a whisper of inspiration

"You are better than that. Do not let me see you do that again."

I played football in high school. Though I played many different positions, my primary positions were QB on offense and Strong Safety on defense. In one game my senior year, I learned a valuable lesson in the art of inspiration.

I remember many individual plays throughout my career, but I think of a few specific ones more than others.

Setting the stage.

It's Friday night, and we are playing the Bears at home. For a high school team, the Bears were very talented and disciplined. Our team had talent, but we were not playing as well as I think we could have at that point in the season. At this point, we are on defense in the third quarter and down by 14 points. I was about nine yards off the line of scrimmage playing the strong safety position. My job was to cover the offense's tight end. (The tight end is usually a lineman but has the added ability to catch and run with the ball.) This particular player was a mountain of an athlete—a boy in a man's body. I was a decent-sized high school football player, but taking this guy down would be a team effort, especially once he got moving in the open field.

The Bears jog to the line of scrimmage, and I take my position about nine yards off the line of scrimmage. As the offensive linemen get set, the quarterback looks at me and then yells something I don't quite understand to the tight end. The tight end looks up at me, and the message is clear:

The guy I am guarding will get the ball, and I am currently the only thing standing between him and the end zone.

We are taught in football to ignore fear, despite the real danger. Football is not a contact sport; it is a collision sport. Every coach I ever had as a football player talked about overcoming fear and playing "all out." Experience had shown me that those who played this game scared ended up getting hurt. Football is not a contact sport, it is a collision sport, and those who hesitate end up with a face mask full of grass and dirt, but often the consequence for playing scared was much worse.

The center snaps the ball to the quarterback, and the quarterback tosses it to the tight end. The exchange happened fast, as they had run this play enough to have perfected it. The tight end catches it, turns his head toward me, and makes a slight move to my right. I miss him, touching him in a pathetic attempt to slow him down. However, it was not his move that made me miss the tackle. Football is a game of inches, and within a few inches of contact with this player, fear gripped me, causing me to hesitate and subsequently miss the tackle. The tight end is tackled about 10 yards later by my teammates. I was relieved, then a feeling of shame came over me.

"LEATH! LEATH!" I hear my replacement yelling my name. I jog to the sidelines and report to my position coach. He is furious. At 5'9, my defensive back coach played college football. I prepared myself for a wicked tongue lashing, but I got nothing.

Another play goes by. My coach says nothing. I am embarrassed by my actions; I know what I did wrong. I could have done better, but I let fear get in my way.

I turn to leave, but he grabs my facemask, pulling me back to standing next to him. Another play goes by.

My coach turns his head toward mine. I stay facing forward, but I can feel his eyes piercing through my helmet.

In a barely audible voice, he whispers,

"You are better than that. Do not let me see you do that again."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you go in there and do your job? Your team needs you to do your job."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

He slaps my backside, and I sprint to join my team and take my place on the field. The Bears jog to the line of scrimmage, and I lock eyes with the quarterback. The quarterback chuckles then calls to his tight end. The tight end looks up at me and smiles. I pretend not to notice, but I know exactly what is about to happen. I felt a calm come over me, and I only had one thought.

I am going to destroy this man.

The ball is snapped. 

I take off toward the tight end, knowing exactly what was about to happen. The tight end makes the catch, and with everything I have, I hit that player, aiming my facemask directly at the ball.

He fumbles, we recover, and we celebrate.

I jogged back to the sideline--shoulders back, head held high--and the offense took the field. My offensive teammates slap my helmet in a gesture of appreciation for another chance to score. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my defensive back coach.

We make eye contact. He nods in approval with a slight smile on his face, then turns around and walks the other way.

The approval of a coach--that is really all an athlete wants. 

This coach knew the power of a whisper. He knew that yelling at me would have shut me down. I would have been upset at him— but really at myself—then I would have taken a seat on the bench, perhaps not going back in.

A great coach knows how to motivate and inspire, but those are two different abilities that require understanding which to use in any given situation. Many coaches are great motivational speakers, but few have mastered the art of being an inspirational whisperer. Motivation requires passion and charisma, but inspiration needs only an authentic whisper to create a powerful moment.

Coach, next time your athlete makes a mistake, take a deep breath and talk to them in a whisper. They know what they did wrong, and if done right, you might create a moment that athletes will remember the rest of their lives.