First, we have been dealing with some YouTube issues but we were finally able to resolve them. I am sorry for the delay in content. To make up for it, this week’s post is longer than our typical posts. Enjoy! And thank you for your understanding!
Second, we are looking for some feedback about what you want us to do with KTTG. How can we serve you better? What topics interest you the most? What could we do to make our content and principles easier to bring to life and practice in your everyday world? I hope to hear from you soon at email@example.com. Thank you!
Coach DV simply hated bad basketball and loved good basketball. What a joy it was to get to the point in your career where you could relax him on the bench (somewhat!) and then bring him to his feet again and again, hearing those spontaneous “Yeahs!” that would literally erupt. Help on defense, be alert, hit the open man, move! When you did those things, the benefits were glorious.
“That is basketball . . . That’s what I’m talking about, boys, did you see that? Watch that. Watch him. That’s the way you play this game.”
Most of the players who ever played for Coach DV would probably admit that no one else had ever been so often disgusted with them and so intensely critical of them. But nearly all would also say that no one else had ever complimented them so forcefully, so meaningfully, so penetratingly.
When Coach DV complimented you, you never forgot it. You had finally arrived. Your whole life seemed validated.
When a not-particularly-good player happened to make an uncharacteristically good play, Coach DV would often fumble for his whistle and then blow it and blow it. Five, ten, maybe twenty seconds, he would blow that whistle. The whole team would laugh. They knew Coach DV would never take that much time to hold in his anger. If he was blowing that whistle and rolling his fist in the air, the team knew the unexpected pleasant surprise had happened.
Was it demeaning? Was he making fun of a kid who so seldom did anything meriting praise? Not at all. No one got much praise anyway in Coach DV’s particularly demanding practice environment; but when you got it, it was real, and that extended whistling wasn’t one bit mockery.
“Call out the fire department!” Coach DV would yell. “Bigsy got a rebound!” But he wasn’t belittling the kid.
“Now you see, Bigsy. You can do it. You can get the ball. You have the ability. You looked tough that time. You really did. If you play like that, no one’s gonna beat us. Wasn’t that fun? I mean it, all kidding aside, didn’t you enjoy getting that ball and feeling taller and tougher than everyone else? Wasn’t it a good feeling tearing that ball out of there? You looked great that time, Bigs, really you did. I felt tough that time just watching you! You looked like a basketball player.”
If Bigsy could grab a few rebounds like that in a game, he might come back to the bench for a timeout or quarter break and get a hard slam to the chest that he would never forget. It would feel better than a two hour massage!
“That’s the way to grab that ball, Bigsy. Now you’re playing like a basketball player.”
The admiration and gut-level intensity of positive feeling in those few words defined the meaning of the word inspiration. A kid who felt long abused but who had finally “gotten the idea” would experience a depth of joy that few other endeavors would ever afford him; and he would be pushed to greater heights of achievement and self-pride than he ever thought possible. Coach DV could make a kid feel miserable, but he could also lift him to great heights.
There simply aren’t many feelings equal to the exhilaration of basking in the radiance of Coach DV’s approval. It sure wasn’t easy to get to that point, or to stay there. But if you did . . .
Coach DV. Now that’s a basketball coach.
From Dick’s book “There’s Only One Way To Win”
At a time of year when most athletes are reflecting on the season that just ended, I felt compelled to re-share this video to facilitate that reflection and inspire the actions that will come from that time reflecting. Enjoy!
No one is quite sure about how a player is supposed to act after a loss. It doesn’t seem necessary to cry for a week, especially since you are likely to have another game within that time. Yet, it doesn’t seem quite right to walk off the court laughing either. Naturally, some losses will be more bothersome than others, and, just as naturally, every player will lose sometimes. Therefore, it seems intelligent to prepare a response in advance for those unhappy times when the inevitable happens, you lose.
First, after you lose, you should think. Thinking should keep you from laughing and probably from crying as well. Neither laughing nor crying is likely to help you much for next time, but thinking is always valuable. Did you give your best physical effort? Were you fully tuned into the game mentally? What things could you have done better? How could you have prevented the loss? What would you do differently if you had it to do over? What did the other team do to confuse you or to make it difficult? Can you use that on someone else in the next game?
There are a lot of questions to ask yourself, and those should come in place of the more common comments like “The referees were terrible,” “The coach was stupid,” or “If only Jones hadn’t tried that stupid shot.”
No one loses a game singlehandedly. There are unfortunate circumstances when a player misses a shot at the end with his team a point behind, or he travels with the ball or kicks it out of bounds. People may say he lost it. But he didn’t. you lost it with that one turnover at the beginning, that bad pass, or that failure to talk on defense in the first half that gave the other team an easy basket.
Second, get out of the habit of blaming referees and coaches and others, and think. Don’t decide until the next day what your verdict is. A lot of times, with emotions high after a big game, things get said that aren’t meant and aren’t true. But, mixed in with disappointment, anger and fatigue, it is easy to say things that won’t seem so intelligent the next morning.
Third, get in the habit of saying you aren’t sure what happened or why you lost. Say you need time to think about the game. And then do that. Think about it. Go back over every play, everything you can remember—not forever, not even for a week, but certainly on your way off the court, in the locker room, on the bus home, and that night in bed. That ought to be enough.
Then, there should be some jokes in the morning that will be funny again, and it will be time to be getting ready to win the next one, to encourage others and to go on living. It’s only after the game you should think about it. Think so much that there isn’t time to laugh or cry.
If you don’t think about it when it is fresh in your mind, it is difficult to believe that you really want to be a good player.
Good players think. Especially after a loss. That’s how they learn not to lose very often.
From Dick’s book Stuff
It would be unfair to Coach DV to end this book without pay- ing homage to his ultimate achievement. After forty years of coaching, through all of the tough, demanding, and sometimes torturous times, nearly every player he ever coached respected and liked him.
A special “Coach DV Night” roast, attended by nearly 300 friends and former players from as far away as California attested to the esteem in which so many held him.
Among the many reasons (the toughness, the consistency, the honesty) that have caused four decades of athletes to appreciate him, none is more compelling than his ability to praise.
Much of that quality must be considered in context. Realizing that Coach DV was dissatisfied and angry most of the time, it was a tremendous relief and a real joy to suddenly find yourself, if only momentarily, basking in Coach DV’s approval for a play or a pass or a steal performed exactly as Coach DV wanted to see it.
Secondly, as you can imagine, anyone so able to reach people so penetratingly in critical or negative ways usually has the proportionate ability to reach them in complimentary and positive ways.
When Coach DV erupted with praise—”Now that’s basketball!”—you couldn’t help but feel ten or eleven or fifteen feet tall.
As demanding as Coach DV was, he wasn’t stingy with praise. If you gave him what he wanted, his joy, his gratitude, his reaction was as spontaneous and effulgent as any of his angry outbursts.
Coach DV simply hated bad basketball and loved good basketball.
To be continued next week…
From Dick’s book Stuff