YOU CALL THAT COMPETING?
Earlier this week, the Toronto Raptors played the Philadelphia 76ers in what was a pretty typical early season NBA game. There was, however, a unique moment that garnered the attention of people around the country, including me. It happened midway through the third quarter, when 76ers player Trendon Watford drove, scored, and got fouled by Raptor Brandon Ingram. Ingram also appeared to injure his leg on the play. As a teammate subbed in for him, Ingram - clearly frustrated - walked to the bench and had a seat. And that's when things got interesting.
In a flash of anger, Ingram slammed his water bottle to the ground, which essentially exploded, ricocheted off the floor, and - from point blank range - clobbered a sideline attendant (aka “towel guy”) right in the face. Stunned, the attendant paused briefly, regained his wits, and joined the other workers in cleaning up the mess Ingram’s explosion created. Meanwhile, Ingram sat stoically just a few feet away. He didn’t move. He didn’t help. He didn’t apologize. It wasn't a great look.
Ingram's outburst - though maybe extreme - isn’t necessarily uncommon. In the emotional, high-stakes world of sports, people regularly lose their cool and express outwardly the anger or frustration or disappointment they’re feeling inside. And let’s be honest. There isn’t one of us who hasn’t done something dumb in a moment of indignation. I hate to admit some of the things I've said or done, both as an athlete and as a coach, when anger or frustration or disappointment came calling for me. And yet now, looking back, I have to wonder what that reaction really said about me. What does Brandon Ingram’s reaction say about him, and - as you consider the response you choose in those moments of testing in your own experience - what does it say about you?
The easiest justification for that kind of reaction is to label it as “competitiveness.” That’s what the broadcaster did as he watched the replay of Ingram’s water bottle assault. “The competitor that Brandon Ingram is…,” he said as a pack of people scrambled to clean up the aftermath of the explosion. You hear that all the time. In fact, that was my justification for my own stupid behavior. I’m a competitor. And yet now, as I’ve spent more time studying elite performers, the mindset they possess, and the behaviors they exhibit, I find myself questioning that explanation. I’d challenge you to question it, too. Do you call that competing?
I used to define competing as “wanting to win.” My frustration or anger or disappointment was simply evidence that I didn’t get what I wanted. But that definition doesn't work for my anymore, I think because years in the arena have highlighted for me just how hard it is to win. Simply “wanting it,” I’ve come to realize, isn’t enough. Everybody wants to win, after all, and literally anyone - even a child - is capable of throwing a fit, losing their temper, or assaulting a water bottle in a moment of anger, frustration, or disappointment.
That’s why my definition of competitiveness has changed. Now I define competitiveness as “the willingness to do what winning requires.” To me, that definition more accurately clarifies the exclusive nature of real success. Everyone wants to win, but not everyone is willing to do what winning requires. That’s a much higher bar. Not everyone is willing to come in early or stay late… but that’s what winning requires. Not everyone will give their very best effort, even when nobody’s watching…but that’s what winning requires. Not everyone will develop the discipline and the toughness it takes to keep their emotions in check - especially when they’re feeling angry or frustrated or disappointed. But you know what? That’s usually what winning requires. When we define competitiveness that way, it highlights that in our moments of testing, it’s the harder path - the less comfortable and less convenient option - that we are required to choose. That’s the proof that we are worthy of the outcome we say we’re after.
Maybe you disagree here today, but I wouldn’t call what Brandon Ingram did competing, because in that moment of testing, slamming that water bottle was the easy option. It would’ve been harder to muster up the discipline and toughness it takes to keep his emotions in check. It was easy to sit there and pout afterwards. It would’ve been harder to apologize, help clean up the mess, and try to make things right. Regardless of your opinion, I do think there’s value here today in considering how each of us can increase our capacity for doing the difficult but important things winning requires us to do, value in clarifying in our own lives what it means to compete.
