Finding the Path: Romanian Football

The surprise wasn't that I wasn't terribly good with high school football. The surprise was that I played football at all.

It wasn't in my family. I didn't grow up with sports. Older parents, science, academic backgrounds. Also a smart kid, no people skills, often told how smart he was. Not the good kind of smart. Smart enough, but the big fish little pond ego smart, the kind that can be a crutch for poorer people skills. I had a pride that kept all but a few friends away. I was not a team sports kind of person. I could have fun in PE, but it wasn't in my blood. And I worked better alone with most assignments.



I've told a number of stories in the past to make sense of it, but I don't know why I got it in my head to go the coach's office and sign up halfway through my freshman year. No one else knew as well. The coach didn't know me. Once he did, he admitted later he didn't understand it.

I wasn't terribly good at it, no natural ability. Didn't even understand football. Never had watched it, never understood why my friends like watching it, and even obsessed over the players and statistics. The coaches were loud, crude, blue-collar people -- I didn't identify with any of them. I wasn't the worst at everything all the time, but I  consistently held court near the bottom. I lasted through spring training, then hell week. I got in good shape, got beat up a lot.

But I found that I loved it. I loved every moment of it. I wasn't great in any position, so with a small team, the coaches played me everywhere that I wasn't terrible (i.e. didn't have the arm for a quarterback or the speed for a receiver or cornerback). I kept going, and I at least understood what I was doing. I got the Coach's Award my last year since the coach could put me nearly anywhere and I'd work.

I remember of all the positions, I liked linebacker the most. The play was in motion and I would have a few seconds to quickly analyze the situation and determine where I needed to go to plug a hole or take out the ball carrier. I could see the guy coming, his screeners, avoid them, get in. I had a few good sacks as well.

Our last practice, I don't know, I felt heartbroken, emptied of something critical to me. After everyone left the field, I grabbed one of the junior players and ran tackling drills until we were both too exhausted and beat up. I don't even remember him, but I remember he understood. If I think about playing in my sleep now, I still get adrenaline. I still don't like to watch football.

That might have been the end of it.

Romania, 2002

Years later I was in Romania, during my college years, attending a church youth seminar. Mostly Romanians, but a few Americans, French, Polish also. It was a picnic day and we went out to one of those grassy areas surrounding the city, forest all around. Walked there as a group, 100 of us. Absolutely beautiful.

The Romanians youth, mostly teenagers, got it in their head that they wanted to play football when they saw someone brought a ball. The Americans said sure and one of the American elders took over, and taught them to play something resembling touch football. I was half-hearted, and after a few chaotic but lethargic plays bowed out and went off for a walk in the woods with a friend.

When I came back, one of the older Romanian girls came over and asked where I'd gone. I told her the game wasn't my thing. Puzzled, knowing I played it, I had to explain what I had played.

She, joined by a few others, asked if we could play that instead.

Uh, ok. I doubted it and I didn't want to do anything halfway. But they pressed me and I told them what would be needed. And they said let's go. Ok, I shrugged, and led the way to the large grass area.

They wanted to play a real game, I had paid attention during practices. They needed stance, technique, drills. Drills for positions. I needed to identify who would go where. I didn't have it all figured out.

I had about 30 teenagers, some girls (more than I expected), I formed them into two long lines facing each other. We got the starting stances right. Most didn't speak English. But every time I spoke, that first girl translated. When I yelled, she yelled. Amazingly, the boys listened to her. I had my drill instructor. She learned fast, too. I left her in charge of basic drills, made her participate as well. No protection, but we did tackling. Boys against boys, girls against girls. The fast players carried the ball, threw and caught it. I focused on specialist drilling. Whoever wanted the part, usually got it.

After a while, they got those parts. I created the lines, switch off offense and defense. A lot of the boys just loved the thrill of hitting each other, blocking, trying to break through. They could have it. I was surprised how quickly the  girls got the technique and gravitated to the more difficult positions. They made half of the receivers, cornerbacks, and linebackers and both of the quarterbacks.

I put an offense and a defense on the field and ran them through play and counter-play. I had one natural captain already, and she did for offense and defense. One boy was offensive captain for the other team calling plays but not quarterback. A girl wanted to do it for the defense. It was hers.

I simplified some of the rules, fudged the sidelines. I had to pick what would get them going. A subset of the normal plays. But we even had proper kickoffs.

We started a game. I called most of the plays, both sides, through the captains. Then I began asking what they thought would work. And finally, the captains were calling their own plays, and I stepped back and watched.

The teams appeared evenly matched.

And there, after three hours, 25 Romanian kids (5 boys left) were playing a game easily recognizable as American football. On their own. Together.

I found out after the game -- the two girl captains came over, exhausted, bruised, one slightly bloody, but both elated -- they were sisters. A little healthy sibling rivalry had been added to the mix. They were really good.

When I returned home I wrote a note of praise and sent them their own football.

I learned:

Persistence has its own dividends.

I don't have to be exceptionally good at the art to learn it or love it.

Short stints in each position presents a unique opportunity to learn the whole, how.each part interacts with the next and the differences in approach to be effective.

If I learn it, I can teach it.

I can teach to others and make them better at the art than I was.

I can figure who is needed for what, and then how to get them there.

With self-motivated people it's astonishing what can be done.

I can put together a team.

I can pick leaders.

Good leaders aren't always obvious nor are the dynamics which make them good leaders. Sometimes, as far as I'm concerned, they just are.

I didn't have the ability to directly guide them well, but all I needed was the vision and first rate, first tier managers.