YOU CALL THAT COMPETITIVE?
Earlier this week, the Toronto Raptors played the Philadelphia 76ers in what was a pretty ordinary early season NBA game. There was, however, a unique moment that made this game memorable. 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 hurt himself 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”) squarely in the face. Stunned, the attendant paused briefly, regained his wits, and joined the other workers in cleaning up the mess Ingram made. Meanwhile, Ingram sat stoically just a few feet away. He didn’t acknowledge his mistake. He didn’t help clean up the mess. He didn’t even apologize to the guy he hit. It wasn't a great look.
In sports, an outburst like Ingram's isn’t all that uncommon. When emotions rise and stakes are high, people regularly lose their cool, and often 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'm embarrassed 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 if that reaction really said about me what I thought it did. I wonder what you think Brandon Ingram’s reaction says about him, and - as you consider the response you choose in your moments of testing - what it says about you?
The easiest way to justify 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 mess Ingram made. You hear that all the time. It's an argument I used to justify my own stupid behavior. I’m a competitor. It's just evidence that I care. And yet now, as I’ve spent more and more time studying those we consider champions, the mindset they possess, and the behaviors they exhibit, I find myself questioning the validity of that argument. I’d challenge you to question it, too. Throwing a fit or losing your temper or assaulting a water bottle (or something else) is easy to do. But do you call that competitive?
I used to define competitive as “wanting to win,” so that frustration or anger or disappointment was simply evidence that I didn’t get what I wanted. But as I've gotten older - and better - that definition seems more and more inadequate. I think it's because years in the arena have highlighted for me, again and again, just how hard it is to win. Simply “wanting it,” I’ve come to realize, isn't nearly 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 when they don't get what they want.
So now my definition is different. Now I define competitiveness as “the willingness to do what winning requires.” To me, that definition more accurately highlights that 1) winning is really hard, and 2) winners are really rare. Everyone wants to win, but not everyone is willing to do what winning requires. That’s a much higher standard, and a much clearer indication of our commitment to success.
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 develops 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 most often required to choose. That’s how we prove that we are the kind of person winning requires us to be.
Maybe you disagree here today, but I wouldn’t call what Brandon Ingram did evidence of his competitiveness. In his 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 do what he could to try and 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, and value in clarifying for ourselves how we define what it means to be competitive.
