Your own version of "Billy Ball"

When I was attending Brigham Young University, I tried out for the golf team. Twice.

Once as a freshman.

Once as a senior.

The open-tryout for the golf team consisted of four 18-hole rounds of golf, with a cut after the first two rounds. I do not remember much about my tryout as a freshman, but I know I was not surprised to be cut after the initial 36 holes.

As a senior, I was approved to play all four rounds of the tryout. In fact, of the dozen or so guys that tried out, I posted the second-best score of the group (albeit, I finished ten shots behind the lowest score by the time all play was completed).

I recognized when the tryout was over that my performance over the four rounds was probably not at the level of a “Starting Division I Golfer”. However, I also knew there were enough open spots on the team roster for me to be included without kicking someone else off. Thinking the numbers were on my side, I went to the coach after the final round to plead my case. If nothing else, I was hoping to have the chance to practice with the team and to try to improve.

Coach Brockbank was sympathetic, but he did not mince words:

“It’s clear that you try very hard at this…but I just don’t think you have very much natural talent.”

And with that, I was not extended an invitation to join the team.

As you might imagine, it’s tough to be 21 years old and have somebody tell you that you don’t have much natural talent at something you’ve loved to do for almost your entire life. But I’ve always been more of a “I’ll prove you wrong” kind of guy instead of “Feel bad and mope” person (See Notre Dame), so I walked away from the interaction with a chip on my shoulder.

Since that day in Provo, there have been undeniable highlights in my golfing career. A couple tournament wins, a few successful State Qualifiers, and many days on the golf course to be proud of.

But the point of this post isn’t to tell you how I showed Coach Brockbank he was wrong. In fact, it’s kind of the opposite.

In the decade since I was cut from the BYU Cougars golf team for a second time, I’ve seen what “natural talent” looks like at the Division I level of golf.

And I don’t look like that at all.

I didn’t then. And I don’t now.

Pops and I standing with our buddy Patrick who plays D1 golf for Northern Illinois. He’s a better reflection of D1 golf talent.

It’s not that I’m a bad golfer. I think I’m a decent golfer.

But I’m not like them. And unless the Captain America serum becomes available to the public, I don’t expect that will change anytime soon.

It has taken time, but I have finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be a D1 golfer. I have not given up on the idea that I can still compete with them. I’ll just have to play the game in a different way than they do.

Much to blame for this naive optimism is one of my favorite movies, “Moneyball”.

If by some chance you haven’t seen the movie, here’s a one sentence summary:

Moneyball is about the Oakland A’s 2002 baseball season where the A’s used unprecedented analytics and statistics to target under-valued players in order to field a competitive team, despite a heavily constrained budget.

There are a lot of great scenes from that movie, but this is one that I think about often.

Billy Beane (played by Brad Pitt), General Manager of the Oakland Athletics, is talking to his talent scouts about how they need to drastically alter their approach to finding players. The team lost three key players from the prior season, and all of the scouts are trying to figure out how to get three similar guys back on the roster when Billy says-

“In this league there are good teams, and there are bad teams, then there’s 50 feet of crap, then there’s us….if we try to play like the New York Yankees in here, we will LOSE to the New York Yankees out there.”

I think about this quote often, both in my approach to competition, as well as my approach to business endeavors. I don’t I think that my professional career nor my golf game sit under “50 feet of crap” as Billy Beane so eloquently described it, but I don’t think I’m the New York Yankees either. And inevitably, it’s very easy to want to be the New York Yankees: They have money, they’re consistently successful, and everybody knows who they are.

But maybe I should try to be more like the Oakland A’s (of 2002)?

In both golf and my professional endeavors, if I try to play like the New York Yankees, I’ll lose to them. I don’t have the biggest advertising budget. I don’t have the longest drive. I don’t have a hundred employees to delegate tasks to. I don’t have 4 hours a day to practice chipping.

So what do I have? What do any of us have that the New York Yankees don’t have?

The Oakland A’s had someone who was willing to take a chance. Someone who was self-aware of their own situation. And perhaps above all else, someone who was willing to think for themselves and use factual information to build an argument for a new way of doing things.

And if you think this is all cliche underdog nonsense, consider this-

Since the A’s brought “Moneyball” to life during the 2002 season, the Yankees have won a single World Series in 24 baseball seasons.

Before the 2002 Moneyball season? The Yankees had won four of the prior six World Series titles.

Our world is filled with “truths” that are nothing more than present realities, fluffed up by years of repeated behavior and ignorant statements from those who wish to shun free-thought. I believe one of the greatest dangers to these “truths” is a person who understands the current limitations of themselves and the world around them. A person in such mind knows what ground they intend to build on.

How can you enact real change if you don’t even understand what needs changing? Or perhaps more invaluable: How can you change the world around you if you don’t recognize what can be changed and what cannot?

It can be difficult to come to terms with the fact that you are not the New York Yankees.

But it’s probably the first step towards beating them.