Among football (the American kind) coaches – Bill Walsh was a legend.
To give you an idea, the man led a team that was once worst in the league to 3 Superbowl victories in 9 years. His two star quarterbacks over that period are both in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, along with numerous teammates. Additionally, a very large number of his assistant coaches went on to coach their own successful NFL teams – some of whom went on to win their own Superbowl trophies as well.
More than anything else, Walsh is likely best known for creating the modern pass-heavy heavy offensive style dubbed “the West Coast” offense. The offensive style included plays so precise that Walsh demanded players be at the exact spot a play called for them to be every time. There was no “being in the area” – there was only being on the exact yard.
Walsh expected his players to hold themselves to an extremely high standard, and this paid off quickly. He took a team that was 2-14 in his initial year as coach, brought them to 6-10 in his second, and to their first Superbowl victory in his 3rd.
After reading this fawning of mine you might think I’m a huge football fan. While I definitely enjoy the game when teams I’m interested in are good – I’m much more into Bill Walsh than football. Why? Because of his discipline, character, success, and failures.
Gor as much as this man won and did amazing things – multitudes of which you can learn from as a creative artist – one of his stories of failure resonated with me the most when reading his book “The Score Takes Care of Itself” (which I cannot recommend enough for you to pick up – even if you don’t know about or care about American Football).
To understand the story, first you must understand the context of coaching in the NFL.
Football, for years has been the biggest sport in America. To that point, the Superbowl (the championship game of the NFL) is routinely among the most watched television shows of the year. As proof, a :30 ad averages a cost of $5 million – advertisers know eyeballs will be on the show and the prestige of having “a Superbowl ad” is so big that multiple millions can be demanded for it.
To that end, every team wants to do extremely well – not because of sportsmanship, bragging rights, trophies, or whatever. While I’m sure all of those things are nice, team owners want the team to do well because if that happens then they make more money.
If a team does well, more people will want to come to see them play. If more people come, ticket prices can go up. More merchandise will be sold and those prices can go up. Prices for things at the stadium can go up. Not to mention all of the licensing and endorsement deals in play that can drive even more money.
So if your team sucks – as an owner you want to change that. Fast.
(Not to mention you’ll get angry drunken mobs of face painted men screaming at you – and that’s a horrific thing)
If the team isn’t performing, the coach is therefore under immense pressure. Coaches are routinely fired from the worst teams after only one or two years.
This is the position coach Bill Walsh found himself in with the San Francisco 49ers in November of 1980. His team was 3-7, on a 7 game losing streak with 6 games to go. All was not yet lost, but it wasn’t looking good.
As Walsh describes it in his book, when heading to face the Miami Dolphins on November 16th, he was heading into a “must win” scenario. If he didn’t, it was extremely likely his NFL coaching career would come to a very early end.
Keep in mind, this position had been Walsh’s life goal.
What if you dreamed of working at a certain AAA game studio, got the job, and quickly found out you weren’t up to par and had to do a lot of work to get up to speed – or you’d lose your dream job.
You’d go home every night panicking that you might blow it, no?
Walsh describes his coaching leading up to that game as stiff, stilted, and not his best. He was panicked inside and under a tremendous amount of stress.
During the game, his players put up a valiant effort. Near the end of the final quarter his 49ers even took the lead only to have two back-to-back penalties called on them – one of which removed the points that gave them said lead.
And in the end?
They lost.
Walsh was devastated. An emotional wreck.
He describes the scene that followed as a blur – he doesn’t recall any conversations he had or any specifics up until the point where he got on a plane back to San Francisco with his team and slumped into his chair.
Then he cried.
If the image of a legendary football coach crying after his greatest defeat doesn’t grip you here – imagine your idol instead. Maybe it’s a musician who could do no wrong, a game developer, a celebrity – anyone.
Alone. Broken. Hopeless.
We all know that feeling, right?
And yet, the dichotomy is deep when you describe Bill Walsh – again, this man was tied for the winningest coach in American Football until Bill Belichick (current coach of the New England Patriots) took that record for his own.
But the winningest coach knew despair well. He experienced it deep in his bones, right next to this team of alpha male super jocks who he was supposed to lead.
I don’t know about you – but I don’t feel like some incredibly successful human being. I’ve had a great number of breaks, I’ve worked hard, and I’ve been very fortunate. But I can’t ever say I’ve done so well that I’m anywhere close to the top of my field. Compared to winning one Superbowl, my success is minuscule.
So to hear of an individual who attained literally legendary success (again – look at those hall of fame players, coaches, and the numerous teams who stole his offense) wallowing in his darkest night of the soul – it both humanizes him and gives me hope.
Certainly I’d be surprised if I ever found the success and fame he did – but if he found a way out of crushing failure, I’m sure I can learn something from it.
That is, of course, exactly what Walsh did. A little over a year later, he was celebrating his first Superbowl victory.
So how – when normally coaches in this situation get fired – did Walsh survive? The story is even better than that, in fact, because Walsh wrote up his resignation and nearly handed it in. How many of you would quit on yourselves before a company would quit on you?
(Answer to the rhetorical question: almost all of us. Don’t lie – I’ve quit on myself too.)
Walsh’s answer is simple. It isn’t even that profound. But, it works.
Stand up and fight. Get back on the horse, fight back, and try again. Don’t ever stop getting back up.
Not new advice, right? But Walsh adds nuance to it that I deeply appreciate. Because “stand up and fight” isn’t at all as easy to do as it is to say. It can also read as insensitive as yelling “JUST STOP IT! QUIT DRINKING!” to an alcoholic.
Instead, Walsh encourages the above with this caveat (I paraphrase) –
Give yourself time to grieve and process your pain – but not too much time. At some point, you must get back up and go to work.
Be patient with yourself. You’re not going to get back to form overnight, maybe not even in a week or a month. You might even have to start minute by minute. The important thing is that you get back up and start again.
I find that profound.
That’s also exactly what Walsh did. After his loss, he hurt, he grieved, and he went back to work. He didn’t do it all at once and he wasn’t perfect. The way he describes it, he had to go literally one minute at a time – working for a minute or two, and stopping – until he could find his “groove” again.
I’ve done this myself, this year even (yes, already). I’m sure I will do it again before the year is up – and I’ll probably find myself back in Walsh’s book again when I need it.
I share this with you for the same purpose.
I have no doubt that failure will find you. Try as you might to succeed and work hard – in my experience the kind of failure that tears you up and makes you question your whole worth as a human is impossible to avoid.
It’s awful.
But you’re not alone. “Greater” people than us have gone through it.
You can, and you will get through it too.
One minute at a time, with patience, with a little leniency on yourself.
I can’t guarantee that you’ll win a Superbowl, or even be ridiculously successful – but I can guarantee that if you get back to work, you’ll find much more success than you would if you didn’t.
Email Me
As a post-script to this – if coach Bill Walsh’s story resonates with you and you’re finding yourself facing post-failure emotional trauma, you’re welcome to email me@adamtcroft.com (or reply if this is in email form). I can’t save you, I can’t fix you, I don’t even know that I can fully encourage you – but I know that in moments like that it’s always helpful not to be alone.
You’re not alone, and if you need to share a story or get a little encouragement – I’m happy to do my best to provide it.
Thanks for your time today, and thanks for reading.
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