Don’t Look Back
November 23, 2011
In August of 1986, at the end of the one week of overlap between the previous MHSAA executive director, Vern Norris, and the start of my tenure, I found an envelope on my desk from Mr. Norris that read: “No words of advice. Just make your decisions and don’t look back.” That’s Lesson No. 5 of six in this series of blogs.
In our work, time is of the essence. We don’t have the luxury of long deliberations. The next game may be today; the next round of the tournament tomorrow.
In our work, staff is limited. We don’t have subpoena power. We have few staff spread thinly over many responsibilities.
In our work, because it’s in a competitive arena, people are sometimes disingenuous. Some have personal agendas, impure motives sometimes. They care who wins and loses; we don’t.
And most people have miserable memories. I’m skeptical that people recall well the details of events; and people are even worse when recalling details of conversations.
So, in our work, we make one more call and then, with good intentions and reliance on rules, we get on with the decision and try not to look back.
It’s hard to do, but a good deal healthier if we can.
Making a Statement
June 17, 2015
Amid the horrific destruction of Baghdad, the conductor of the Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra, Karim Wasfi, is making a statement. Mr. Wasfi has been carrying a chair and his beloved cello to the exact locations where violence occurs, very shortly after it occurs, and he plays.
With the roar of car bombs still ringing in ears and rubble still smoking, Wasfi plays. He told National Public Radio: “The other side chose to turn every element, every aspect of life in Iraq into a battle zone. I chose to turn every corner of Iraq into a spot for civility, beauty and compassion.”
The response of this single citizen to the catastrophic chaos in his city and country is especially powerful because of the beauty of his music amidst the brutality of civil war; but neither his gift nor the jolting juxtaposition should cause us to miss the message that our response to overwhelming problems could be and should be like his, even if less newsworthy from the perspective of a national radio broadcast. For example ...
- We can wring our hands in despair that the Earth’s increasingly polluted air, land and waters are so far gone and the problem is of such great scale that nothing we could ever do will change things; or, we can choose to turn every corner of our little slice of the physical world into a less polluted place. We can make a statement.
- We can weep over the slaughter of elephants, the leveling of mountains or the razing of forests or jungles by crooks or corporations that cannot see the consequences of their reckless avarice; or, we can choose to make our neighborhoods spots of beauty, conservation and sustainability. A statement.
- We can cry ourselves to sleep over humanity’s inhumanity to those who look, dress or worship differently; or, we can choose to make our little community a welcoming place for refugees where long-suffering and persecuted people can feel safe and hopeful. A statement.
- And we can become frustrated that the values of school sports are so regularly undermined by the excesses of youth, college, professional and international sports that it feels hopeless to hang onto what we believe; or, we can choose to devote ourselves to maintaining our little niche of the sports world as a more principled place ... where scholarship, sportsmanship, safety and a sensible scope are recognizable and reliable core values. A statement.
The great conductor carrying his chair and cello to the rubble is real. It’s also a metaphor which reminds the rest of us of other daunting problems and the opportunity each individual person has to make a meaningful response – a clear statement – where we live, work and play.