member of the Trojan family who provided leadership and inspiration even in tragedy was placekicker Mario Danelo. One of the most lovable players in the history of our program, he lived by the motto “Living the Dream,” and whether on the practice field or with his incredible family, he competed to do just that.
In 2003, Mario walked on to our program, and by 2005 he was our placekicker, on full scholarship. Naming Mario our starter was easy, as he was different from most kickers. A high school all-conference linebacker, he approached the position with a linebacker’s mentality. His intense approach and focus allowed him to perform in the absence of fear. There was also a family legacy I noticed with Mario. Before every game, as he warmed up with the other specialists, I would observe his demeanor and think back to my days in the NFL when his father, Joe, was our kicker in Buffalo. Joe was also a tough competitor who carried himself in a joyful manner. When his son expressed an interest in becoming a Trojan, we were thrilled to give him an opportunity.
On January 6, 2007, five days after our 32-18 Rose Bowl victory over Michigan, Mario died in a tragic accident when he fell from a 120-foot cliff near his home in San Pedro, California. The grieving process was difficult for our team, as many of the players had never experienced the loss of someone close to them. Mario’s funeral at Mary Star of the Sea Catholic Church aided the process and was something we’ll always remember. The church was filled to capacity with family and loving friends, and the surrounding streets were lined with neighbors, fans, and supporters.
I was asked to speak at his service, a challenging and emotional task. As I prepared my speech, I could only think about Mario and how much he appreciated those around him, how he was a natural leader, and how he never backed off his desire to keep “Living the Dream.” As I approached the podium that Friday morning, I kept remembering how each Saturday afternoon Mario would soak in the wonder of living his dream as the USC Trojans’ starting placekicker.
Mario was a wonderful young man and a real team player. His loss was heartbreaking to his family and our team. So on this very sad morning, I wanted to bring him back into the room one last time. We needed to feel his presence, and the best way I knew to do that was to involve every person in the congregation. I asked everyone in the crowd to stand up. I reminded them how much Mario loved making field goals for the Trojans and how he enjoyed the crowd’s reaction afterward. Speaking from my heart, I said, “Let’s be sure Mario can hear us. Let’s be sure he can feel us one more time, just like it is every Saturday in the Coliseum. And while he won’t be there with us next season to get the cheers he deserves, let’s be sure to let him hear us one more time. Let’s give Mario the ovation he deserves.”
As the cheers rang out for Mario, I was overcome with emotion and heartache. The crowd got louder and louder, more and more passionate, and I too was caught up in the moment as the gathering gave Mario one last cheer.
We opened the very next season hosting the University of Idaho at the Coliseum. After we forced them to punt on their first possession of the game, John David Booty led our offense on a ten-play, eighty-yard drive that resulted in a Stafon Johnson four-yard score. Our special teams unit ran onto the field for the extra point attempt with one player obviously missing, the placekicker. The crowd immediately sensed the oversight, but we had a plan and soon enough the crowd understood what we were doing. The Trojan faithful rose to their feet to honor Mario one last time. I wish I could take credit for the idea to pay special tribute to Mario, but it actually came from Mario’s teammates, who would keep his memory and his dream alive throughout the coming season and beyond. It was the single most moving moment of my time at USC.
