The Gift

I use to think the only purpose for going to high school was to play sports. The benefits were huge. An athlete became very popular and the girls liked the jock. Let’s not forget the very cool letterman jacket, which was probably my most prized possession in high school – a Christmas present from my parents. They received very high marks that year for giving me that gift. The first year I played football was in 9th grade, my freshman year in high school. Our high school contained 9th through 12th grade students so it was important to make your mark early in your high school career – I thought I would do that by playing football. I wasn’t the most athletic player on the team but I had two pretty decent talents; I could run fast and I had great hands for catching the football. That freshman year I had exceeded my wildest dreams – the coach picked me to “go both ways.” This meant I started on offense and on defense. I played tight end on offense and defensive end on defense. My freshman year had started off very well; I had become (in my own mind) a hot commodity. Our football team didn’t pass the ball very often and when we did, it normally went to a running back or a wide receiver. Very seldom did they throw it to me. I did have good hands for catching the ball which I proved on the playground over and over again. The one problem I had was, football practice was not the playground and I could not see a thing once I put on that football helmet. It was as if I had horse blinders on. To make matters worse someone had the bright idea to put a face mask on that helmet and as far as I’m concerned it might as well had been a blind fold. When that football was thrown to me during practice I could never see it coming. Most of the time the football would hit me in the back of the helmet or rush by the side of my head. Oh sure, once in a while I would just stick out my hands and get lucky which for some insane reason gave my football coach enough confidence in me to throw the ball my way a few times each game. I made second-team all league that year and trust me it was not for catching the football. I ended the year with zero catches. My sophomore year of football started early. It began in the summer where I was determined to learn how to catch a football with a helmet on. I woke up every morning at 6:30 and put on my hiking boots in preparation to run two miles. I wanted to be in great shape. After running in my hiking boots, I would put on my football cleats and run ten 100-yard sprints. In the afternoon I would pedal my Schwin Varsity 10 speed bicycle to the high school weight room and lift weights for a couple of hours. After weight training I would run passing drills with the other receivers, running backs and quarterbacks wearing that criminally designed helmet. I did this day after day for the entire three months of summer. To make a long story short, I did learn to catch that football. At the end of my sophomore football year I was voted the most valuable player on the team and the most valuable player in the Santa Clara Athletic Conference. I would have settled for “most improved player.” My meteoric rise to fame took a mediocre detour from that point on with an average performance on the field during my junior and senior years. I watched my senior year go by with many of my friends getting scholarship offers to play football at colleges and universities – I received no such invitation. Somehow I lost my way. I did not have the same drive that kept the other scholarship players excelling and that has always bothered me. As I fast forward several years my wife and I were blessed with an unusual child born into our family. Eric, our third child, was small and skinny chasing after and trying to keep up with his older brother five years his senior, who was faster, stronger, and far more athletic. One year his older brother was playing against a team coached by former Cincinnati Bengal and NCAA Division-1 All American Jason Buck. My son’s team beat Jason Buck’s team by several touchdowns and afterwards Jason told me that my son, David, a defensive player, single handedly won the football game by disrupting his offense to such a chaotic state they had no chance of putting together a successful scoring drive. Eric sat in the stands with us and watched every play. As incredible an athlete as David was, he broke the news to me that he no longer wanted to play football but wanted to pursue music and guitar. I was a bit overwhelmed at the news - it took me a day or two to realize that David did not have the passion to keep playing, his heart was not into the game. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My only regret was to see him throw away his $10 million dollar pro signing bonus that would have translated into early retirement for me. But hey, who really knows what would have happened, he was only 15 when he made his career change announcement to me. Years later, David’s younger brother, Eric, was so eager to have his chance to play the game. Those were big shoes to fill; Dave had set quite an example for his younger brother to follow. Eric was still so small, not very fast, and really had a difficult time even walking a straight line without tripping. I held my breath every time he took a step on to the field. But there was some miraculous event about to unfold before my eyes. Eric would often get pushed down or run over by an opposing player who was faster and stronger than he was. But he always got back up and seemed to find his way to the ball carrier and make the tackle or help others make the tackle. When he was knocked down he would bounce right back up and pursue with a vengeance. There was no one who could keep him down. He learned to hit like a freight train, and still, one of the smaller players on the team, he would always be teamed up with a big lineman during tackling drills because he would hurt other players his size. He learned the game very well and soon became a back-up quarterback. When the starting quarterback became injured early in the season, Eric had to step in and play. He was so short he would often throw the football into the back of the helmets of the offensive line. He couldn’t see over them and could barely throw the football over their heads. There was no teaching him a three-step and a five-step drop. He never learned to look off the weak-side safety or how to anticipate pressure from the back. But what he learned to do was jump high in the air with enough momentum to throw the football over the heads of his linemen. Quarterbacks know how difficult it is to throw a good pass when you are back on your heals. A quarterback needs to be up on his toes, light on his feet, and turn your body sideways as you wind up to throw so you have momentum from your body when throwing a football long distance. All Eric could do is spring high in the air and drop the football over the heads of his offensive line into the hands of his receiver running short across the middle. His completion ratio went way up and there were even a few that went for a touchdown. Parents and coaches would come up to me and tell me that my son had heart. They seldom said he was talented or a great athlete which he eventually became, but “he sure had heart.” This was the “heart” that opened my eyes. Eric was filled with passion and love for the game. His heart was football shaped-I’m sure of it. Can I say that I was inspired by my young son? He taught me that there was nothing that he couldn’t do. He knew no limitations.

I knew that after plateauing professionally I had to find that gift and bring it inside of me. I was desperately seeking for some answer to move me off of my short mountain. I discovered that the answer was playing football every Saturday right before my eyes. Being an adult and facing years of normal challenges of life had dulled my passion. I was shackled with limitations that I place upon myself because I interpreted messages sent out by the world that I wasn’t strong enough, good looking enough, talented enough, smart enough. Eric’s passion for the game and attitude on the playing field can be summarized by this quote from Henry Ford: “I am looking for a lot of men who have an infinite capacity to not know what can’t be done.” I had wasted far too many years in believing that I can’t. What I learned is that I have a choice. I can choose to believe and do whatever I want or choose to place the shackles of doubt back on to me. I hate limitations. I despise the acceptance of mediocrity. Creator of “Chicken Soup for the Soul” Jack Canfield tells a great story about Ty Cobb – legendary baseball player and arguably one of the best hitters that ever played the game – a hall of famer. He was a life time .367 hitter. When he was 70 years old he was being interviewed by several reporters when one of them asked “what average do you think you would hit today if you were playing against today’s great players.” Ty Cobb gave it a moment of contemplation then spoke saying, “I would probably hit .300, maybe .290.” The reporter asked, “Is that because of all the traveling players have to do now, or the artificial turf, or the amazing new pitches like the slider?” Ty Cobb answered being a bit annoyed, “No, it’s because I’m 70.” It’s all about attitude! He believed in himself; we can too. We must rid ourselves of the word “can’t.” I can’t, or, I’ll see if I am able to. There is no room for such wishy-washy language if you want to be successful. The word can’t will tear down and sweep under the rug any form of potential greatness you were about to achieve. My son Eric had no reason to believe he couldn’t tackle the ball carrier. He had no reason to believe that just because he was knocked down that he couldn’t get back up and get that player. No one told him he couldn’t and so he didn’t believe it. He absolutely believed he could make the tackle every time. He absolutely believed he would complete every pass. We’ve become so cynical as adults and have allowed years of negative conditioning turn us away from accomplishing amazing feats of merit. I believe, because I know. So should you. Being an Agel Team Member is the most incredible event that will happen to you this year. You will get knocked down. You will throw a few passes into the back of peoples helmets. But you are magnificent because nothing will keep you down. You are a believer of greatness – and it will happen to you. What was President Obama’s campaign slogan? “YES WE CAN!” This is the greatest gift – the gift of knowing absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt that you can do anything you want and not just accomplish it, but be great. I cherish this gift. I won’t give it away, but I will share it with as many people as will listen to me.
Be great, because you can! Be Agel.