The Score Takes Care of Itself (24 page)

When your organization achieves a significant goal, you must demonstrate the strongest and most demanding adherence to your own established ideals and principles—the Standard of Performance you abide by. This is essential, because if you fall prey to the consequences of winning, you will soon be dealing with the consequences of losing.

This, in my experience, is the reason it’s tough to repeat, whether it’s a regional or national sales contest or a number one position in a high-tech industry. It’s one of the reasons only six teams in the history of the NFL have won the Super Bowl and then repeated by winning it again the next year. The San Francisco 49ers are among that small group of organizations that fought off Success Disease—if only for two years. That may not sound like much, but in the history of the Super Bowl, no team has been able to win three in a row. Success Disease is one of the reasons why.

When things are going best is when you have the opportunity to be the strongest, most demanding, and most effective in your leadership. A strong wind is at your back, but it requires an understanding of the perils produced by victory to prevent that wind from blowing you over.

It is extremely difficult to resist the debilitating temptations of Success Disease—to work even harder and smarter than before, to fend off overconfidence. Of course, you should allow for elation and celebration without letting it contaminate the future, but it takes some creativity and mental agility to
keep
your team focused when they are on top—when they are feeling full of themselves and invincible. Thus, when we faced an opponent the 49ers were expected to easily beat, I had to come up with some innovative reasoning as to why we could just as easily lose, why we should consider ourselves the underdog—ideally a one-point underdog.

For example, we faced Kansas City during a season in which the 49ers were defending Super Bowl champions, while the Chiefs had
lost
five consecutive games and were just getting worse and worse.

As we prepared for the mid-November game at Candlestick Park, I earnestly told our team, “Fellas, I’m afraid of these guys; I really am. The Chiefs are angry because they’ve been humiliated publicly and privately for over a month. Honestly, this is a very dangerous situation for us. They can put it all behind them by knocking us off. They can come out and just explode on us.” I continued with this line of reasoning for many minutes.

Of course, everybody on the outside was telling our players the opposite—that Kansas City would just lie down. Having won Super Bowl XIX several months earlier, and in spite of a regular season that was far from stellar, some 49ers might have been inclined to listen and take a little breather and let up. That’s when Success Disease insinuates itself into the organization. (In fact, it seemed to have already begun. After that 18-1 Super Bowl season, we were 5-5 going into the Kansas City game—perhaps the best 5-5 team in NFL history.)

It was always my goal to create and maintain a working environment both on and off the field that had a sense of urgency and intensity but did not feel like we were in constant crisis mode. Ideally, I wanted to instill in each member of our group the belief that, regardless of the opponent, we were a
one-point underdog
, that the upcoming team was just a little better than we were or had motivation enough to really raise their level of play—the Kansas City Chiefs, for example. I wanted our team to believe that we could win, but only if we worked hard. This was challenging when they were surrounded by evidence of how “great” they were—public adulation, acclaim, and Super Bowl rings and a trophy that were still fresh in their minds.

When you can instill the one-point-underdog attitude in both yourself and your organization, complacency and overconfidence are kept at bay. My ability to do that was one of the primary reasons San Francisco was focused during the week’s preparation for Kansas City. We won 31-3, in part because I had temporarily immunized our team against Success Disease.

(My comments for that game, in fact, addressed two different attitudes that may have existed within the team. Some players were victims of Success Disease—overconfidence—because of the Super Bowl championship. Others may have started cashing out on the season because of our 5-5 won-lost record. Either way, cocky or cashing out, I needed to create a positive attitude adjustment and the one-point-underdog mentality was part of the solution.)

Nevertheless, the ongoing and ultimate safeguard against attitudes that are detrimental to the team is your dedication and monumental adherence to the Standard of Performance you have created. This is always the way to win, the road to a goal even more elusive than success; namely,
consistent
success.

Cedrick Hardman, an extremely talented defensive end, found himself increasingly unhappy when I took over the 49ers, because he had just gone through two losing seasons, including a 2-14 year just prior to my arrival. His discontent grew greater during my first year as head coach, which produced another 2-14 won-lost record. Four victories over two entire seasons can cause despair in some.

Nevertheless, he had been an outstanding player with the organization for several seasons (the leader in sacks for eight straight years), and I strongly believed he was going to be a key performer, a leader, on our emerging team. Unfortunately, he proved me wrong.

Cedrick was basically a good guy who was just unable to cope with his perception that things would not get better. As a result, his attitude worsened and his performance on the field suffered. Because of his disappointment, perhaps despair, and the fact that he wasn’t getting what he wanted out of the game—namely, victory—he began sniping at and belittling teammates for their efforts as we continued to lose nearly 90 percent of our games that first season. Then he began disparaging the assistant coaches, the owners, the staff, and eventually me. I tolerated it longer than I should have because of his talent, even though in his state of mind his play was far below what he was capable of had he gotten his act together.

Under more favorable circumstances, Cedrick might have been a positive force. However, given the situation as he viewed it, he became a negative and disruptive force—howling at everything, wounded and frustrated. While he was capable of being a leader under positive circumstances, he was not capable of doing it under losing circumstances. It takes extraordinary fortitude to stay with it when times are bad. Cedrick didn’t have it.

I determined that it was impossible to resurrect his enthusiasm for being a 49er and knew that every minute he continued to be with us he did damage to those who hadn’t given up. I called Al Davis across the Bay in Oakland and arranged a trade with the Raiders for our disgruntled defensive end.

Hardman had given up on the San Francisco 49ers too soon. Twenty-four months after the trade, we won Super Bowl XVI. In some small way, the championship came about because I had been willing to remove players—even those with great talent—whose actions or attitude didn’t conform to the Standard of Performance, who didn’t get with the program.

It’s worth remembering that some individuals have “situational character”—their attitude (and subsequent performance) are linked to results. Good results? Great attitude. Bad results? Bad attitude. Cedric was like that by the time I took over at San Francisco. He was a negative presence in our midst—a malignant force within the organization.

A leader must be able to identify these types of situations and not shy away from removing malcontents from the organization. It takes true character to stay with an organization when things seem to be at their bleakest.

It is also my opinion that lack of the “stick-with-it” attitude is accompanied by a certain lack of intelligence; not always, not with Cedrick, but often. The thick-witted person can’t deal with the hard knocks after a while, and that’s when the complaining begins.

Some define character as simply aspiring to high ideals and standards. I disagree. Many people have lofty aspirations. Unfortunately, aspiring isn’t enough. You must also have the strength of commitment and sacrifice to adhere to those standards and ideals in both good times
and
bad.

Ronnie Lott, a 49er defensive back who had been an All-American at USC, was a model player who had no trouble adhering to high standards, regardless of the circumstances. In doing so, he brought others on our team up to his level. This quality of character was equal in its own way and importance to us to his Hall of Fame talent. (Lott was one of the hardest-hitting defensive backs in the history of the NFL. An opposing player described being tackled by Ronnie as equivalent to having someone hit you on the head with a baseball bat.)

Commitment and sacrifice are among the personal characteristics I value most highly in people. Ronnie had both. One example may shock you.

During the final game of the ’85 regular season, against Dallas, he crushed the tip of his little finger—the pinky—tackling the Cowboys’ running back Tim Newsome. The finger failed to heal properly during the off-season, and bone-graft surgery was scheduled. However, because of the long recovery time necessary for the graft to “take,” Ronnie wouldn’t be ready to play at the start of the season, including our season opener against Tampa Bay.

During a consultation with his doctor, Ronnie asked if there were any alternatives to the bone-graft operation that might speed things along. His surgeon replied, “I don’t recommend it, but we could amputate your finger, put the whole hand in a cast, and you’d be okay to play that first game.”

I wish I could have seen the look on his surgeon’s face when Ronnie said, “Well, that’s what we’ll do. Take it off, doctor.” Ronnie Lott was in the starting lineup a few weeks later against Tampa Bay, wearing a big cast and minus part of the pinky on his left hand.

While he was highly volatile—very overt—he had no grand plan to bring people along, but did it with his own drive, personality, and determination. He provides a good example of how good character is contagious.

Ronnie drove others to sacrifice at his level by setting extreme personal standards of physical intensity and concentration for himself in practice (
especially
in practice, where it can be tempting to coast) and games that exceeded even my own expectations.

He simply demanded maximum effort and effective execution from himself at all times and refused to quit until it was achieved. Since he never felt it was totally and completely achieved, he never quit.

His will to improve created a very real sense that if you wanted to associate with him professionally—to be on a “Ronnie Lott” team—you were expected to sacrifice to the same extreme degree he did. When a grueling set of push-ups was concluded by the coaching staff, Ronnie would often call for more;
he
would be the one setting the standard higher and higher. This was true during the season he joined us and San Francisco won a Super Bowl; it was equally true the following season when our won-lost record went in the tank: 3-6. He never quit.

“Ronnie Lott” character reveals itself most starkly in two completely different circumstances: when victory or success is almost a given, and conversely, when there is little or no likelihood of victory. The former tempts an individual to become complacent, to ease up; the latter tempts an individual to start bellyaching and quit. Ronnie never gave up or let down. Consistent commitment and sacrifice in all situations was his trademark.

He did what individuals with this kind of character do when facing either circumstance: Lott was constant in his drive to excel. This is very hard for an individual to do, but imagine how it transforms those within the organization. And imagine the pleasure it brings to the life of a leader.

Human nature is such that we are drawn to those with fortitude—whether it’s in the military (General Dwight Eisenhower), exploration (Sir Edmund Hillary), religion (Martin Luther King Jr.), or anywhere else. Ronnie Lott had that same stuff. His character transformed those around him in a positive, even profound way.

In his own personal example, he became a de facto coach, one whose specialty was teaching others what it meant to give it everything you’ve got. When evaluating our people, this was a key characteristic that I valued highly. I understood the impact it has on others in the organization; I recognized that it made my job much easier.

In building and maintaining your organization, place a premium on those who exhibit great desire to keep pushing themselves to higher and higher performance and production levels, who seek to go beyond the highest standards that you, the leader, set. The employee who gets to work early, stays late, fights through illness and personal problems is the one to keep your eye on for greater responsibilities.

When you bring a “Ronnie Lott” into your organization, you are actually bringing several “Ronnie Lotts” aboard, because they create others in their own image. His teammate and fellow Hall of Fame player, running back Roger Craig, shared that same work ethic, intensity, and enthusiasm. Here’s an example: Roger would often race all the way to the goal line when he carried the ball—in
practice
. I didn’t ask him to do that; he had that drive within. Push. Push. Push. Lott and Craig were two different personalities that exuded their formidable character in different but equally effective ways.

I’ve seen athletes have great performances right after a personal tragedy occurred in their life. I’ve also seen the opposite—individuals who are unable to compete because of something that happened in their life that they allowed to cripple them.

Otto Graham, a member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, demonstrated tremendous strength of character when he forced himself to compete in the NFL Pro Bowl Game just weeks after the tragic death of his son. Somehow he was able to summon the fortitude not only to perform, but to perform at a level that resulted in being selected as MVP. Otto just felt he had to continue with his life, to go on. Ultimately, he simply would not allow himself to opt out, even after such a catastrophic personal tragedy.