supposed to play off blocks—dodge them, if you will—and
get to the ball. But Brandon continued
to confront opposing
blockers head-on, which kept him from getting to the
ballcarrier. His coach pleaded with him to avoid blockers,
but Brandon couldn’t change. He loved to hit. Flattening
opposing players was a source of pride.
Both his coach and I kept trying to explain it to him.
And every time we got the worst possible answer—“
You’re
right.” He agreed,
in theory, but he didn’t own the
conclusion. Then he would go right back to the behavior we
were trying to get him to stop. He would smash blockers
and take himself out of the play.
Why is “you’re right” the worst answer?
Consider this: Whenever someone is bothering you, and
they just won’t let up, and they won’t
listen to anything you
have to say, what do you tell them to get them to shut up
and go away? “You’re right.”
It works every time. Tell people “you’re right” and they
get a happy smile on their face and leave you alone for at
least twenty-four hours. But you haven’t agreed to their
position. You have used “you’re right” to get them to quit
bothering you.
I was in the same situation with Brandon. He didn’t hear
me and embrace my request. What could I say to get
through to this kid? How could
I reach Brandon and help
him change course?
I thought back to Benjie and Sabaya. I took Brandon
aside before a crucial game. I had searched my mind for a
way to hear the two critical words, “That’s right.”
“You seem to think it’s unmanly to dodge a block,” I
told him. “You think it’s cowardly to get out of someone’s
way that’s trying to hit you.”
Brandon stared at me and paused.
“That’s right,” he said.
With those words Brandon
embraced the reality of what
was holding him back. Once he understood why he was
trying to knock down every blocker, he changed course. He
started avoiding the blocks and became an exceptionally
fine linebacker.
With Brandon on the field tackling and playing star
linebacker, St. Thomas More School won every game.
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