by Bill Walsh
Seriously, Don’t Be Too Serious
There’s not a lot of room for joking around in the midst of competitive challenges, whether on the football field or in the marketplace. Humor is often a sign of being removed from the focus and commitment necessary to do the job well—a casual attitude about a serious endeavor.
But a leader also runs the risk of pushing so hard, with deadly solemnity and grim-faced determination, that he or she creates an oppressive and performance-limiting workplace. You need to recognize when it’s time to lighten up and let some of the steam—pressure—vent. This requires the ability to gauge when and how it is appropriate to utilize humor.
We encountered that kind of situation in the week prior to playing in our first Super Bowl. The incredible experience was brand new to all of us, but I was especially concerned that our young players would be adversely affected by the media gauntlet and fan frenzy, not to mention the requirement that they perform at their absolute best. It could be crushing, and in fact, oddsmakers generally give an edge in the Super Bowl to a team that has been there before—experienced the near-trauma of the week’s media circus and ultimate-game pressure. (In this instance, neither team had appeared in a Super Bowl before.)
I arrived in Detroit several days before the rest of the team to do interviews and participate in league meetings. My plan was to meet the players when they arrived at our hotel after their bus trip in from the Detroit airport. Consequently, I was looking for something for our guys that would crack the tension, something where they could just enjoy one another in the incredible hype they would encounter immediately after stepping off the buses in front of the hotel.
I had about thirty minutes before they arrived and came up with this idea: I would put on a bellhop’s uniform and cap—disguise myself—and help the players with their bags as they got off the bus. I paid a bellhop thirty bucks to let me wear his outfit and stood on the curb as the first San Francisco 49ers bus pulled up right in front of me. My disguise was effective because crowding behind me on the sidewalk were hundreds of fans, friends, reporters, and photographers who distracted the players as they got off the bus.
As team members stepped to the sidewalk I kept my head kind of looking down at their luggage so they couldn’t see who it was—their head coach handling their bags. The whole point, of course, was to break the heat of the experience and remind them, “Hey, we’re still us.” I wanted to let them know that it was okay to be comfortable and even enjoy what was going on, that they didn’t have to go into some hyper level of tension and stress because it was the Super Bowl.
My disguise worked so well that Joe Montana actually got into a tug-of-war with me over his duffel bag. He was trying to keep me from taking it when suddenly he saw who the “bellhop” was—his head coach. The whole team started breaking up and joking with one another—a big shift for the positive in team attitude. They saw the guy in charge—me—having a little fun. It gave them an important message: Don’t get all worked up and stressed out by everything. Stay loose.
The little stunt went to my understanding that in a crucible of pressure a safety valve is valuable, something that will release tension. And I could see that the pressure immediately reduced in the 49ers as they got off the buses.
The same kind of opportunities exist for you if you’re alert and recognize that puncturing pressure with appropriate humor can be beneficial under the weight of deadlines and other stress producers.
A more outlandish situation occurred a week later on the way to the Silverdome in Pontiac, Michigan, where we would play in Super Bowl XVI. We traveled in two buses, and I was on the second one with Montana and half of the team. The first bus made it to the Silverdome without a problem. Our bus got caught in a massive traffic jam caused by a motorcade for Vice President George Bush. It was made worse by a snowstorm that had hit a few hours earlier. At one point, it looked like we might be thirty minutes late for our own Super Bowl game.
It would have been easy to sit in silence and stew, to let the extreme pressure go even higher. Instead, I intentionally made some lighter comments and a few jokes, including my announcement over the bus’s loudspeaker that the game had started without us using just the players of the first bus: “May I have your attention, please. This just in from the Silverdome: ‘Early in the first quarter, San Francisco is trailing Cincinnati 7-0. 49ers trainer Chico Norton is calling the plays.” This loosened people up, and the energy returned to something approaching a “normal” level of enthusiasm and eagerness to go into battle. We arrived at the Silverdome just ninety minutes before the kickoff.
I certainly am not suggesting that a joke or lighter comment is why we won that game. But I know for certain that tightening of nerves in an atmosphere of increasing uncertainty and anxiety is counterproductive. I defused or changed it to something more productive because I knew that humor, used in the right way at the right time, could provide that valuable safety valve. (By the way, after nearly being late for the Super Bowl because he was on the second bus, Joe started taking a taxi to the stadium for all future road games. That way he could leave much earlier and guarantee that he wouldn’t miss the opening snap.)
Does pressure improve performance? Yes, up to a point, but let me suggest the following: Regardless of context, those who are able to perform best are those who are best able to remove tension, anxiety, and fear from their minds. There’s a phrase for it: “being in the zone.” And, there is no tension, anxiety, or fear in the zone, whether on the football field, in the conference room, or in a multitude of situations where you are called on to really produce.
You want your team to push hard, to feel as if they will come up short without total effort. But total effort doesn’t mean total anxiety. I believe optimum creativity and high performance—a sales presentation, for example, or a complex pass play from Joe Montana to Jerry Rice—are most likely to succeed when the individual or group has an attitude that is seemingly a paradox; specifically, both relaxed and intense. That’s when things really happen. Here’s an example that many people still don’t believe is true.
In Super Bowl XXIII the 49ers took possession of the ball late in the fourth quarter—with less than three minutes left—on our own eight-yard line. We needed to drive the length of the field and score a touchdown to win the ballgame. A single mistake along the way could cost us the Super Bowl. This is about as much situational pressure as exists in NFL football.
As our offense huddled in the end zone to hear Joe Montana call the first play, they noticed his head turn; something had caught his eye. “Hey,” he said to his teammates huddled with him, “isn’t that John Candy, the comedian, standing over there by the exit in the stands?” Everybody looked up, and sure enough, it was Candy. Then they turned back into the huddle and got back to business.
How was it possible for Joe (and his teammates) to be comfortable—relaxed but intense and focused—in the middle of that cauldron? With all due respect to Joe and his teammates, that’s what a leader tries to teach—how to be in the zone.
Wisely applied humor—even something as silly as putting on a bellhop’s uniform—can be a useful device in allowing your team, staff, or organization to get past anxiety and into the zone. Don’t overdo it, but don’t underestimate its effectiveness.
The Last Word on Getting in the Last Word
I have been accused of being overly sensitive to criticism—thin-skinned. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen too many examples of so-called experts and critics who didn’t have much of a clue. Unfortunately, what they say or write becomes part of the public record and is subsequently perceived as fact. This can really hurt when it’s hogwash.
Here’s an example. A Seattle sports writer published a book that singled me out as “a most stupid coach.” He gave as evidence a game against the Seahawks in which the 49ers had executed a series of well-crafted running plays to get inside Seattle’s ten-yard line. I then called three passing plays in an attempt to score. We failed. The writer suggest
ed this was the work of a coaching moron.
What this “expert” didn’t recognize was that while Seattle had a much weaker team, they did have one outstanding asset: the NFL’s best goal-line defense against the run. You just couldn’t expect to score on the ground against the Seahawks inside the ten-yard line. So we went to the air. Again and again and again.
When I read this critic’s analysis of me, it hurt. Not because he was right, but because tens of thousands of his readers would accept his misguided evidence as proof and his opinion as fact: “Bill Walsh is a most stupid coach.”
If you care about how you’re perceived by others, including the public, it’s good to remember the following: Criticism—both deserved and undeserved—is part of the territory when you’re the one calling the shots. Ignore the undeserved; learn from the deserved; lick your wounds and move on.
Sometimes you can’t have the last word.
Thinly Sliced Baloney (Can Make a Good Sandwich)
There’s a certain amount of “larceny” that goes on with competition—gamesmanship both intentional and unintentional. Whether you’re pro-active or reactive, how you deal with it can affect the outcome in sports or elsewhere.
For example, the week prior to each of our first three Super Bowl appearances, a key 49er receiver came down with an unexpected injury—a legitimate but not debilitating one. I understood the media frenzy that goes along with a world championship Super Bowl game and the desperate need of the media to supply all kinds of “news,” including gossip, conjecture, and rumor. Of course, an injury to a primary receiver in a pass-oriented offense like ours becomes very big news.
One year it was Freddie Solomon, who twisted his knee in practice. I said publicly he could miss the game because of it. Could he miss the game? Yes, it was a possibility, but an unlikely possibility.
All I cared about was the Bengals reading the injury report about Freddie and wondering whether or not he was going to play. I was hoping it might upset their preparation slightly, make them prepare for what we might do without our star receiver, perhaps get overly confident that they had an advantage going into the game. I was using a little gamesmanship.
In Super Bowl XIX the same sort of thing happened with Dwight Clark—a sprained ligament. Then in Super Bowl XXIII it was Jerry Rice, who came to me after a practice at Joe Robbie Stadium in Miami and said, “Bill, my hamstring is really tight. I hope it doesn’t get any worse.” That’s all I needed to put him on the questionable list and express my concern publicly about his being fully recovered in time for the kickoff.
In duly reporting the status of these top receivers to the media—always with the look of a graveside preacher—I knew the story would get blown out of proportion as it worked its way through the news process: “Will San Francisco’s offense sputter if Solomon (or Dwight Clark) can’t play?” “Can the 49ers win with a hobbled Jerry Rice?” These and scores of variations would dominate the sports news for at least twenty-four hours, because this kind of story is like catnip to the media.
I was taking the “rules” right to the edge, flirting, going as far as I could legitimately go. And of course, other than those who were somewhat naive, I think all of us did it. You use the resources and remedies that are available within the boundaries of the law.
Seeing the story evolve from an update on a player’s condition to the center of a media storm was predictable and somewhat amusing. I also recognized that opposing players and coaches would perhaps read or hear the “news” and tend to be distracted as they evaluated any potential advantage to be gained. It takes tremendous discipline to avoid this kind of speculation.
As a result, I constantly warned our own players to ignore any and all media “updates” coming out of an opponent’s camp or anywhere else. If the papers reported that the entire opposing team had gotten the flu and been rushed to a local hospital in a Mayflower van, I didn’t want us to be distracted by it; I didn’t want us to speculate on anything other than the assumption that the Dolphins, Bengals, or anyone else would be 100 percent ready to go at game time. All else is usually thinly sliced baloney, which can take away from the intense concentration needed to achieve maximum results.
A similar kind of distraction crops up in business. A sales representative will learn that a competitor has just reduced the price on a competing product or introduced a new feature that may offer a significant benefit; an individual will hear that someone is being groomed to replace him or her or that a much desired promotion is going to someone else (exactly the same situation many players and coaches face every day of their professional lives).
True or false, these rumors can cause great uncertainty and create a distraction that can grow into anxiety and fear. In a worst-case scenario in sports, it can be crushing to a player and even lead to his professional demise because his self-distraction leads to plummeting performance. Even superstars—franchise players—such as Steve Young and Joe Montana heard occasional rumors and undercurrents that they were going to be traded. Both were subject to uncertainty and the embarrassment a trade would bring to them when, in fact, neither one was seriously being offered for trade during his peak years with the 49ers.
The fact is that I was in a continuous dialogue with other teams about trades, or, at times, exploring trades without even being serious—throwing out the name of one player in hopes that the other side would express interest in a player I wasn’t offering. I was just throwing the bait out, hoping the other side would come back and express interest in someone else: “We don’t want this one, but we will take that guy.” This gave us information as to the level of interest the opposing partner in the trade talks had.
In fact, I offered to trade Joe and Steve at various times knowing it would get the attention of the team I was talking to—hoping I could move them to another player off that opener. During all of this, I was careful to reassure those players whose names were offered that nothing was in the works. I suspect that my comforting words provided little comfort—football is a game that induces paranoia.
In all cases, I emphasized to the people in our organization that their response to rumors, gossip, and hearsay should be the same: Focus only on doing your best to maintain and improve your level of performance; concern yourself only with that which you can control, and you can’t control rumors. Ignore thinly sliced baloney.
Surprising News Re: The Element of Surprise
The surprise tactic has its place—very limited—in any competitive endeavor. However, I believe surprise for the sake of surprise is often a trap. There’s a mistaken mentality, a kind of thinking that leads you to a faulty conclusion: “They won’t expect us to do this.” It’s very dramatic but often reveals recklessness—“Let’s try it. No one will ever anticipate it.”
The media glorified this attitude in movies such as The Great Escape: “They’ll never expect us to do it in broad daylight,” or something to that effect. That idea—“nobody will expect it”—is grossly overrated and often the manifestation of poor strategic planning. Surprise is often simply a default device, something in lieu of strong thinking. Innovation is something else.
Innovation—according to the dictionary, “to advance or improve”—is an intrinsic part of achieving dominance in a given profession. In my own work, it was innovation regarding the use of the forward pass that led directly to a breakthrough in performance results. What our team did, though innovative, was usually not based on surprise tactics, although opposing teams were often surprised by the complexity of what they faced.
Innovation that works is based on solid integral logic and applied performance. Calculated risks are part of what you do, but the idea that something completely crazy will work just because it’s completely crazy is completely crazy. It fails dramatically more often than it succeeds, but when it does succeed you’re tempted to do it again, and that’s when you get caught. By taking a reckless approach you think you’ll fool people. You hear commentators talking about it: “They really caugh
t ’em with that one,” or “They never expected that.” It’s glorified, just like in the movies.
The principle of assuming the other person is unprepared, believing the competition will not adjust or is inflexible, or being convinced you can just outsmart the opposition with the element of surprise, is bad. In football terms, it’s comparable to running a reverse on third-and-goal, thinking, “They’ll never expect it.” That’s poor logic.
If it works, that might be the worst thing that can happen, because you’ll be tempted to make other equally ill-advised and risky decisions. High-risk decisions are very necessary at times but should not be an ongoing course of action. Finding yourself in a position where you believe your only option is to pull off a big surprise often means you haven’t prepared, haven’t done your homework. The “big surprise” option eases the internal pressure to come up with solid planning and preparation that can force your opponent to resort to high-risk options.
I preferred the position of being able to take lower-risk actions with higher reward potential. That sounds like a situation that rarely exists—low risk, high reward—but it’s exactly what my pass-oriented, ball-control system offered on the majority of our plays. In order to make it work, I applied great energy and expertise to a methodical process of anticipating, planning, and practicing for every conceivable situation.
This sounds rather easy, but we both know that “walking the walk” is harder than “talking the talk.” Just “talking about it” will too often put you in the position where your only option is the element of surprise.
Don’t Delay Delegating (Famous Last Words: “I’ll Do It Myself”)
My stated philosophy as head coach was that the person in our organization best suited for a specific job should be the person heading it up or doing it. The best play caller should be calling plays, the best offensive coordinator should be coordinating the offense, and so on. That was my theory, but not my practice.
