The Impact of Rick Olita

 

From time to time, reflections go the way of reminiscing, reaching back into our lives a little bit or a long way.  I’m sure I’m guilty of this more than others.  But here’s the thing.  I’m a big believer that our experiences shape us.  Who we are is, in large part, a result of the people who are part of our lives and the impact those folks have on us.  I’ve shared about my family, my teachers, my coaches and my friends.  They’ve all had an impact on me.  I’d like to think I appreciated their influence while it was happening, but the reality is I was either oblivious, resistant or just took it all for granted.

 

Today, my reflection comes as a result of a Facebook memory that popped up on my feed today.  It was a message I posted saying goodbye to a great friend, Rick Olita.

 

Rick was 67 and fought the good fight against cancer before he passed away in 2014.  Rick was an important part of my life and is a big reason why I am where I am today.  I am convinced that God knew I needed someone like Rick and He sent him my way.

 

Growing up, my Philly friends and I were by no means criminals – well most of us. But we were by no means Saints.  As a teacher, coach, and principal, I challenged students to be able to go home on a Friday or Saturday night and look their parents in the eye and tell them exactly what they did.  Many of them could do that in a heartbeat.  I want to tell you that there were some nights my friends and I couldn’t have.  Lord knows people tried to straighten me out – including my own teachers, coaches and administrators.  But I ignored all of them.  All except Rick Olita. 

 

Rick was a counselor in our neighborhood summer program at a schoolyard called Stonehurst.  He directed activities and spent time with us.  We probably had seven or eight counselors at Stonehurst while I was growing up.  No one took an interest in us like Rick Olita.  He knew what we were up to and he knew where it was going to lead us.  So he tapped into what he knew my buddies and I would respond to – sports.  He got us into any basketball or baseball league he could find – day or night – some in our neighborhood; some in the city.  He arranged for group trips to Phillies games.  He found ways to take us away from what he knew would hurt us and lead us to things that would distract us.

 

Rick was probably more responsible than anyone for encouraging me to consider college.  None of my family had gone.  Few in our neighborhood had gone.  In Philly, you finished high school and you went to work.  And that way of life has been good for many of my friends.  But Rick saw something in me that even I didn’t see in myself.  And again, he used sports.  He convinced me that maybe, just maybe, I could play college basketball.  Looking back, I think he wanted me to play basketball but mostly, he wanted me to get out of the neighborhood.  The short version is that he was right and I did.  I left the neighborhood and attended college at Simpson where I played some hoop and I earned my degree.

 

College led me to a degree in education and that degree eventually led me to Wahlert High School where I met some truly incredible people who have had a profound influence on my faith and my life.  My time at Wahlert prepared me for my role as principal at Xavier that during fifteen years I can say was incredibly fulfilling because I got to be around phenomenal young people and a dedicated faculty that worked so hard to help students become the best versions of themselves.  And all of that led me to the position I’m humbled to hold today as Executive Director of the IHSAA.

 

I’m not perfect.  I have a long way to go before I can ever consider myself a finished product.  But I’m a whole lot better off than I was back in my high school days in Philly.  People like Rick Olita came into my life to lead me in a positive direction and to remind me to never stop developing.

 

I lost contact with Rick a long time ago but through the wonder of social media, we reconnected.  I’m glad we did because his guidance on me continued until the day he died.  It’s funny really how life goes.  Rick Olita leads me out of the trouble I was headed for.  College gives me the opportunity to get into a career in education.  The career takes me to Wahlert and Xavier.  The experiences in those places led me here.

 

I miss Rick.  The day he died was a sad day but I take comfort in knowing the guy who looked after me when I was growing up is still a part of me and always will be.  I hope in some way, I allow Rick’s legacy to live through me.

 

There are many who need a Rick Olita – someone who cares enough to tell it like it is.  Someone who sees the potential in others and encourages them to pursue it.  Someone to get them on the right path.  I am guessing I’m not the only one who had a Rick Olita in his or her life.  My challenge for all of us is to be Rick Olita for someone else.  Find those students who need direction.  Students who need someone who cares.  Those who need someone to look beyond the surface and really get to know them.  Students who need someone who sees potential in them instead of what’s wrong with them.  Someone who plants seeds.  Someone who is persistent.

 

By my count, over 1000 of you receive the Executive Director Update each week.  If each and every one of us can be a Rick Olita for just one student, imagine the impact across this state.  Imagine the lives that could be changed.  Imagine the difference each of us can make.

Prisoners of Our Own Device

 

Email. Text Messages. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook. Snapchat. TikTok. Chat GPT. Technology engineers keep finding faster, more creative, and easier ways for people to connect with each other and their world. The amount of information coming at us and/or available to us continues to increase exponentially and the means to access it continues to evolve.

 

Without question, technology has allowed us to do things easier and faster. It has helped us do our jobs, complete personal day to day tasks, get from place to place, access goods and services, and entertain ourselves in ways our parents (for some of us), our grandparents (for most of us), and our great grandparents could never have imagined.

 

And as with any major advancement, with convenience comes challenge.  Sometimes it can feel like the info is coming at us so fast, we can hardly keep  up. The advances happen in waves and every day we have a new “platform” to navigate.  Bound. rSchool. Arbiter. Dragonfly. Hudl. HomeTown. Infinite Campus.  Sometimes I wonder at what point does the technology requires so much of us that in fact, it isn’t as convenient as it was intended to be.

 

More importantly, I wonder if the technology meant to connect us (I’ve reconnected with childhood friends, high school classmates, and college teammates through Facebook), is actually driving us further apart.  It takes me back to a cheesy #1 hit from 1969 by Zager and Evans, “In the Year 2525.” I’m not exactly sure how it got to #1 because it wasn’t a musical masterpiece.  I guess it got a lot of play because it got folks thinking a little about what the future would hold.  The gist of the song was that society could and indeed was drifting farther and farther away from personal contact.  The message was that technology and machinery would eventually replace human interaction.  At the time, it was a bit of an absurd concept.  Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Zager and Evans were on to something. 

 

Exchanging cash is a rarity.  We pay at pump, use self-check-out, bank at an ATM or on our phones, and pay each other using Venmo.  We shop online.  We even use the self-serve check-out at those few stores we enter.  Education (particularly high school and college) can be accessed online.  Work from home, a necessity during COVID, has become a preference for some employees.  Zooms replace in-person meetings.  Office buildings are nowhere near filled to capacity, begging the question, “Where has all the teamwork gone?”  The “working lunch,” and the, “after work beverage” are becoming more rare than common.

 

Social media has created its own set of challenges. Some feel the pressure to keep up – to post as much as possible so others might be impressed and also to check social media frequently so as to not be, “out of the loop.”  The average American adult spends over 4 hours per day on non-voice related phone activity, checking their phones an average of 58 times per day.  Teens, by the way, average 7.5 hours and check their phones 344 times per day (once every 4 minutes). Click bait takes us in directions we never intended to go and before you know it, we’re watching cat videos.  Add some of the misinformation, the rants, the bullying and harassment, and other activity intended to rile up or hurt others, and it’s easy to occasionally long for simpler times.  The reality is, the Jeannie is not going back in the bottle.  Social media in our worlds (education and activities) has become in the eyes of some, a necessary evil. Parents, students, and community members want information, results, etc. immediately.  It has given administrators one more thing to manage. Schools and their activities departments are doing a phenomenal job of making it all available but the pressure to keep up can be overwhelming. 

 

What concerns me the most in all this, is how our day-to-day interaction with colleagues, friends and family has transitioned.  Instead of stopping by to visit, we e-mail, Snap, or text message – all short cuts to meaningful communication. We’re even less and less likely to “pick up the phone” for a conversation. Sure, messaging is fast, it’s convenient but is it personal?  We can’t hear tone of voice.  We can’t see facial expressions.  It makes me wonder if we are truly understanding the messages we’re receiving and if we’re truly conveying the message we are trying to send. Not to mention, with AI, we may not even know if what we are receiving is authentic.  And I have to admit, when it comes to electronic communication vs. face to face, I have to say, “Mea culpa.”  I am most definitely guilty. 

 

What it comes down to for me is this.  It is up to us to be intentional about how we use technology. We must control it and not let it control us. Let’s develop strategies and plans about how and when we will use it.  Most of all, let’s commit to as much face to face (or at least voice to voice) communication as possible.  That is where relationships are built and that is where they grow. Let’s listen to understand and let’s speak with respect.

 

Sometimes, it’s important to remember to close our laptops and put down our phones. Otherwise, we may become, as the Eagles sang in, “Hotel California,” prisoners of our own device.

 

Make it a great week!

Who'll Stop the Rain

 

Rain, rain go away.  Too often, rain seems to interfere with
plans.  A morning or afternoon walk or run.  Food and drinks on the patio or deck.  A round of golf.  A track meet.  A tennis meet.  We all realize we need rain but it seems the timing is just never great.

 

April seems to bring us more rain than most months, or maybe it’s just that it’s the first month of the year when we notice rain.  Radio DJ’s get into the spirit and dig out any and every song related to precipitation.  Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head, I Wish It Would Rain, The Rain, The Park and the Other Things.  I can take or leave most rain songs but I must admit, I never get tired of hearing one that I heard on the way home last night - Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Who’ll Stop The Rain.” 

 

It took me a while to figure out the Credence wasn’t singing about precipitation.  They were singing about the messy state of the world or to put it more simply - chaos.  Like most Credence songs, the lyrics are simple.

 

Long as I remember,

The rain’s been comin’ down

Clouds of mystery pourin’

Confusion on the ground.

Good men through the ages,

Trying to find the sun

And I wonder, still I wonder

Who’ll stop the rain?

 

Not terribly deep but you get the picture.  The world was a confusing and messy place in the 70’s when Credence sang that tune.  The Vietnam War, nuclear threats, human rights violations, racism, poverty, terrorism.  Discontent.  Disagreement.  A lack of understanding.  Sound familiar?  Seems we could sing the same song today.

For me the most important line of that song is from the title, “Who’ll stop the rain?” 

 

Who will clean up the mess?  Who will clear up the confusion?  Who will promote understanding?  We certainly can’t do it all.  But we can do something.  And as leaders, we have the responsibility to reign in (pardon the pun) the chaos.  We owe it to the people we lead.  Our students.  Our coaches.  Our staffs.  Our community.

As leaders, we are called upon every day to chart the course, develop the plan, set the sails…choose your cliché.  Sometimes it’s a matter of taking the complex and simplifying it.  Sometimes it’s taking on challenges from every direction.  And without question, we face resistance.  It seems no matter what we come up with, someone is upset.  It can make us feel like throwing our hands up and saying, “It’s too much.”

 

We may also be tempted to think, “I don’t have what it takes.”  In fact, we do have what it takes.  Consider the words of Marianne Williamson from her book “A Return to Love:”

 

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.'

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be? 

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

 

And one of the wonderful things about the professional world of education is we don’t have to do it alone.  A phenomenal network of other leaders is available to connect with.  In a world full of, “me first, then you,” the community of school administrators is a welcome breath of fresh air.  All we have to do is reach out.    

Sometimes the challenges, the chaos, and the confusion can be overwhelming.  But someone has to take it on.  If not us, then who?

The waiting is over.  Just as we have seen enough precipitation, the world has seen enough "rain."  I encourage each of us to be the answer to CCR's question, “Who’ll Stop the Rain.”

 

 

Who Is Your Kurt Wise?

The days of my youth were spent on the playground at Stonehurst Hills, just outside Philadelphia in Upper Darby, PA.  For better or worse, I was shaped by my experiences there.  The majority of those experiences revolved around “pick-up” games.  When enough guys showed up, we decided what the game would be – basketball, baseball, or football.  Then we would choose sides.  The two best players (and everybody knew who they were) would be captains and alternate picking their teams.

 

For the record, I was never a captain nor (this is my story and I’m sticking to it) was I ever picked last.  What I remember is that I wanted to be picked first – especially in basketball.  I knew the only way that was ever going to happen was if I got better.  My mom wasn’t going to the playground to explain how my friends were damaging my self-esteem by not picking me first.  My dad was not going to demand a meeting with the captains who picked the team.  I had to figure out a way to get better to “earn” getting picked first.  What a concept. 

 

Back then the youth sports industrial machine had not yet been created.  “Experts” hadn’t figured out how to operate “clubs,” “clinics” and “training sessions” with the promise of turning average athletes into superstars.  The only way to get better was to practice on my own and to play against guys that were better than me.  That meant I had to go to the playground courts even when no one else was there.  I went in the morning.  I went during the day.  I went at night.  I played under the sun and in the dark of night.  I played in sweltering heat and freezing cold.  I’ll spare you the tales of shoveling snow off the courts. 

 

There is no doubt in my mind that I spent more time than any of my friends shooting, ball handling and inventing moves.  That helped.  But what really took me closer to the player I wanted to be was playing against the best guy at Stonehurst.  And that guy was Kurt Wise.  Kurt was a year older than me.  He was bigger.  He was faster.  He was stronger.  He was just better.  And he was always at the playground.  

Every day I found Kurt at Stonehurst, I’d ask him to play against me.  Horse, Taps, one-on-one (always make it; take it).  I remember playing full-court one-on-one games to 100 points.  Not sure I ever beat him, but I know as time went on, I got closer.  He never took it easy on me.  He never gave away secrets.  I just had to learn how to deal with him.  I had to change what I was doing if I was ever going to have a chance.  I had to get creative.  It wasn’t his intention, but Kurt Wise helped me take my game to another level.  He exposed my weaknesses.  My choice was to correct and eliminate those weaknesses or continue to get dominated by Kurt Wise and to get picked in the “middle of the pack.”  I eventually got beyond the middle of the pack and was even fortunate enough to play small college basketball.  More importantly, Kurt Wise taught me that to get better at anything, I had to challenge myself.  And challenging myself has made all the difference.  If you are reading this, you are in a leadership position, and I’ll bet you can say the same.

 

What Kurt taught me more than anything was there will always be someone bigger, faster, stronger, smarter, more skilled, more creative, and more experienced than me.  It has been said, “If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room.”  Because of Kurt Wise, I never believe I’m in the wrong room.  There is always something I can learn.  I just need to ask, to be curious, and to listen.

 

As a student, I took hard courses.  I struggled.  I failed.  I tried a different approach.  I studied with people who understood things better than I did.  I found a way to succeed.  I was the first member of either side of the family to go to college.

 

 

As a young teacher, I connected with those considered the “best” in the building –I wanted to take my teaching to their level.  I visited with them.  I observed them in action.  That led to reflection and reflection led to making adjustments and those adjustments improved my teaching. 

As a coach, I connected with the most successful high school and college coaches in the country. including two Olympic coaches and two NCAA champion coaches.  My athletic director and I put together a schedule that challenged my teams and helped us take our play to a level even we didn’t know we were capable of.  I wanted my players to experience a state championship.  They trained hard enough to win 11 of them and were ranked in the top 25 in the country 13 times.

 

As an activities director, I wanted to help our coaches and directors put our young people in position to maximize their talents and enjoy a positive experience.  I developed a network of outstanding high school and college athletic directors, “picked their brains” and then shared what I learned with our coaches and our directors. 

 

As a principal, I developed a phenomenal professional learning network.  Those incredible administrators and teachers set the bar at a level that will continue to challenge me.  I committed that I would not rest until I was the kind of principal that our students, our faculty, our parents and our Board would “pick first.” 

 

And now I have brought my, "get better " mentality with me to the position of Executive Director of the IHSAA.  I believe I owe it to the students, coaches, and administrators of our member schools, as well as our officials, sponsors and other partners, to continue learning from the best in the field.  The current and former directors of athletic associations across the nation, as well as Bernie Saggau, Rick Wulkow, and Alan Beste who preceded me in this position have a perspective I can benefit from.  Collegiate AD's and CEO's of businesses are also serving as valuable resources.

Fifty years later, Kurt Wise is still impacting my approach to getting better.  It is my hope to one day be Kurt Wise for someone else.

I don’t tell you any of this to “toot my own horn,” but to let you know where all this “you either get better or worse” stuff that I so often refer to came from.  I also want to emphasize that by committing to getting better, anything is possible.

 

So the question I pose today is, “Who is your Kurt Wise?”  Who will challenge you to become the best coach, director, or administrator that you can possibly be?  There are others out there we can learn from.  It’s important to find them.  Rather than being intimidated or jealous of those who have achieved, acknowledge them.  Engage them.  Develop your craft with them.  Compete with them. 

 

It is one thing to be proud of the work we do.  It is quite another to believe we are already doing it the best we can.  We all have a Kurt Wise out there.  We just need to get to the playground.

  

 

Toughness

If you know me, you know that I’m a basketball fan.  So this time of year is especially exciting for me.  I’ve played hoops since I was five or six years old and I was lucky enough to play small college basketball.  And, although my playing days are over, I still follow the game closely.  One thing I’m not a fan of is basketball analysts.  Too many folks spending too much time breaking down too many plays, too many teams, too many players, and (lately) too many calls by officials.  But there is one analyst I enjoy hearing – Jay Bilas.  Bilas played for Duke University, played professional basketball in Europe, earned his law degree and is now an analyst for ESPN. Unlike a lot of analysts, he gets to the point and he keeps it simple.

 

Bilas published a book in 2013 called, “Toughness.”  In that book he explores the meaning of true toughness – not only in basketball, but in life.  And like his basketball analysis, he explains the toughness in simple terms.  Toughness, he says, is the ability to withstand pressure and force.  Those of us in leadership positions know life can throw lots of pressure and force our way.  Tough people can deal with that pressure and force.

Bilas breaks toughness into these areas – and some may surprise you:

Trust – Tough people understand it’s difficult to accomplish anything on their own.  They are smart enough to know they don’t know everything.  Tough people know the value of listening to people with more experience.  Those people have been through it and are the closest thing to a crystal ball we’ll ever have.  Tough people also know they need to trust the people in their lives – family, friends, teammates, colleagues, etc. if they are ever going to give everything of themselves.  And we ourselves must be trustworthy or the people we lead will never give everything of themselves to benefit the team, the department, the organization, or the community.

Respect – Tough people understand that what they say and what they do has an effect on others.  They are aware of how their words and behavior impact others.  They realize that even small things – failing to “pitch in” when a co-worker is overwhelmed, failing to meet a responsibility, creates work for someone else.  Tough people never say with their actions, “I’m more important than you.”

Preparation – Tough people pay the price.  They plan what needs to be done to accomplish the goals they want and then they execute the plan.  They set goals – and believe in those goals.  They do quality work. They meet deadlines.  They stay engaged during conversations and meetings.  They do the little things that many others believe are a waste of time.  They work harder than anyone else.  They have a motor that never stops.

 

Courage – Tough people are not afraid of challenges.  They are not afraid of what people think.  Tough leaders accept that decisions invite disagreement.  They have the courage to do not only what needs to be done but the courage to do what’s right.  They challenge themselves with responsibilities that push them.  How else would we ever know just how tough we are?  Tough people, as my pastor Fr. Jon Sheda says, “do the hard.”  They have the tough conversations.  Make the tough phone calls.  Make the difficult decisions.  They avoid procrastination.  When it comes to “doing the hard,” their approach is, “If you have to kiss a toad, you might as well not stare at it.”

Communication – Tough people know how to communicate in positive and direct ways.  They get to the point.  They look others in the eye.  They find ways to compliment sincerely.  They look for the good and they point it out.  Tough people avoid petty communication like rumors and talking people down.  If they have an issue with someone, they go to that person rather than talk about the person to others.

Persistence – Tough people don’t give up – in anything.  They truly believe that if at first you don’t succeed, try again.  The difference is that tough people are smart enough to know that they can’t keep trying the same way.  They must occasionally change their strategy in order to succeed.  They live by the motto, “Find a way.”  Whether it’s a challenge the organization faces, a problem that seems unsolvable, a unique situation (Does anyone remember COVID?), tough people simply continue to tackle the challenge until they’ve met it.  Tough people work to exhaustion.  They never quit as long as they still have something in the tank.

Next Play – Tough people don’t live in the past.  As Ted Lasso says, “They become goldfish.”  They have a short memory.  They don’t overly celebrate success and they don’t dwell on failure.  They move on.  They don’t hold grudges.  They don’t live with regret.  They consider the next important challenge and they go back to preparing for that.

Commitment – Tough people commit to the people in their lives, the tasks they need to complete and the goals they have set.  They never look for an excuse – to not prepare, to not complete a project, to not pay attention, to not work out, to not attend meetings or events, to not return a phone call or email.  Tough people know what it takes to succeed and then do it.  Tough people also do whatever they can to help others in their lives succeed – including encourage, challenge, and support.  They will not disappoint by giving less than their best effort.

Acceptance – Tough people understand they can’t always be the center of attention.  They may not always get the promotion, the award, the recognition.  They work hard to fulfill whatever role is expected of them but they don’t dwell on what they don’t have.  Jealousy is not part of who they are.  They support others and do what they can to help themselves and others succeed.  They also accept others where they are.  They don’t wish for better bosses or co-workers.  They value people in their lives for who they are; not for who they want them to be.  They understand what they have control over and what they don’t.

Self-Evaluation – Tough people spend more time trying to get better than trying to succeed.  They understand that the process, the journey, is what really matters.  Tough people have goals but the goal itself is not the most important thing.  How we work to achieve the goal is what really matters.  They “trust the process.”  And tough people can look in the mirror and honestly say whether they have worked as hard as they could for as long as they could and whether they have treated others with dignity and respect – the way they would like to be treated.

As leaders, we can all benefit from cultivating the qualities Bilas calls, “toughness.” After reading Bilas’ book (which I have done three times), I think it’s important that I do a little self-reflection.  I take a good hard look at where I am on his “toughness” scale.  I recognize where I fall short and work to get better. 

    

Leadership comes in a variety of forms.  Family, team, department, organization, community, etc.  Regardless of what someone is leading, the reality is leadership is challenging.  It’s not for everyone.  Many are willing to sit in the chair of opinion; few are willing to put themselves in the seat of decisions. 

Leadership is not a position.  It’s not a title.  It’s a responsibility and it’s a journey.  A responsibility to the people we lead and a journey with them.  It’s something we get better or worse at.  Every single day.

Hear the call.  Be tough.  Be a leader.   

Appreciation for Everyone

 I am a work in progress.  I will be until the day I die.  There is no denying that I, like everyone else in this world, “get better or worse” every day.  I (and we) never stay the same.  I remind students, parents, coaches, administrators and our staff of that reality.  To that end, I continually look for areas of my own personal and professional life where I can improve.  If I don’t, even my strengths can regress to less than effective levels.

The past week, a particularly stressful one for me, brought this reality to my door.  I was disappointed in the way I was tempted to respond to folks who interrupted me, challenged me or operated in a way that required my intervention.  I longed for interaction with our “rock stars,” those administrators, coaches, and IHSAA staff members who have amazing talents, inspire others, solve problems and in effect, “get it.”  They are in education and the world of activities because they are deeply committed to enhancing the high school experience of every student.  They live the paraphrased John F. Kennedy challenge of, “Ask not what your (school/community/organization) can do for you; ask what you can do for it!”  They are “team first” thinkers with a focus on what's best for our schools and the students they serve.  And that means all students – not just the most talented, the best behaved, the most responsible.  These are administrators, coaches, and staff members who colleagues and students gravitate toward.  Parents appreciate them.  The community respects them.  You know the kind.  As leaders, we dream of an entire organization full of them.  And that is what got me thinking.

If it is “rock star” coaches we want for our students, shouldn’t we strive to be “rock star” leaders for those we serve – all of them?  It’s easy to be available, to spend time with, to listen and respond to the brightest, most motivated, most involved, most positive members of our staff.  In short, it’s easy to give the best the “best of us.”  But what about the “emerging” team members of our schools and organizations?  What about those who struggle?  What about those who are less than satisfied?  Do they not deserve the “best of us?”  Sure they do.

In 1991 I was fortunate to be a featured speaker at a volleyball coaches clinic just outside Chicago.  I was asked to present along with Steve Shondell (a legendary high school and now college coach) from Muncie, Indiana and Steve Lowe (former coach at the University of Wisconsin).   I did my thing and then stayed around to learn from two of America’s best volleyball minds.  Steve Lowe presented and all I remember was being mesmerized by his infectious passion, enthusiasm and love for what he was doing.  He wowed the crowd. 

Then it was Steve Shondell’s turn.  Before he began his presentation, he told us he needed to share something about Coach Lowe.  One of Steve Shondell’s players from Muncie Burris High School, a high school All-American by the name of Angie Meyer, had just completed her freshmen year at Wisconsin playing Badger volleyball for Steve Lowe.  Shondell shared that Angie Meyer didn’t start for the Badgers, didn’t play a significant role for them and in fact rarely got into a match that freshmen year.  She was an All-American who was riding the bench.  When she returned home for Christmas break, her high school coach asked, “How did it go?” knowing full well that she must have been disappointed.  To his surprise, she told him that it was one of the best volleyball experiences she ever had.  How could that be?  She explained that, despite being a freshmen, despite not starting or playing much, Coach Lowe made her feel as if she was the most important player in the gym.  He coached her like she was a starter.  Spoke to her like she was his favorite player.  Talked her up to others as if she was headed for stardom.  He valued her.  Not because she had talent, not because she could help his team win, not because she did what she was supposed to.  He valued her simply because she was a player on his team and he was her coach.  His responsibility was to her and every other member of the Wisconsin volleyball program – including managers, statisticians, trainers, secretaries, assistant coaches, fans, boosters and anyone else connected with the Badgers.  Steve Shondell stated that quite frankly, he aspired to be the kind of coach to his players and staff that Steve Lowe was to his.  Steve Shondell was not alone because after that story, I too aspired to be like Steve Lowe.

I drove home from Chicago that day with only one thing in mind.  I was going to change the way I led my teams and I was going to change the way I taught my classes.  I was so moved by what Steve Shondell had shared about Coach Lowe that I committed myself to providing an exceptional experience for all who played for me and all who took my class.  I decided that “second-teamers” and JV players deserved the “best of me” just as the varsity “first-teamers” did.  Students who struggled, students who were less than motivated and students who challenged me deserved the “best of me” just as the “A” students, the most compliant and most responsible did.  I “chose” to like them all, work with them all, care about them all and help them all.  And what a difference it made!

When I changed my approach, the students and athletes I worked with changed their response.  It is such a simple thing to realize but such a difficult one to trust – when we value others and treat them accordingly, they “buy in” to what we want them to accomplish.  I can honestly say that once I experienced the epiphany of committing to everyone I worked with, the results were phenomenal.  Forget the number of championships, all-staters, all-americans, “A” students, and future psychology majors that emerged from our programs.  I’m talking about the day to day stuff.  The incredible effort, the laughter, the problem-solving, the deep level of discussion, the feeling of belonging, the infection of “we can,” the pure satisfaction of pushing ourselves to the limit – that’s what was so rewarding.  I was a happier coach.  They were happier students and athletes.  And, amazing as it may seem, whining disappeared and the number of dissatisfied parent phone calls dropped to almost nil.

I left the classroom for administration in 1997 when I became the Activities Director at Wahlert High School.  I’ve continued my administrative journey as a high school principal for fifteen years and now as Executive Director of the IHSAA.  Along the way I have had to remind myself of the lesson I learned in 1991 at a coaches clinic outside Chicago.  I have had to remind myself that, as one of my outstanding teachers and coaches was prone to say, “It ain’t about me.”  It’s about them – all of them.  It’s about the coaches, directors, moderators, administrators, administrative assistants, students, parents and community members that I interact with every day.  Because the reality is, in their own way, they are all “rock stars.”  I just have to find a way to shine the light on them.  They deserve my time, they deserve my attention, they deserve my support. 

Steve Lowe had a profound impact on me and my experience as a teacher and a coach – an impact that remains with me today.  I didn’t know on that day that Steve Lowe would die less than a year later at the age of 35.  More importantly, I didn’t realize that his effect on me would last a lifetime and that he would impact so many people through me.  I owe it to Steve Lowe to continue to evaluate and improve the way I relate to those with whom I work every day.  It is a debt I intend to honor.

Tom Keating

Hey Ref! You Stink!

I’ve been to my share of high school spectator athletic events.  I would guess the number is somewhere close to 3500.  You read that right.  3500.  (I’m older than you think).  That includes football, volleyball, basketball, wrestling, soccer, baseball and softball.  Add youth and college sports and that number grows considerably.  And let’s just say I’ve seen my share of examples of terrific sportsmanship and I’ve seen my share of less than stellar sportsmanship.  And full-disclosure, as a very young coach I needed the (sometimes stern) guidance of an athletic director who understood the importance of representing yourself, your team and your school in a positive way.

I am proud to say that more often than not, the fans at our schools have demonstrated respect for officials and opponents.  It is my hope that we continue to work so that “more often than not” becomes “always.”  As I am known to preach frequently, “We either get better or worse; we never stay the same.”  I continually encourage all of us to keep sportsmanship a priority.

While I’m no expert on the topic, I think my experience as a high school and college athlete, a coach of youth and high school sports, an official, an activities director, a principal, a member of the Board of Control of the IHSAA, and now Executive Director of the IHSAA, has given me a unique perspective on sportsmanship that I would guess few people possess.  Based on that experience, I’d like to share a few thoughts.

Sportsmanship is a choice.  We choose to either display it or not – at high school, college, pro and youth events.  It is under our control.  No one but the individual (athlete, coach or fan) is responsible for his or her behavior when it comes to sportsmanship.  I realize that sports can elicit a myriad of emotions.  Exhilaration.  Excitement.  Pride.  Disappointment.  Frustration.  The question is, what do we do with that emotion?

I have yet to meet an official who cares which team wins the game.  Their responsibility is to make sure the game is played according the rules. The men and women who get involved in officiating do so out of a love for the game and an interest in serving the sport, the school and the young people who are involved.  They want to stay connected to the game.  Let’s also remember they are human.  Like all of us, they make mistakes.  They miss calls.  But here’s the thing.  Players miss shots, turn the ball over and get beat on defense.  Coaches make wrong adjustments.  As I’ve told my sons, my players and my assistant coaches, the day we are perfect is the day we have the “right” to argue with the officiating of a game. 

I have yet to witness a fan or coach yelling at an official resulting in the official stopping the game, turning to the fan or coach and responding, “You know what?  You’re right.  I did make the wrong call (or I failed to make the call).  I’m going to change my call.  Thank you for pointing it out to me.”  The reality is, our yelling serves no purpose other than to express our own frustration.  Perhaps it’s our way of letting everyone else know that we know more than the official.  My guess is most of us would have a difficult time passing the rules exam necessary as part of the licensing process. 

What I have witnessed is an alarming number of officials leaving something they love and an even more alarming decrease in the number of new officials entering the ranks each year.  The reason they share over and over again is, “the abuse of fans.”  Imagine the day, and it may not be that far away, when we have to reduce our schedules because there are not enough officials to do the games.  The National Federation of High Schools has identified the decreasing number of available officials, “a crisis.”

When we yell at officials, we are giving our student-athletes an excuse.  We are telling them that the game is out of their control.  We are teaching them that it isn’t their effort, energy and execution that determines whether they win or lose.  It’s the officiating.  What kind of lesson is that?  We are also modeling for our students that lashing out is an acceptable way to disagree.  And it’s quite likely that we are annoying those who came to enjoy the game.

The reality is, we aren’t just individuals when we attend athletic events.  We are representatives of our school, club and/or team.  What we do and what we say – including how we say it – is a reflection on our entire community.  When we act with class and dignity we send a message that we are a first-class school with a first-class community.  That should mean something.  Actually, it should mean more than winning.

Maybe I look at things too simply but to me sportsmanship, more than anything else, is a matter of self-control.  It is the ability to look at something and think to ourselves, “that was a travel” or “that was a foul” without shouting it for everyone to hear.  It is the ability to understand that we are watching a “game.”  It is a respect for the people who are trying to bring order to something that so easily could turn chaotic.

I encourage all of us to reflect on the importance on sportsmanship and the impact that sportsmanship or the lack of it has on the young people who compete and those who come to watch their classmates compete.