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The Score Takes Care of Itself: My Philosophy of Leadership [Format Kindle]

Bill Walsh , Steve Jamison , Craig Walsh

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Descriptions du produit

Extrait

How to Know if You’re Doing the Job

When I give a speech at a corporate event, I often ask those in attendance,“Do you know how to tell if you’re doing the job?” As heads start whisperingback and forth, I provide these clues: “If you’re up at 3 A.M. every nighttalking into a tape recorder and writing notes on scraps of paper, have aknot in your stomach and a rash on your skin, are losing sleep and losingtouch with your wife and kids, have no appetite or sense of humor, andfeel that everything might turn out wrong, then you’re probably doingthe job.”

This always gets a laugh, but not a very big one. Those executives in theaudience recognize there is a significant price to pay to be the best. Thatprice is not something they laugh at.

Coaches Aren’t Supposed to Cry:
Survive One Minute at a Time

In my second year as head coach of the San Francisco 49ers, we were preparingto play the defending AFC East champions, Don Shula’s powerfulMiami Dolphins, a team that was formidable, especially at home in theOrange Bowl.

The showdown came in week eleven of our schedule and at theworst possible moment for me because after a great start to my second season— three straight wins against the New Orleans Saints, St. LouisCardinals, and New York Jets—we had lost seven consecutive games.Our year was imploding. (The previous season, my first as head coach, ourrecord had been 2–14, which meant that since I had taken over leadershipof the 49ers we had won five games and lost twenty- one, the worst recordin the NFL.)

A loss to Miami on Sunday would be our eighth in a row and likelyhave enormous consequences, including the possibility of my being terminatedor at least being put on a “death watch” by the media— an unofficiallame duck and powerless coach.

Conversely, I recognized that a victory against the Dolphins wouldstop the hemorrhaging and provide hope for salvaging the last part of ourseason, which, in turn, could have a positive impact on the following year.Huge stakes were on the table. I was somewhat hopeful, perhaps evenoptimistic.

Nevertheless, the professional and personal magnitude of the upcomingMiami–San Francisco game clouded the entire week’s practice for meand created a brittleness in my behavior that was out of character. I wasbrusque, short-tempered, and not as tuned in as I should have been.

The game itself— played in suffocating Florida heat and humidity—turned into a bruising battle in front of over seventy-five thousand screamingDolphin fans who had packed themselves into the stadium. For the49ers it was like going to a wild party to which you are uninvited andunwelcome— everybody tries to throw you out the window.

Miami’s tropical sun had pushed daytime temperatures into the nineties,and dusk didn’t bring them down. In fact, the heat seemed to getworse, as if we were playing in a swamp, trying to move in quicksand.None of this appeared to affect Coach Shula’s team. They built an earlylead and held onto it throughout the game. It seemed evident that we wereheaded for our eighth straight defeat— a potentially disastrous event.

However, with time running down— less than two minutesremaining— 49er kicker Ray Wersching, perhaps the league’s best fieldgoal specialist, calmly nailed a winner to get us within a point: 17–16.Immediately, the entire San Francisco bench leaped up, pumping theirfists and yelling wildly. You could feel this huge surge in momentum erupt. Unfortunately, it was a short- lived surge; our field goal did not count. Tomy dismay, a holding penalty was called against us and the score was nullified. Quickly, I again nodded at Ray, who strapped on his helmet, trottedout, and calmly kicked another field goal from five yards farther back.Again, raucous cheers erupted on our bench, but immediately another flagwas thrown and another penalty called against us.

Now the line of scrimmage put us out of field-goal range and forced usinto a passing situation; we needed a first down to retain possession of theball. Quickly, we completed a pass that gave us just enough yards to pickup the first down. The 49ers had survived for the moment, stayed alive. Orso it seemed.

As I watched in disbelief, a linesman raced in and gave Miami a spotso friendly it could have gotten him elected to local public office. Ourdrive had been stopped three times in a row under increasingly outrageouscircumstances. What made it maddening was that Shula had been beratingofficials throughout the game whenever they made a call against theDolphins. This seemed to be his reward— a spot he had to love and twopenalties against us on the previous plays. As bad as the 49er season hadbecome, nothing this agonizing and damaging had happened to us before.And the crowd loved it.

Sensing the imminent kill, fans went into a stadium- wide uproar as wesilently turned the ball back to Miami— the game essentially over as theDolphins extended our losing streak to eight games with their 17–13 victory.The pain of that loss haunts me even now as I think about those finalseconds ticking off the clock.

It was a horrible and numbing defeat, overwhelming for me becauseof its potential impact— a job I had worked for my entire adult life wasin jeopardy— but also because of the stupid, self-inflicted, almost suicidalway in which we lost. As the crowd roared its approval and Miami playersand fans swarmed over the field, I stood alone on the sideline in a cocoonof grief, emotionally gutted, wondering if I had the strength to even getback to our locker room.

Unless you’ve experienced this type of emotional shock and the bleakinterior landscape it creates, it’s hard to comprehend the impact. Thememory never leaves you and acts as both a positive and negative force, spurring you to work harder and harder while also creating a fear insidethat it might happen again. (For me, that fear eventually became morethan I could handle.)

Now Shula trotted briskly across the field to shake hands and offer afew perfunctory words of condolence. I have no clue as to what he said,but even though I was in some state of shock, instincts took over. I offeredmy hand; he shook it, shouted something in my ear, and disappeared backinto the public pandemonium and celebration at midfield.

The next few hours— until we got out of the stadium complex andarrived at the Miami airport— remain a blur. I can’t remember what, ifanything, I said to the players and coaches in the locker room or reportersin the press room. Probably I was on some kind of automatic pilot andexperiencing what victims of violence go through when they blot out thememory of the assault.

While the moments immediately following that game are missing inmy mind, the long trip home is vivid. Coaches aren’t supposed to cry, butI’m not ashamed to admit that on the night flight back to San FranciscoI sat in my seat in the first row of the plane and broke down sobbing inthe darkness. I felt like a casualty of war being airlifted away from thebattlefield.

Bill McPherson, Neal Dahlen, John McVay, Norb Hecker, and some ofthe other San Francisco assistant coaches and staff understood the grief Iwas experiencing and shielded me from any players who might come intothe area— they huddled around my seat, blocking off view of me, whilemaking small talk and eating peanuts, acting like we were all involved inthe conversation.

Believe me, I was not participating in whatever it was they said or eatingpeanuts as I slumped down, depressed, in my dark little space, contemplatingwhether I should offer my resignation. Most debilitating ofall— devastating— was a gnawing fear that I didn’t have what it takes tobe an NFL head coach. At one point I actually decided to hand in my resignationthe next morning; then I changed my mind.

I have tried to describe my anguish, but the words come up short.Everything I had dreamed of professionally for a quarter of a century wasin jeopardy just eighteen months after being realized. And yet there wassomething else going on inside me, a “voice” from down deeper than theemotions, something stirring that I had learned over many years in footballand, before that, growing up; namely, I must stand and fight again,stand and fight or it was all over.

And that was the instinct that slowly prevailed as we headed home inthe middle of a very dark night. I knew that in a matter of seven days theNew York Giants were coming to town with the sole intent of making surethat neither I nor the San Francisco 49ers would stand and fight again.In my mind— or gut— and in spite of the pain, I knew I had to forcemyself to somehow start looking ahead— to overcome my grief over thedebacle in Miami— or it would severely damage our efforts to prepare properlyfor the battle with New York; my comportment would directly affectthe attitudes and performance of everyone who looked to me for answersand direction. I had to do what I was being paid to do: be a leader.

I wish I could tell you that’s what happened— that I simply turned aswitch and was magically transformed from an emotional basket case intoan invincible field general. It wasn’t that way. It took time for me to stopdespairing and regain some composure, to settle down and start thinkingstraight, but gradually, during those hard hours on the flight back toCalifornia, I began pulling myself together.

In the NFL events occur— hit you— at supersonic speeds with volcanicforce during the regular season. There aren’t months or weeks to recover,not even days. Usually only hours or minutes. While you’re throwing awolf out the back door, another is banging on your front door and twomore are trying to crawl through the windows. I could hear the New YorkGiants at our front door.

I can say with some pride that by the time we landed at San FranciscoInternational Airport at 3:15 A.M. after a six- hour flight, I had pulledmyself out of the hopelessness and begun working on the strategy wewould employ against the Giants when they arrived in a week. I was wobblybut back up on my feet again. I even ate a couple of bags of peanutsand drank some orange juice.

Those awful feelings brought on by the events in Miami were in retreatbecause I was able to summon strength enough to pull my focus, my thinking,out of the past and move it forward to our next big problem. It doestake strength to shift your attention off the pain when you feel as thoughyour soul has been stripped bare.

At times like that I would think back to my days as an amateur boxer,when I’d see a guy knocked fl at on his back and then awkwardly struggleto one shaky knee. Everything is blurry, his balance is gone, consciousnessis tenuous, he’s bleeding and bruised, but as bad as things are there is onemessage he hears ringing inside his head: “Stand up, boy; stand up andfight.” I know because as a young man I was that boxer.

NFL football is no different from any professional endeavor, boxingor business or anything where the stakes are significant and the competitionextreme: When knocked down, you must get up; you must stand andfight.

When the inevitable setback, loss, failure, or defeat comes crashingdown on you— losing a big sale, being passed over for a career- makingpromotion, even getting fired— allow yourself the “grieving time,” butthen recognize that the road to recovery and victory lies in having thestrength to get up off the mat and start planning your next move.

This is how you must think if you want to win. Otherwise youhave lost.

For me, on that flight back home after the Miami loss, it meant workingone minute at a time— literally— to regain composure, confidence,and direction.

Failure is part of success, an integral part. Everybody gets knockeddown. Knowing it will happen and what you must do when it does is thefirst step back. It’s what got me up after being knocked down and almostout in Miami. I knew I had to stand and start facing the imminent challengeof a battle with the New York Giants.

One other thing about that upcoming game: On Sunday we defeatedthe Giants 12–0 at Candlestick Park and regained a little equilibrium,even momentum. A week later we beat New England 21–17; the next weekthe 49ers engineered one of the greatest comebacks in NFL history. Trailingat the half, 35–7, we defeated New Orleans in overtime, 38–35.

In fact, in spite of losing to the Atlanta Falcons and Buffalo Bills in ourlast two games to finish with a 6–10 record, the worst was over. Unbeknownstto me, we had hit rock bottom against the Dolphins. Sixteenmonths after I spent part of a transcontinental flight experiencing an emotionalmeltdown, the San Francisco 49ers became world champions, defeating the Cincinnati Bengals 26–21 at the Silverdome in Pontiac, Michigan,in Super Bowl XVI. In fact, a football dynasty was in the works.

During the ensuing fourteen years, the San Francisco 49ers won fiveSuper Bowls. It happened only because at the moment of deepest despair Ihad the strength to stand and confront the future instead of wallowing inthe past. Many can’t summon the strength; they can’t get up; their fight isover. Victory goes to another, a stronger competitor.

Competition at the highest level in sports or business producesgut-ripping setbacks. When you’re fighting for your survival professionally,struggling when virtually no one else knows or cares, and there’snobody to bail you out, that’s when you might remind yourself of my owndark night of despair.

When you stand and overcome a significant setback, you’ll find anincreasing inner confidence and self- assurance that has been created by conqueringdefeat. Absorbing and overcoming this kind of punishment engendersa sober, steely toughness that results in a hardened sense of independenceand a personal belief that you can take on anything, survive and win.

The competitor who won’t go away, who won’t stay down, has one ofthe most formidable competitive advantages of all. When the worst happens,as it did to me, I was helped by knowing what it took to be that kindof competitor— to not go away, to get up and fight back.

The Miami game was not the last time I faced a grim situation as headcoach, but when downturns occurred during the upcoming years, I triedto adhere to some simple dos and don’ts for mental and emotional equilibriumin my personal and professional life; nothing profound, just a fewplain and uncomplicated reminders that helped me manage things mentallyand stay afloat:

My Five Dos for Getting Back into the Game:

  1. Do expect defeat. It’s a given when the stakes are high andthe competition is working ferociously to beat you. If you’resurprised when it happens, you’re dreaming; dreamers don’tlast long.
  2. Do force yourself to stop looking backward and dwellingon the professional “train wreck” you have just been in.It’s mental quicksand.
  3. Do allow yourself appropriate recovery— grieving— time.You’ve been knocked senseless; give yourself a little time torecuperate. A keyword here is “little.” Don’t let it drag on.
  4. Do tell yourself, “I am going to stand and fight again,”with the knowledge that often when things are at theirworst you’re closer than you can imagine to success. OurSuper Bowl victory arrived less than sixteen months after my“train wreck” in Miami.
  5. Do begin planning for your next serious encounter. Thesmallest steps— plans— move you forward on the road torecovery. Focus on the fix.
  • My Five Don’ts:

    1. Don’t ask, “Why me?”
    2. Don’t expect sympathy.
    3. Don’t bellyache.
    4. Don’t keep accepting condolences.
    5. Don’t blame others.
  • Revue de presse

    "Bill Walsh was one of the NFL's all-time best; a creative genius, a master at management, and a brilliant student of human nature. The Score Takes Care of Itself is his own personal and powerful road map to success as a leader whether in professional football or anywhere else. Terrific reading; tremendous insights."
    -Roger Goodell, commissioner of the NFL

    "The Score Takes Care of Itself is a leadership classic-a magnificent step-by-step tutorial on how to achieve success. It is practical, profound, and perfect for today's ultracompetitive business environment. Indispensable reading."
    -Pat Williams, senior vice president of the Orlando Magic and author of What Are You Living For?

    "The Score Takes Care of Itself is not about football. It's about how to treat people right. How to get the best out of the people around you. How to be a highly effective leader. I am thankful that this book about Bill Walsh's leadership point of view is now available to inspire countless leaders to come."
    -Ken Blanchard, coauthor of The One Minute Manager(r) and Leading at a Higher Level

    "Bill's personal examples of how he implemented and executed each of these steps in the transformation of the San Francisco 49ers creates a fascinating story of business, football, and triumph. More than anything, Bill's story reminds business leaders that success is not accidental but rather the result of deliberate and tenacious preparation."
    -John F. Milligan, Ph.D., president and COO of Gilead Sciences, Inc.

    Détails sur le produit

    • Format : Format Kindle
    • Taille du fichier : 762 KB
    • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 300 pages
    • Editeur : Portfolio (3 juillet 2009)
    • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
    • Langue : Anglais
    • ASIN: B002G54Y04
    • Synthèse vocale : Activée
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    • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°186.435 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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    Il n'y a pas encore de commentaires clients sur Amazon.fr
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    Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)
    Amazon.com: 4.7 étoiles sur 5  81 commentaires
    38 internautes sur 39 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
    5.0 étoiles sur 5 "But here's the lesson I learned...." 20 août 2009
    Par Robert Morris - Publié sur Amazon.com
    Format:Relié
    Whenever a list of the NFL's greatest coaches is formulated, Bill Walsh's name is usually included with those of other Hall of Famers such as Paul Brown, George Hallas, Tom Landry, Vince Lombardi, Chuck Noll, and Don Shula. I was especially eager to read this book, written with Steve Jamison and his only surviving son, Craig, because I wanted to gain a much better understanding of Bill Walsh's leadership style and management preferences during an illustrious career as a head coach in the NFL: a record of 102-63-1 with the San Francisco 49ers, winning ten of his fourteen postseason games along with six division titles, three NFC Championship titles, and three Super Bowls. He was named the NFL's Coach of the Year in 1981 and 1984.

    Especially in recent years, there have been many articles and books written about how to develop peak performers. (Some of the best observations and insights are provided by Erika Andersen in her book, Growing Great Employees.) The most highly-admired CEOs tend be those who were especially effective developing high-impact leaders among those in middle management. At GE, Jack Welch devoted at least 20% of his time to mentoring high-potential middle managers and his successor, Jeff Immelt, continues to do so. Given that, now consider the fact that a total of 24 head coaches in the NFL were once an assistant coach on his staff at one time, and many of them led teams to victory in the Super Bowl (e.g. Brian Billick, Jon Gruden, Mike Holmgren, George Seifert, Mike Shanahan). Some of Walsh's greatest skills were those of a teacher. Many who recalled their association with him after his death (from leukemia in 2007) made it a point to praise his intellect, energy, scope and depth of knowledge, enthusiasm, insatiable curiosity, and especially his passion to help others to understand what great success required and how to achieve it.

    In the introductory essay, "A Leader's Book for Leaders," Craig Walsh identifies five "key" players in his father's life: Joe Montana (the first quarterback he drafted who led the 49ers to all of their Super Bowl victories), John McVay (vice president and director of the 49ers' operations while Walsh was head coach), Mike White (a long-time personal friend and a fellow assistant coach at U. Cal Berkeley), Bill McPherson (a defensive assistant coach while Walsh coached the 49ers), and Randy Cross ("a great offensive lineman [and a] member of the San Francisco 49ers for thirteen years including his first three, which were pre--Bill Walsh seasons"). All of them accepted an invitation to "contribute their analyses of the leadership philosophy of Bill Walsh and expand on the comprehensive lessons my father offers [in this book]...these five were asked and kindly accepted the invitation to more fully explain the `genius' of Bill Walsh." Their contributions are substantial. Nonetheless, this is still Bill Walsh's book.

    In the Foreword, "His Standard of Performance," Montana praises Walsh's ability "to teach people how to think and play at a different and much higher, and, at times, perfect level." How? Three ways: sharing a tremendous knowledge of all aspects of the game, assembling a highly competent staff as well as coaches "who knew how to coach" and who complemented the intensive instruction that Walsh provided on and off the field, and finally, developing a hatred of mistakes. "He was extremely demanding without a lot of noise...great at making people great students" and "ran a pretty tight ship, but he knew when to let us. He didn't beat up players mentally of physically." On the contrary, he assembled teams whose players who had to be highly intelligent to understand the immensely complicated strategies and game plans for which Walsh was noted throughout his career. He may have been the most cerebral head coach in the league's history. That said, Craig Walsh also reveals that his father "was an outsider; he wanted to be an insider. What he found along the way professionally, starting in his days as an assistant coach, was an unwillingness by others to `let him in.' He didn't have the pedigree -and athletic résumé from a big-name school or assistant coaching credentials from a big college program." Nonetheless, what he accomplished as a coach was eventually considered sufficient for election to the NFL Hall of Fame.

    I was fascinated to learn that Twelve O'clock High was one of Walsh's favorite films and that he identified with the lead character, General Frank Savage (portrayed brilliantly by Gregory Peck) who commanded the 918th Bomber group during World War II. "My father loved that movie because it told the story of what he did in football, and what happened to him as a result, in the context of something he loved - the military."

    The account of Walsh's career is enlightening. There are important business lessons to be learned from his leadership and management, especially during periods of failure as well as of success. This is what his son means when referring to "his ferocious competitive instinct, and his singular brilliance as a strategist, organizer, and team builder," who "produced historic results." However, what I found riveting is the multi-dimensional portrait of a profoundly human Bill Walsh that emerges gradually as the narrative proceeds, an "outsider" obsessed with "proving them all wrong." He did that and, with what he so generously shares in this book, can continue to help others learn "how to be as great as they can be."
    9 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
    5.0 étoiles sur 5 The Exceptional Assembly Line Comes Before the Quality Car: 6 mai 2012
    Par Coach R - Publié sur Amazon.com
    Format:Relié|Achat vérifié
    Great insights into the ideas that took Bill Walsh to the pinnacle of the coaching profession and the stressors that wore him down. The "Score Takes Care of Itself" relates to Walsh's "Standard of Performance" and the idea that if you have a consistently high quality process that you will produce a high quality product. You will always be in the base camp, close to the summit: As a coach, this book will help you build the assembly line. The quality car (and football team) will follow:

    Bill Walsh on the Standard of Performance:
    * Culture precedes positive results. It doesn't get tacked on as an afterthought on the way to the victory stand. Champions behave like champions before they are champions.
    * The exceptional assembly line comes before the quality car - strive to make your assembly line better and better.
    * All we can do is increase the probability of success. Do it by intelligently and relentlessly seeking solutions that will increase your chances of prevailing in a competitive environment. When you do that, the score will take care of itself.
    * Teach players to hate mistakes in games and practice - if you aim for perfection and miss, you're still pretty good...if you aim for mediocrity...
    * "Organizational excellence evolves from the perfection of details relevant to performance and production."
    * "I know what is required for us to win. I will show you what it is."
    * "There are winners and there are people who would like to be winners but just don't know how to do it."
    10 internautes sur 11 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
    4.0 étoiles sur 5 an amazing book in kind of a strange way 13 novembre 2010
    Par Amazon Customer - Publié sur Amazon.com
    Achat vérifié
    What is amazing about this book is not the writing or the insight into leadership (there are some good lessons). But how candid and introspective it is. This is a bit of Bill Walsh bearing his soul. It clearly shows his drive and creativity but it also shows his loneliness and insecurity. Is is also very direct and candid about the people around him. He doesn't hold back his praise or criticism of anybody, including himself. I'm not sure what to make of this book. There are some leadership lessons weaved into lots of personal stories. But that doesn't really seem to be what it is about overall. It is quite a life story. I'm left with a strange feeling. I think I know a lot more about Bill Walsh now but I'm not sure if I feel happy or sorry for him. You decide.
    5 internautes sur 6 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
    5.0 étoiles sur 5 the score takes care of itself 5 juin 2010
    Par Melvin Barnes - Publié sur Amazon.com
    Achat vérifié
    Bill Walsh was an humble man who simply had a plan and the means and opportunity to implement them. His plan was radically different from traditional football coaches but it spawned much success for himself and those whom he mentored. His methods are still successful today. The author Steve Jamison did an excellent job of printing the book posthumously which took a lot of integrity and is a bright spot for the field of journalism. I loved the book and I keep it near so that I can refer to it often. The finishing touch by Walshes son, Craig was an appropriate conclusion to the book. It was good to hear about the man from someone up close and personal. I recommend it for anyone who thinks they are having a difficult time in a leadership position. Again Excellent book!
    7 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
    5.0 étoiles sur 5 Thoroughly Enjoyable and Instructive 30 septembre 2009
    Par R. Bailin - Publié sur Amazon.com
    Format:Relié
    I've just completed reading the subject book and came away thoroughly impressed with the late coach's philosophies. One doesn't associate his level of intellect with the NFL and in retrospect, his success seems almost inevitable. His attention to detail was absolute and he was a true visionary, changing the game forever w/ the fabled west coast offense. I found myself wondering at times if he ever questioned the career path that he'd chosen. With his intellect, he probably could've succeeded in many other disciplines and at the end of his life, was he truly satisfied with his legacy as a "football coach"?
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