I have played countless rounds of golf in tournaments and intramural sports while I was in the Air Force. While I won quite a few matches in squadron competition, I never won a tournament either as a single player or with a team. I’ve come close, but it was never in the cards for me. If I would have stayed with the game anticipating an eventual victory, I would have been disappointed. But I kept playing, not for the tournament wins, but for the love of the game. And in that love for the game, I relearned a lesson from my childhood.
When I was 13 years old, I did something not very many people have done. If you remember from a few weeks ago, I shared that I grew up playing baseball. I was a good ball player. I was selected to all-star teams every year I played (here is me trying not to boast). When I was 13, I was again selected for a city all-star team, and we traveled around the metro area where I live. On this particular day I was the starting pitcher. The first few innings flew by as I was in a groove. By the fifth inning I was still going strong. It seemed with every inning I just gained momentum. When the last out of the game was made, I had done something I never imagined doing…I had pitched a no-hitter. I had walked three batters, so it would not go down in the books as a perfect game, but I was ecstatic anyway.
Now, if only every game I ever pitched went like that. But it didn’t. I’ve also been rocked by the opposing team’s bats, leaving the coach no choice but to take me out. On those days, I didn’t feel so ecstatic. The no-hitters are exciting and really cool to experience for sure. But the times when the other team thrashes you is when character is built. It is easy to celebrate the win and be thrust into the spotlight, but losing…not so much.
They call it losing with grace, but anyone who has lost a game in any sport will tell you that grace is one of the last things you feel…unless of course you are a saint…and a saint was, and is, the farthest thing from what I am. But my dad was there – for the wins, and the losses. Recently I heard a radio advertisement for high school sports and scholastics. In it, a son had just finished a game and his dad was railing against him on all the things he did wrong. Thankfully, my dad was not like that. When I did have a bad game, my dad didn’t detail to me all of the things I did wrong. In fact, he talked about the positive outcomes, choosing to put those less-than-optimal highlights in the trash can of memories.
Losing is just part of life. No one wins every game. Tiger Woods has won way less tournaments than he has entered. The best hitters in baseball only get a hit about once every three at bats. Babe Ruth had 2,873 hits. Quite remarkable. Babe Ruth also struck out 1,330 times. Also quite remarkable…just not in the same way. Nolan Ryan, who holds the stellar record for no-hitters (7), most strikeouts (5,714), and a whole host of other stats. But he also had a career record of 324 wins and 292 losses…not that stellar. Ryan also never received a Cy Young award, given to best pitchers in each league. One of the greatest pitchers understood that losses come with wins…and in his case, a lot of losses.
What you do with those losses is what matters. Of course the wins matter, and it’s those that will get you the ESPN highlights. But it’s the losses that will define who you are, and as I said earlier, what will build your character.
I guess my dad understood that. His way of helping me build resilience in those early years helped me immensely later in life. During numerous military deployments I had that resilience tested on many occasions. On my last one to Iraq, I had the honor of speaking to countless men and women from all branches of the military on how to build personal resilience through life’s experiences. Many of those had lost all hope and felt there was nowhere to turn, in essence, they were thinking of taking their life. Nothing shakes you to the core faster than someone sitting across from you and sharing those thoughts. As I said, I was honored to have those conversations…and thankful that God used me as a vessel to be able to inject meaning and purpose back into their lives. And it was that instilled resilience through life experiences that allowed me to stand in front of 850 basic trainees and talk about how important resilience would be for them in the coming weeks of training, and how important resilience would be for each of them throughout their lives.
One last thought to wrap this up…on the day of that no-hitter, the coach presented me the game ball with everyone’s signatures. I still have that ball. Occasionally, it gets pulled out of the drawer where it’s stored, and I get to remember that day again. And in remembering that day of victory, I remember not all days are victories…and in remembering that, I remember how critical resilience is in our lives…and in remembering the importance of resilience, I remember it all started with a guy I called dad who showed me how to win AND lose graciously.
Faith, Leadership, and History 