ValueSpeak
A Weekly Column
By
WHAT IF?
My teenage son Jon’s city league basketball team
has fallen into a distressing pattern of late.
They start each game slowly, often getting behind by 10 points or more, then they come rallying back in the second half, usually
winning at the end.
The players on the team seem to be content with
the situation. The games are always
exciting, with new stars saving our collective bacon every week. As long as we eventually win, that’s all that
matters to them. The only person who is
distressed about it is me, because I’m the coach, and I’m not sure how many
close calls this old heart of mine can handle.
A few weeks ago we were making our requisite
second half comeback against a team that had completely dominated us in the
first half. Thanks to some intense play
on our part and a little over-confidence on the other team’s part, we had
narrowed a 20-point lead to one point with fewer than 20 seconds to play. In an attempt to get the ball back we fouled
one of the other team’s players, and it just happened to be a young man who had
missed everything – the rim, the net, the backboard, EVERYTHING – on only his
previous attempt.
I liked our chances.
I called a time out and the team huddled around
me.
“He’s going to miss, so we’ve got to get the
rebound,” I said confidently. Then I
mapped out our strategy for bringing the ball down the court and scoring the
winning basket. It was a great plan
except for one thing: the kid on the other team made both of his free throws.
Suddenly we were down three instead of one, and
that great plan I had just formulated didn’t make sense anymore. Since we were out of time outs, I shouted
some instructions, but we ended up turning the ball over, fouling the other team
again and losing by four.
Jon was devastated.
“Oh man,” he said after the game. “Can we get a hamburger?”
Devastation only lasts so long when you’re 17 and
there’s fast food on the way home.
So, OK. Jon was evidently coping with the devastating
loss. I, on the other hand, had a hard time getting to sleep that night. I wasn’t angry or upset – my team had played
well against talented competition, and I was proud of their resilient comeback. I didn’t yell or throw things – I generally
reserve those histrionics for when my professional team plays poorly, which
they seem to do more often than not these days.
I just couldn’t sleep. I paced
the floor wondering “what ifs.” What if
that kid had missed his free throws?
What if I hadn’t wasted my last time out BEFORE he shot his free throws,
but had waited until I knew what the situation was? What if we hadn’t turned the ball over and
had been able to find our best shooter for a three-point shot?
What if? What if? What if?
You can make yourself crazy wondering “what
if.” Believe me. I’ve wrestled with the question enough
through the years to know what kind of toothpaste it uses. What if Mom and Dad had decided to stop after
seven children? What if “No Pants Vance”
(uh, sorry – long story) hadn’t treated Anita so poorly just before I came
along in her life? What if I hadn’t on a
whim taken that first journalism class in college?
“What if?” is a great question if you’re looking forward. It opens
your eyes to possibilities you might not otherwise consider. It can even be useful looking back in a
“lessons learned” context. But there is little enlightenment
or satisfaction in looking back and agonizing over the various and sundry “what
ifs” in our lives.
“Living the past is a dull and lonely business,”
said novelist Edna Ferber. “Looking back strains the neck muscles and
causes you to bump into people not going your way.”
Especially when you’re up late,
pacing the floor and wondering “what if.”
# # #
— ©
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