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Opportunity Lost

October 25, 2013

This fall as I conducted Update meetings around our state, I met one-on-one with potential candidates for an administrative position the MHSAA has posted in anticipation of Assistant Director Randy Allen’s retirement in early 2014.

This is a part of the slow, personal process we have cultivated during the past 20 years that I credit for gathering our current collection of committed administrators that are excellent in so many ways and a pleasure to work with day-in and day-out.

We last used this process a decade ago in leading us to hire Assistant Directors Mark Uyl and Kathy Westdorp; and realizing that I had not conducted a series of one-on-one discussions in ten years, I have been lamenting great opportunities lost; for these conversations are beneficial in two important ways:

  • First, we learn about the lives of many terrific men and women; and I’m forever closer to them as human beings, whether or not they get the job the MHSAA has open.

  • Second, we learn of the hopes and fears these experienced people have for educational athletics; and I’m constantly putting their ideas into action at the MHSAA, whether or not they are ever employed at the MHSAA.

But I now lament a huge opportunity lost. Had I taken the time to visit with a colleague after every Update meeting I’ve conducted over the past 28 years, that would have provided more than 200 opportunities to learn about the lives and ideas of these people – the MHSAA’s richest resource.

I read recently that a vibrant organization is one that is always hiring, whether or not there is a job opening. That is, the organization is always interviewing its best people – always learning about them and from them, and is able to tap this resource promptly when opportunities arise.

Baloney

January 27, 2015

When I was in high school and college I worked a different job each summer, usually looking for hard labor that would help prepare my body for the next football season, and each time confirming that it would not be my choice for lifetime employment. One summer I worked at a lumber yard and paper mill complex along the banks of the Wisconsin River.
Every day I ate lunch with the men who had made this their life’s work; and I grew in ways both positive and negative as I listened to their conversations and tales. We all brought our own lunch pails.
One day, one of the more veteran employees opened his lunchbox and flew into a rage. “I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed. “Baloney again! I hate baloney.”
Trying to calm him down, another worker said, “If you hate baloney so much, just ask your wife to make you something else.”
To which the complainer replied, “That won’t work. I make my own lunches,” which resulted in an uproar of laughter from the rest of us.
I thought of this incident recently as I was preparing to meet with constituents about the rules they most love to hate: policies relating to coach and player contact out of season. Those are our most criticized rules.
But it occurs to me, if we don’t like the sandwich we’re eating – out-of-season coaching rules – we should remember: we made them ourselves, and we can change them. In fact, no one is in a better position to do so than we are. And no one has a greater duty to do so than we have, if we really are in need of a new recipe.