"If everyone is moving forward together, then success takes care of itself."
-Henry Ford
"It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard...is what makes it great."
-Jimmy Dugan, A League of Their Own
In the span of the last week, I've had a lot of time to literally sit around and think about my playing days. Sunday the 26th marked our annual North Park alumni game...an opportunity to reconnect with old teammates (who keep getting older) and compete against "new" alumni--those guys who recently graduated and are just starting to come to grips with the fact that their own careers are now relegated to "weekend warrior" status, like the rest of us. As is inevitably the case when a bunch of athletes get together, stories fly like bottle rockets on the 4th of July.
For us pitchers, the stories tend to center around the common theme of improbably high pitch counts and ridiculous feats of resiliency. You see, most Division III baseball programs are unique in that while a preponderance of teams (especially in the CCIW) have some very talented players, the biggest difference between our rosters and those at the D-1 level is the glaring lack of depth. Big league rosters regularly carry 13 pitchers nowadays--5 starters and 8 relievers. For programs like Texas and LSU, it's not out of the ordinary to see 15 to 18 hurlers in uniform. During my senior year at North Park, in contrast, we were able to make the postseason with essentially 5 arms. That meant a lot of innings and a LOT of pitches for the five of us.
Some of my "bottle rockets" include the Saturday night I threw a nine inning complete game at Elmhurst, then came back the next afternoon to throw the final 1 2/3 innings of a win at Carthage. Or the outing against Wheaton when I had to throw sidearm because I couldn't physically lift my elbow above my shoulder. And the start at Millikin which required 176 pitches to complete.
If you're a pitcher, you're wincing right now. Needless to say, there weren't many complaints about pitchers being "babied" back then.
This past Thursday, it was time to pay the piper and finally have the shoulder surgery I've needed for close to a decade. When the fog of the anesthesia finally wore off, I was informed that the repairs to my labrum and rotator cuff would require me to spend 4-6 weeks in an immobilized sling, followed by 3-4 months of rehab.
I'd do it all over again if I could. Every pitch.
I know that doesn't sound even the least bit logical. But my guess is that, if you'e ever competed on a team of any kind, you get it. Actually, there is a very logical explanation for putting oneself through such physical torment. It goes something like this:
1. This is my team.
2. For my team to be successful, there must be a common goal.
3. For that common goal to be reached, there must be individual sacrifice at times.
4. It will not be easy, but I will do what I have to do because....
5. This is my team.
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On Wednesday night, we were all treated to a sports fan's dream: a Game 7. For a baseball freak like myself, there's not much better than Game 7 of the World Series. Throughout a 162-game season over the course of 6 months, 30 teams compete for one common goal...that weird trophy with all the little flags on it (you can find one in the lobby of US Cellular Field if you live in Chicago and want to know what one looks like). Game 7 epitomizes the importance of the team concept. No single individual statistic maters one bit. It's an "all hands on deck" scenario, with grown men fighting to win like little boys playing dodgeball at recess. After a marathon season of ups and downs, it all comes down to one nine-inning game.
If you watched the game, you were treated to a historic performance by a 25-year old pitcher by the name of Madison Bumgarner. On just 2 days rest (starting pitchers usually have 4), Bumgarner was called on to come out of the bullpen in the 5th inning. It was expected that he would be able to pitch one or two innings. 3 would be extreme. This is a young man with a golden arm who likely has a $200 million payday in his future...just not yet. Surely he wouldn't risk all of that financial security to throw a few more pitches...or would he?
Bumgarner threw FIVE shutout innings, leading his San Francisco Giants to a 3-2 victory and their third World Series Championship in five years.
Following the game, the young lefty was asked about his incredible individual performance. Notice the common theme behind his answers here.
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To be a successful pitcher, one must rely on--and trust--his teammates. The pitcher's mound can be a lonely place. Because it is literally an island in a sea of green, it is easy for pitchers to think they must do things alone. Throughout the course of a game, pitch-by-pitch, inning-by-inning, challenges will present themselves. Through this blog, I have tried to mirror some of the peaks and valleys we similarly face in the field of education. We have good days, and we have bad days. We experience triumphant moments that make us so proud we feel like our students could be our own children, and we are faced with horrifying and crippling losses that bring us to our knees.
The first 8 innings of a baseball game are a rugged terrain which is, in its own right, difficult to navigate and complete. The 9th inning is a different animal altogether. The pressure of securing those last three outs is, for some reason, exponentially higher than that of the first 24. It is human nature for pitchers, or anyone for that matter, to take the adrenaline of a pressure packed situation and attempt to pitch (or try) harder, but not necessarily smarter. There is a willingness to do something completely illogical: take what has been a team effort for almost 90% of the game, and turn it into an individual battle. And when that decision is made, whether consciously or subconsciously, failure is following closely behind.
A good pitcher knows that the ninth inning, probably more than any other, is when it is most crucial to trust his teammates. The seven defenders behind him are all able, but more importantly willing, to make the plays behind him and secure the victory. Of even greater significance is his relationship with his catcher. A pitcher-catcher relationship must have total and complete trust, as these battery mates need to be in sync when it comes to each and every pitch that is called. In addition, a winning pitcher knows that, at times, he must give up the ball to his bullpen, and trust that they will be able to finish the job that he has started.
In the 9th inning, it's time to depend on the team.
In many ways, a school is quite similar to a baseball team.
In a successful school, all stakeholders in the building understand that they have a particular role or responsibility that they must perform adequately, but positive performance is more a matter of pride and care for the good of the building as a whole than a score on an evaluation or a test. Students feel like their school is a community, or a "home away from home", with adults and peers who care for their well being and can be trusted to do what is in their best interests. Teachers are excited to share their expertise with eager learners, and administrators lead through example and make decisions carefully, with student interests being the driving force behind all of it. It is a group of individuals most interested in the well being of the whole, as opposed to their own self interests.
In my life, I've been blessed to have some amazing teammates, both on and off the field, who have been willing to work with me toward a common goal. From my wife (who now has to take care of me along with our two kids, with #3 coming this spring) to my parents, I've had family members who understand the importance of working together. I've worked with both excellent team players as colleagues, as well as great teammates on the baseball field. Not coincidentally, some of those same teammates I first met on the field are now outstanding educators today. While we've grown older, fatter, and a little more grey, the concept remains the same: this is my team.
Some of you may think that the "successful school" described above is nothing more than a pipe dream full of ideals that could never completely come to fruition. I disagree. Everywhere around us in American schools today, the right players are in place. They simply need to come to an understanding of what that common goal is, and begin moving in the right direction together.
Sure, it might be hard. It will require individual sacrifice. But as Jimmy Dugan said, "The hard...is what makes it great."
