Criticism
October 18, 2011
The phrase “throw in the towel” comes from the sport of boxing. It recalls a manager throwing a towel into the ring to stop a bout in which his boxer is getting badly beaten.
Over the years I watched a lot of administrators of schools and school sports throw in the towel as they’ve watched their ideas and ideals get bruised and battered, and as they suffered constant and frequently unfair criticism.
Criticism is a fickle thing. It can be motivating or maddening. To some people criticism is one or the other; to other people criticism sometimes has a positive effect, sometimes the opposite.
Criticism from a well-informed source who has tried to see the matter from multiple perspectives and who delivers the opinion privately will almost always have two positive effects. First, it will influence future thought processes and decisions. Second, it will establish a closer relationship – even a good friendship – between the parties.
It is criticism based on bad information or from a biased viewpoint delivered by gossip or in group settings that is least productive to the cause and most poisonous to the community.
But even bad news badly delivered can be motivating. While sometimes it may give rise to brief thoughts of “why bother?”, it more often motivates me to work harder, to serve better, to think wider and deeper, and to give more. This reaction is a result of many life experiences, including school and college sports participation.
Those of us who played competitive athletics were subject to much criticism throughout our playing careers. Sometimes it was unfair, and we learned to rise above it. But usually the criticism was from a coach who knew his or her stuff, who thought we could do better, and who was giving us the information to become better. While some people merely survive criticism, competitive athletics can teach us how to thrive on it.
Tools of Thought
July 13, 2018
(This blog first appeared on MHSAA.com on May 11, 2012.)
I am famous at home and office for my lack of keyboarding skills. The only “C” grade I received in high school was a summer school course in what was then called “typing.” At Dartmouth I paid a woman who worked at the dining hall to type my college papers. In an early job at the University of Wisconsin I typed the play-by-play of Badger football and basketball games with a clumsy “hunt-and-peck” approach.
Today, with the same lack of style, I pound out dozens of emails daily, hammering the keys like my first manual typewriter required four decades ago.
But for any document of great length or importance, I do as I’ve always done: take up pencil (my software) and legal pad (my hardware). There is no question that, for me, the nature of the equipment I’m using for writing affects the nature of the thinking.
With his eyesight failing late in his life, Freidrich Nietzsche bought his first typewriter, changing from pen and paper to the new technology of the 1800s. According to a 2008 article in Atlantic Monthly by Nichols Carr, a friend wrote to Nietzsche in a letter that, since adapting to the telegraphic style, Nietzsche’s terse prose had become even tighter. To which Nietzsche replied: “You are right, our writing equipment takes part in the forming of our thoughts.”
Which makes one wonder where all today’s tweeting and texting may take us.