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The Score Takes Care of Itself was one of my dad’s oft-told sayings. Do all the right things to precision and “the score will take care of itself” sums up my father’s philosophy, which is why we thought it the perfect title for his book.
“The House Cleaner” is Bill McPherson’s description of those rough early months when Bill Walsh started building a dynasty by dismantling a disaster.
His mind for technical football was extraordinary, but beyond that was his ability to organize and manage his staff, players, everybody—to get the whole organization on exactly the same page.
He accomplished this in three ways: (1) he had a tremendous knowledge of all aspects of the game and a visionary approach to offense; (2) he brought in a great staff and coaches who knew how to coach, how to complement his own teaching of what we needed to know to rise to his standard of performance; and (3) he taught us to hate mistakes.
that was the biggest challenge in playing for Bill—trying to be perfect.
Over and over, without getting all upset, he taught the smallest details of perfecting performance.
In fact, his approach was unique because often we didn’t even wear pads in practice—there was no contact—especially as the season went on.
He wanted us healthy on Sunday, so he didn’t work us to death on Wednesday like most other coaches.
Most big things are simple in the specific, much less so in the general.”
Bill was a genius at making the complex comprehensible, the comprehensible achievable.
(I learned recently that Bill had plenty of friends, associates, and a ton of great working relationships but almost no buddies, intimates with whom he could bare his soul.)
Professional football, in my opinion, is the moral equivalent of war. The stress, wear and tear, and assault on a person’s spirit and basic self-esteem are incredible. It takes an individual to the outer limits of his capabilities and may provide one of the ultimate studies of people because it is such a cruel, volatile, and emotionally and physically dangerous activity.
I’ve observed that if individuals who prevail in a highly competitive environment have any one thing in common besides success, it is failure—and their ability to overcome it. “Crash and burn” is part of it; so are recovery and reward.
I stood alone on the sideline in a cocoon of grief, emotionally gutted, wondering if I had the strength to even get back to our locker room.
The memory never leaves you and acts as both a positive and negative force, spurring you to work harder and harder while also creating a fear inside that it might happen again.
In the NFL events occur—hit you—at supersonic speeds with volcanic force during the regular season.
When the inevitable setback, loss, failure, or defeat comes crashing down on you—losing a big sale, being passed over for a career-making promotion, even getting fired—allow yourself the “grieving time,” but then recognize that the road to recovery and victory lies in having the strength to get up off the mat and start planning your next move.
Failure is part of success, an integral part. Everybody gets knocked down. Knowing it will happen and what you must do when it does is the first step back.
In the two years before I joined San Francisco, my predecessor as 49ers general manager, Joe Thomas, had basically gutted the entire 49er organization, forcing out head coach Monte Clark, whose 8-6 record had been the 49ers’ first winning season in four years; hiring and firing three head coaches in twelve months; impetuously and vindictively firing—humiliating—players in front of the team; trading away or releasing quality talent, including quarterback Jim Plunkett to the Oakland Raiders, whom he would soon take to two Super Bowl championships; and removing all “success” memorabilia from
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One writer declared that the San Francisco 49ers were the worst franchise in all of professional sports. Not just football—all professional sports.
There wasn’t enough space for a regulation-size football field, so the team used two “semifields” in Redwood City, California. The weight room was sparsely furnished with rusting weights, the showers ran cold if somebody flushed a toilet, and our offices were worn, sparse, and cramped.
Regardless of your specific job, it is vital to our team that you do that job at the highest possible level in all its various aspects, both mental and physical (i.e., good talent with bad attitude equals bad talent).
A philosophy is the aggregate of your attitudes toward fundamental matters and is derived from a process of consciously thinking about critical issues and developing rational reasons for holding one particular belief or position rather than another.
Exhibit a ferocious and intelligently applied work ethic directed at continual improvement;
seemingly incidental requirements as “no shirttails out,” “positive attitude,” “promptness,” “good sportsmanship (no strutting, no posturing, no cheap shots),” “never sit down while on the practice field,” “no tank tops in the dining area,” “control of profanity,” “no fighting,” “treat fans with respect and exhibit a professional demeanor,” and many more, including “no smoking on premises,” which applied to all of us.
After careful analysis, they identified thirty specific and separate physical skills—actions—that every offensive lineman needed to master in order to do his job at the highest level, everything from tackling to evasion, footwork to arm movement. Our coaches then created multiple drills for each one of those individual skills, which were then practiced relentlessly until their execution at the highest level was automatic—routine “perfection.”
Our groundskeepers raised their level of play to a point where Candlestick Park’s football field was increasingly among those in the best shape of any natural surface in the NFL, despite its proximity to San Francisco Bay, which produced a soggy subsoil and a mushy topsoil, and the effects of our winter rainy season.
In fact, to encourage positive thinking, pride, and self-esteem, I insisted that specific equipment carrying the emblem of the San Francisco 49ers be treated with respect. For example, players were told their practice helmets, which carried our emblem, should never be tossed around, sat on, or thrown in the bottom of their lockers: “Wear it, hold it, or put it on the shelf in your locker.” The same applied to their game helmets, of course.
Scouts, usually considered outliers who stopped by occasionally with information and opinions on prospects, were treated right by us. They came to feel like real members of our organization, rather than pizza delivery boys who showed up when called with hot tips about players.
“Let the opponent worry about that” was my thinking.
During this early period I began hiring personnel with four characteristics I value most highly: talent, character, functional intelligence (beyond basic intelligence, the ability to think on your feet, quickly and spontaneously), and an eagerness to adopt my way of doing things, my philosophy.
Victory is produced by and belongs to all.
Likewise, failure belongs to everyone.
We are united and fight as one; we win or lose as one.
team is all about at its best: connection and extension.
The leader’s job is to facilitate a battlefield-like sense of camaraderie among his or her personnel, an environment for people to find a way to bond together, to care about one another and the work they do, to feel the connection and extension so necessary for great results. Ultimately, it’s the strongest bond of all, even stronger than money.
There was no showboating allowed after touchdowns, no taunting of opponents, no demonstrations to attract attention to oneself, because one individual shouldn’t take credit for what our whole team had done.
People want to believe they’re part of something special, an organization that’s exceptional.
The culture precedes positive results. It doesn’t get tacked on as an afterthought on your way to the victory stand. Champions behave like champions before they’re champions; they have a winning standard of performance before they are winners.
constancy amid chaos or presumed perfection.
“consistent effort is a consistent challenge.”
Like water, many decent individuals will seek lower ground if left to their own inclinations. In most cases you are the one who inspires and demands they go upward rather than settle for the comfort of doing what comes easily.
There’s only so much thinking you can isolate and focus on during that kind of extreme competitive pressure.
The key to performing under pressure at the highest possible level, regardless of circumstance, is preparation in the context of your Standard of Performance and a thorough assimilation by your organization of the actions and attitudes contained within your philosophy of leadership.
Some leaders drive their team past being able to perform with poise and presence and into a state of anxiety where they’re not thinking as clearly as they should.
Technically, I was his vice president/director of football operations, or as I told people, “I’m in charge of everything that nobody else wants to do.”
Over the next ten years, I was heavily involved with contract negotiations, player personnel, scouts, equipment—everything except his coaching.
Brown was ahead of the rest of the league when it came to organization of time and management of people.
Bill liked to distinguish between coaches (no ties) and administration (ties).
He was demanding and tough, but people loved him even though he was insistent, a real stickler not only about playing football but about raising the image of the franchise from within.
