by J. Brown
I feel bad for Braxton Miller.
He's a superstar quarterblack, he gets his tuition (and maybe some other things) paid for at no expense to him, and he's arguably the most popular kid on one of the biggest college campuses in the country. If all that weren't enough, he probably has the most resume-boosting, upper crust-sounding name of any Black athlete ever. By most accounts, he should probably feel bad for me. I mean, the guy gets Twitter shout-outs from LeBron, for crying out loud. Despite all of this, I can't help but think about last year's NCAA College Football Championship and how it might have affected him.
After leading the Ohio State Buckeyes to a 12-2 record in 2013, Miller was expected to be a Heisman favorite in 2014. He had won Big Ten Offensive Player of the Year for the past two years in a row. The Buckeyes were ranked fifth in preseason polls. Things looked promising. But after Miller sustained a season-ending shoulder injury during a preseason practice, suddenly, it was all over.
As some of you know, the Buckeyes would go on to perform quite well without him. They finished the 2014 season with a 14-1 record, qualified for the first ever NCAA College Football Playoffs, and ending up winning the championship behind the heroics of Cardale Jones, who was the 3rd-string quarterback when the season started. As the confetti fell and the commentators waxed poetic about the resilience of the team and the abilities of their new undervalued leader, all I could think about was Braxton Miller. How does he feel? Sure, his team just won a national championship, but they did it without him from start to finish. They didn't even need him, and they actually fared better without him. What's worse: He was basically forgotten. I re-watched the closing moments of the championship game on YouTube, and the cameras never even showed his face during the celebration.
Was he happy about this? Did he enjoy seeing his team win it all, or was he a little bit salty that they did it with him standing on the sideline? Can star athletes truly enjoy wins that they didn't affect in any significant way?
I'm reminded too of Kevin Durant, who suffered from a season-ending injury during this year's NBA season. Though he was the NBA's reigning MVP, his team made a serious playoff push while he watched from the bench, led by the fiery Russell Westbrook. I wonder if a small part of him was actually happy that the Thunder ended up missing the playoffs, simply because their failure proved how much they truly needed him. I recognize that sounds selfish, and if you asked Durant, he'd probably deny it. But I can't help but feel like most athletes have a desire to be necessary. This desire, I imagine, is only further compounded within superstars, who have actually been needed by every teammate and coach they've ever had since they were 12. It must be quite humbling to one day realize, "Hey, you know what? You're really good and all, but they don't actually need you as much as you thought they did."
There's a certain level of vanity attached to responsibility. I spent the past four years as a middle school teacher in urban Washington, DC. On a number of occasions, I can recall teaching lessons that were completely lost on my students. While these occurrences were extremely frustrating, they always felt like something to build on. I knew that if I started the lesson from a different perspective, or changed the delivery of the content, or provided them with a different method, they'd eventually get it. That's what I truly believed. Some of that confidence stemmed from my decision to approach teaching with a growth mindset, but I also realize that some of it was based on my belief that I was a really good teacher.
Since I knew how much my students needed me to deliver the lessons effectively, I gained confidence every time a lesson was well-received. When I saw the positive effect that my teaching methods would have on their understanding, it was a boost to my pride. Despite how much I complained about teaching, there was a certain part of me that reveled in the fact that I was needed. I don't think I would have thought as highly of myself as a teacher had I worked in a school where all the kids were already performing above grade level. In that setting, I might not have had the opportunity to really prove how good I was.
Now, let's compare that same idea back to sports. Don't you think athletes revel in the fact that their teams need them to perform well? And wouldn't that boost in pride help them to continue playing at a high level? That extra dependence is what separates them from everybody else, and they know it. It's the telling sign that helps them realize that they are the superstars.
People in sports media always talk about how stars like LeBron James or Henrik Lundqvist or Tom Brady have all this extra pressure because their teams are constantly relying on them to play well in order to win. But I don't think they see it like that at all. I think they actually enjoy the fact that their teams are relying on them to win. The opposite would be if their teams didn't need them at all. I feel like the lack of responsibility would be more stressful for them than any extra pressure that great expectations may bring.
But what about players who are on the other side of this conversation? What about guys like Jarvis Varnado, Dennis Hopson, and Gerard King? If you're not familiar with those names, that because you shouldn't be. They're all former NBA players, none of whom were able to maintain a place in the league for any longer than 5 years. But they're all NBA champions with the rings to prove it. So, what's to be said for them? If you asked them about the championships they won, do you think they'd grin from ear to ear, beaming with pride like their old teammates Jordan, Duncan and Wade probably would? Or would they just shrug and say, "Yeah, I guess that team was pretty good"?
I've always wondered how bench players on successful teams coped with their role. On the one hand, they're a part of something special, and they get to see greatness up close & personal night in and night out. On the other hand, though, they're little more than glorified spectators. Sure, if they're in the pros, they're probably getting paid more than you and I to simply suit up and watch the action. That's certainly a great perk. But you've got to imagine that many of those guys would give up being a non-factor on a successful team to be a necessity on a team that wasn't so good.
In "The Jordan Rules", a book that follows the Chicago Bulls during the 1990-91 season, there's a part where one of the players is complaining about how he felt like he was being under-utilized and unappreciated. The Bulls had been playing well and were in the midst of a solid win streak heading into the playoffs. But this player (I can't remember which one, and I struggled to find this particular page retroactively) expressed that he'd rather be on a worse team where he could show off his talents. The Bulls won the 1991 NBA title; the player signed with a different team that summer.
I realize that, to some, this idea sounds petty. Conventional sports knowledge teaches us to value the team over self, and to prioritize winning over all else. If this were truly the case, then individual contributions should be insignificant. But we know that this isn't the case at all. In today's day and age, with sports contracts continuing to climb through the roof, it's become all the more important to prove your individual worth, the successes of the team be damned.
MLB pitcher Cliff Lee has made over $130 million throughout his 13-year career, despite getting to two World Series and losing both. Former NBA forward Chris Webber made over $178 million over the span on his career, and he never even made it to the NBA Finals a single time. Webber didn't get paid well because he was a winner - he got paid because he was really good. Even though he never took any of his teams all the way, the teams he played for still needed him in order to even be competitive. While I'm sure Webber still wishes he could have won an NBA championship, I'm also pretty sure Jarvis Varnado would switch careers with him in a heartbeat.
So what's to be said for Braxton Miller? Truth be told, we may never know what he was really thinking. But I can bet that watching Ohio State win without him gave him even more motivation to guide them to another championship this season, this time with him as the leader. One thing's for certain: whether it be in sports, business, or elsewhere, people work harder when they know what they're doing truly matters. In the end, we all just want to be necessary.
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