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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.

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.