Criticism

October 18, 2011

The phrase “throw in the towel” comes from the sport of boxing.  It recalls a manager throwing a towel into the ring to stop a bout in which his boxer is getting badly beaten.

Over the years I watched a lot of administrators of schools and school sports throw in the towel as they’ve watched their ideas and ideals get bruised and battered, and as they suffered constant and frequently unfair criticism.

Criticism is a fickle thing.  It can be motivating or maddening.  To some people criticism is one or the other; to other people criticism sometimes has a positive effect, sometimes the opposite.

Criticism from a well-informed source who has tried to see the matter from multiple perspectives and who delivers the opinion privately will almost always have two positive effects.  First, it will influence future thought processes and decisions.  Second, it will establish a closer relationship – even a good friendship – between the parties.

It is criticism based on bad information or from a biased viewpoint delivered by gossip or in group settings that is least productive to the cause and most poisonous to the community.

But even bad news badly delivered can be motivating.  While sometimes it may give rise to brief thoughts of “why bother?”, it more often motivates me to work harder, to serve better, to think wider and deeper, and to give more.  This reaction is a result of many life experiences, including school and college sports participation.

Those of us who played competitive athletics were subject to much criticism throughout our playing careers.  Sometimes it was unfair, and we learned to rise above it.  But usually the criticism was from a coach who knew his or her stuff, who thought we could do better, and who was giving us the information to become better.  While some people merely survive criticism, competitive athletics can teach us how to thrive on it.

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.