How Did We Get Here? A Tale About Fitting In

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I went all the way to Ithaca, New York, last weekend to meet up with my old college softball squad to accept an award. Our whole 2002 National Championship team was inducted into the college's Hall of Fame. I was going to write a blog on the "10 things I learned in college" but realized there was one, more impactful thing that deserved attention. It doesn't have to do with curveballs and changeups. It's about our human need to fit in.

I was a freshman trying out for Ithaca as an un-recruited walk on. I did my best to hang in there with the fast-paced practice. As the rotation between drills accelerated, the lines kept switching up, I began to pray I wouldn't throw it to the wrong base. I had no idea how well I was doing in the coach's eyes.

Sometime during the second hour I started to click with one of the sophomores. We played catch and she said "good job." Phew, maybe I have a chance here! I might be accepted by these girls, or at least this one. She might think I have what it takes. An hour and a half into the tryout Coach Deb instructs the freshmen prospects to run laps, and I turn to my new buddy, Mairin, and say something like, "Geez a bit much on the running, right?" She paused her throw, slowly turned her head and looked me in the eyes and screamed "GET RUNNNING!!!!"

Oh my God! I thought we were friends. I thought we were supposed to bond over complaining about the coach. I thought we should to be good at softball, but not try too hard, because trying hard is pointless or silly or something.

I thought I didn't want to risk being an overzealous player, since it would set me apart from everyone else. No one wants to be a kiss-up. Maybe I felt deep down if I was more skilled then everyone else, they'd resent me and put me down. They might exclude me from the group. In high school the one girl who cheered non-stop and then called out the girl for not hustling to first was annoying. We didn't like her. Who did she think she was, anyway?

There was something different happening on this team which I never experienced. It was cool to try hard. The players didn't tolerate others who didn't hustle. It wasn't the coach who had influence over attitudes, it was my peers. This was a completely new concept to me, growing up on teams where players bonded over complaining about or disobeying the coach. How many car rides home did I take where we talked about how I wasn't being treated fairly? This team seemed different. Athletes were on the same "side" as the coach.  

I loved that team and I loved being unified. Once I became a captain I tried to replicate Mairin's attitude. Of course the coach and captains made mistakes at times. We scolded someone for doing something they didn't actually do, our coach showed favorites, or the catcher came late for practice. The difference was that the focal point and culture remained the same, mistakes were forgiven, and we held few resentments. We wanted to get better an win. The only way we could get there is if it became cool to try hard.

I'm brought back to pitching school. I ask players to practice every day of the week. We call it "doing something for 7 days." I think teenage players don't want to say they practiced every day because they might seem like teacher's pet. Some don't want to express big dreams because they are afraid someone will tell them they can't do it or put them down. I want girls to remember that it's cool to try hard. Part of teamwork is fitting in, but sometimes we have a desire to fit in so bad that we shrink to the lowest common denominator. How about this: you be the leader who helps bring the team up to your level. If you model that trying hard is cool (or dope), you'll have more fun, create a positive team, and maybe win a championship!