When the game is over I just want to look at myself in the mirror, win or lose, and know I gave it everything I had.
—JOE MONTANA
The softest pillow is a clear conscience.
—JOHN WOODEN
At age nineteen the pride of Commerce, Oklahoma, A arrived in the big city wearing a Sears Roebuck suit and carrying a cardboard suitcase. He was The Natural in the flesh. He could do it all and he did. He beat out drag bunts. He snagged Gil Hodges’s deep drive to left centerfield to save Don Larsen’s perfect game in the 1956 World Series. He hit a ball 565 feet. He became the greatest switch-hitter in the history of baseball. He was number seven of the Yankees—an American icon and my boyhood hero.
Growing up in New York, I called him Mickey, as if I knew him personally. I imitated his swing from both sides of the plate. Kids coveted and collected his baseball cards. I still have a ball he autographed during his heyday, when fans of all ages worshipped him, before injuries and surgeries broke him down.
By any measurement, Mickey Mantle was hugely successful as an athlete. But Mantle was an alcoholic. In the spring of his second season with the Yankees, after his father died of Hodgkin’s disease, he started drinking. For forty-two years Mantle blotted himself out with the bottle and abused his body. He failed as a husband and a father. At banquets and in bars, Mantle recited a line that always got a laugh. “If I’d known I was gonna live this long, I’d taken better care of myself.”
But the joke wasn’t funny. Alcohol ruined his liver. Sadly, Mantle’s biggest wins came very late in life. He won his biggest World Series when he checked into the Betty Ford Center and became sober. His most important home run was reconnecting with his family. As Mantle told Sports Illustrated, fifteen months before he died of cancer, “I’m going to spend more time with all of them—show them and tell them I love them.”
Serving not only as a performance coach but also as a personal counselor, I see athletes backstage, unguarded, away from the applause, and out of the white glare of the limelight. Some professional athletes who appear to the public to have the world on a string actually lead unhappy lives. Sports heroes are human, too. My boyhood idol had feet of clay. But while Mantle’s story is a sad one, I have experienced the joy and satisfaction of watching other sports figures develop and grow as athletes and as people. One of my favorite success stories is Ken Griffey Jr.
I’ve known Ken and his father since 1987. Junior was seventeen when the Seattle Mariners chose him from Cincinnati’s Moeller High School in the first round of the draft. Two years later he made it to the big show. One of the game’s greatest players, Griffey passes a test I ask all athletes—and will ask you as a reader—to take. It’s the Mirror Test. “I’m a big believer in the mirror test,” said John McKay, the former NFL and college coach. “By that I mean that you shouldn’t worry about the fans or the press or trying to satisfy the expectations of anyone else. All that matters is if you can look in the mirror and honestly tell the person you see there that you’ve done your best.”
Ken Griffey Jr. enjoys the peace of mind that comes with looking at his reflection. “As long as I can look in the mirror and know I’ve done everything I could,” he said, “that’s all I care about.”
A poem I like says, in part:
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.
You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.
Harvard researchers collaborated on a project to define what makes a successful life. They produced a list called the Five L’s.
Love. For a performer, love is the most basic ingredient for success. Without love for your sport and those people who are important to you, you aren’t living. You’re only breathing. As Peggy Fleming, the former Olympic champion figure skater, said, the most important thing is to love your sport. Never compete just to please someone else. “You’ve got to love what you’re doing,” hockey great Gordie Howe said. “If you love it, you can overcome any handicap or the soreness or all the aches and pains.” Listen to former major leaguer Ozzie Smith: “Now that I’m out of the game I know how lucky and blessed I was to play the game that I loved.” When he coached for the Chicago Cubs, former star Jimmy Piersall said the first thing he did before the start of every spring training was to fall in love with the players and the game all over again.
Labor. It is said that if you do what you love, you never work a day in your life. But there is no shortcut to success. Success is built upon dedication and hard work. Red Auerbach, the legendary Boston Celtics coach, valued work ethic as much as he did talent. He quizzed players about their work habits. How did they respond to coaching? How could they improve upon their talent? “Take Larry Bird,” Auerbach said. “He doesn’t have the speed. He doesn’t have the height. But he works and works, shoots and shoots … He sets inner goals for everything—for the week, for the month, for the season.”
Learn. Frank Howard, the ex-big-league slugger, said the trouble with baseball is that by the time you learn how to play the game, you can’t play it anymore. The same could be said for most other sports. Dan Fouts, the NFL Hall of Fame quarterback, compares an athlete’s career with the scales of justice. “The left side of the scales is piled full of talent and the right side is piled with brains. When you begin your career, it’s full of the physical and almost void of the mental,” Fouts said. “Then as you get further along … the balance shifts to the mental side as your physical abilities deteriorate and your mental capabilities accelerate. The frustrating thing is, you can see your body aging right before your eyes, but you know so much more about the game and how to play it. That’s really the way I always felt, especially as I got past the middle of my career. I felt I can’t play forever but I’m learning more every day.” I tell young athletes that they should learn from the mistakes of others because they won’t have time in life to make them all themselves. Manager Lou Piniella tells players that they have to remember their mistakes and then forget them.
Laughter. Don’t let competition kill your sense of fun. Part of the music of sports is laughter. Someone asked former manager Whitey Herzog what it takes to be a success in his business. “A sense of humor,” Whitey replied, “and a good bullpen.” After an embarrassing loss, John McKay was asked about his team’s execution. “I’m all for it,” the coach deadpanned. During the 1998 season, Mariners pitching coach Bryan Price was working with prospect Ivan Montane, a hard-throwing but inconsistent right-hander. The Cuban pitcher was wearing a necklace made of bones. When Price ordered Montane to take off the good-luck charm, the pitcher warned that if he did, it would cause Price’s death. “I’m not scared of dying,” Price replied. “I’m scared about getting fired if you pitch bad again.” Life is too important to take too seriously. If you learn to laugh at yourself you will enjoy a lifetime of entertainment.
Leave, or let go. “I know that I’m never as good or bad as any single performance,” Charles Barkley said. “I’ve never believed my critics or my worshippers, and I’ve always been able to leave the game at the arena.” Former manager Sparky Anderson warned that winning can become an unhealthy obsession. “The trick is to realize that after giving your best, there’s nothing more to give… . Win or lose the game is finished. It’s over. It’s time to forget and prepare for the next one.” Love the game, or your work, but don’t be married to it.
I see the five L’s in Ken Griffey Jr.’s life. He loves baseball. He works hard. He’s a learner and a student of the game. He has fun. And although he wore a Seattle Mariners uniform for eleven years, he was able to let go and move to Cincinnati and continue his career in the city where he grew up.
Success in life is peace of mind, the feeling of having no regrets. It comes from knowing you did your best. Everyone eventually leaves the game. Imagine for a moment you’re attending a testimonial dinner in honor of your retirement from competition. Maybe you’re retiring after high school or college or at the end of a professional career. Maybe you’re a weekend warrior. Your friends are at the banquet and so are all your coaches, former teammates, and those you competed against. Each one stands up and says a few words about your character and how you played the game.
What would you want them to say?
Success comes from the peace of mind of knowing you did your very best on and off the field as a player and as a person. When you leave the game how do you want to be remembered? How do you define success?