Sunday, 22 June
 |
| m u s e |
Good Morning
Jack…
It has been
difficult putting my thoughts into words these past few weeks. Were I playing a piano I would say I’m
feeling all thumbs. There aren’t any
easily found reasons for the problem. I
have a vague sense maybe I am in another of life’s transitions. We aren’t machines. We all have both intellectual and physical
potentials that can be met on any given day but there aren’t any guarantees
that we will achieve them. You see it
demonstrated all the time in the performance of sports figures. A pitcher in baseball who throws a no-hitter
has proven his potential but it is something he may achieve only once, possibly
twice, in a career. It takes the
convergence of a number of factors, like a perfect storm, to render such an
outstanding positive performance. Our
pitcher is likely to be at his physical best when he denies the batters of the
opposing team a single base hit but he is also backed up by the errorless
fielding of his teammates. Primarily,
though, the pitcher’s state of mind has to be at the top of its game. I think this is the most difficult aspect to
achieve. Extending one’s concentration, focused
on one skill, over the space of hours is foremost a psychological accomplishment. The ultimate drama of golf is on the putting
green where one’s physicality is almost irrelevant. Succeeding here requires the ability to ward
off all the negative mental distractions that we associate with pressure. The same can be said of one kicking the winning
field goal in the closing seconds of a football game. You may habitually kick successful field
goals from twenty-five yards out during practice but when there’s only one
second left on the clock and your team is down by two points and the fifty
thousand fans packing the stadium are all relying on you… well, that’s pressure
and all bets are off. You can’t afford
to think which is why the opposing team invariably calls a time-out.
You have
been given the time needed to ponder all the possible things you might do
wrong. You easily imagine the dreadful
consequences of your failure to make three simple points with a routine
kick. The ball veers wide right and
everyone’s heart sinks. You let down
your teammates. You’ve disgusted the
fans. You choked. People can lose their job for this. How would you make your house payment as a
washed-up ball player? Your wife and
kids are depending on you to perform at a level you achieve with boring consistency. Simply kick the ball through a wide gap from
only twenty-five yards out.
Still the
act requires a fluidity of motion. It’s
like the shortstop throwing to first base to get the runner out. Your performance is best when you don’t give
it a thought. Over the years you’ve
practiced a thousand hours to develop what is termed muscle memory. It’s an act
as unconscious as tying your shoes.
Having to think about what it is you need to do while you are in the act
of doing it is courting disaster. The
ball sails high over the first baseman’s outstretched glove. The six foot putt misses the cup. The field goal is squibbed off the helmet of
an onrushing lineman. The corruption of
our confidence has resulted in the very disaster we most feared. Here is the ruination potential of pressure.
The one
characteristic shared by people that succeed to the top rung of their
profession is the psychological strength to not crumble under pressure. The best of the best most likely thrive in
pressure situations. The high stakes of
the moment actually inspires them to more effectively focus on what it is they
need to do. In fact, people with this
psychology are most likely to flub something of apparent small
consequence. The failure here is not due
to encroaching fear of failing but of simple inattention.
We are not
machines. The very human qualities that
make us extraordinary work against our ability to perform at top flight levels with
a day-in, day-out consistency. Were it
otherwise we would all be deprived of the entertainment value of suspense and
drama. Field goals would never be missed
and no one would show up for the game.
Love,
Dad
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