Playing The Game Of Life

I don't make New Year's resolutions. Which is not to say I don't try and make changes in my life - alter patterns, try new things, ditch bad habits - I just don't feel the need to do any of those things on a prescribed day.

There is one thing I want to accomplish this year though, I want to write more. I have the time, I never run out of ideas to write about and I want to improve that talent. My children's story, The Last Maple Leaf, which I wrote in 1999 is now in final editing and the search for an illustrator is a work in progress.

I'll begin early in 2021 on my blog page - TWS The Wright Stuff. Looking back, I see I only wrote one post in 2020, one in 2019... and not a single post in 2017 or 2018. No wonder I have so few followers... not much to follow!

Here is a philosophy I have been pondering during the pandemic - the circle of life (the theme in The Last Maple Leaf), and the future. 

A couple of years ago while gazing into a night sky, it occurred to me that my life was being lived out in quarters... like a football game. Last year, I determined those quarters to be 23 years each. 

Call it the famous 23 Skidoo outside The Flatiron Building in Manhattan.

https://www.loc.gov/item/00694379/

The first twenty-three the learning years, the next twenty-three the driven/growing years. The third twenty-three the productive years. I have one year of my third quarter left before I take the ball and embark upon a final twenty-three years of writing, volunteering, traveling, mentoring and being a better friend to my friends.

If I am honest, with whatever time I have left... I want to make a difference... and I don't want to turn down any challenge I deem worthwhile. And no, I'm not predicting that I will live to 92. The game could be called early for weather - or maybe it goes into overtime. If it does, I hope I am fit enough to play it out!

A very wise man once suggested we could think about life as a sporting event. "What makes it exciting and interesting?", he asked. The answer: It is interesting and exciting because we don't know how it will turn out. What twists and turns will occur as the game nears the end? Excitement until the final whistle, the last at bat, the winning goal... are what keeps it interesting.

Now consider a game that never ends... just goes on forever. Neither interesting nor exciting.

Playing the game of life is playing a game that ends, make yours worth watching!

Right up to the final play.

It's In The Cards

In 1986 I joined the sports marketing agency IMG. It was equal parts exciting and scary (funny how those two emotions frequently travel together - think roller coasters). Exciting because being a lifelong fan of sports it had never occurred to me that I could combine what I loved, with my vocation. Scary because after a relatively successful career in the packaged goods industry, making a dramatic shift seemed risky... and that is an understatement.

So fourteen years into my career, here I was, running the event division at IMG Canada - my experience? I'd been to many sporting events - full stop.

In those early days at IMG I was flying by the seat of my pants and I did not think I was making progress quickly enough in my new position. One day I read, "Success is a journey, not a destination." It resonated with me so I wrote it on the back of one of my business cards and set it on my desk in a visible location. Interestingly, that simple phrase has served me well many times since that day.

A couple of months later, another quotation caught my eye so I pulled out another card and wrote the phrase down, noting the month and year - and a collection was born. I would shuffle the deck on Mondays and whichever quotation ended up on top would be my words of wisdom for that week.


"Only the mediocre are always at their best." 

I like them best when you have to give some thought to the meaning.


"You'll be amazed what you can accomplish if you don't stop to quiet every barking dog."

Stay focused, not every problem is your problem.



"The speed of the leader is the speed of the gang."

Watch any championship team and you'll see the coach and/or the captain sets the tempo. Everyone want to stay with the pack. If the leader is tentative and indecisive... so go the troops.



In retrospect, these business cards, fifteen in all (including numerous positions at IMG over twenty years), are a map of my business life. I can tell by the title on the card and the date I wrote the quotation, exactly what was going on at the time. 

I remember in 1993, on a gut feel, I took IMG into the wacky world of International Airport advertising. We had no expertise, no track record and very little in-depth knowledge of how that worked. I had a hunch we could remake the business model from one of selling individual signage positions, to a partnership/sponsorship model (which IMG had invented and was a global leader in). I had very few supporters and in the end, we gambled.

Among other 'firsts' - Harrods first branch anchored retail at Toronto T3.

"If you're going to walk on thin ice - you might as well dance."

We were, and we did... and we won.

I've been a fan of Katherine Hepburn's all of my adult life. Love her... maybe safer to say I had a crush on her... you know, movie stars.


So it was with delight I added a card with one of her quotations -

"Be fascinating."


So why not begin a Zoom slide presentation with a snowman you have kept frozen until May!

"I'm an idealist. I don't always know where I'm going, but I'm on my way." - Carl Sandberg (with a minor edit).

So, here are the cards... deck still growing.

"The great pleasure in life is doing what other people say you cannot do."



Deal me in!

Madness Reigns --- Bullying - Izzo Style

It took all of ten seconds to reveal the true Tom Izzo.

He is a bully.

In front of millions of fans, watching live and on national television, Tom Izzo lost control of his temper completely and bullied a student-athlete.

And we let him get away with it.

Not only did he get away with it, but apologists erupted in defence of his defenceless act. They called it 'tough love', they called it 'active coaching', they called it 'teaching' and laughably, 'motivating'. But make no mistake, it was schoolyard bullying at it's worst.

Most of us have seen bullying up close and personal. We have either been bullied, watched someone be bullied, or been a bully. Maybe all three... which I will cop to in high school. And I'm embarrassed to admit that.

Tom Izzo holds the ultimate position of power over his student-athletes. He makes (I refuse to say 'earns') $5 million a year coaching basketball. Aaron Henry is a teenaged student who plays for free - at the pleasure of his attacker. He cannot fight back even if he wants to, or lose his opportunity to compete.

What makes this worse, is that hundreds of thousands of kids who are playing basketball in hopes of making it to the college level, will somehow see this as 'normal behaviour' - it isn't. Perhaps worse, thousands of youth coaches across a wide spectrum of sports will see this as a normal coaching strategy- it isn't.

Maybe this can be a teachable moment. Check out this link -

No Bully

Izzo joins the ranks of Bob Knight and Woody Hayes and will never come close to the standard set by John Wooden. Izzo is a disgrace and embarrassment and he needs to own up and apologize. He needs to grow up.

But don't hold your breath. He's another symptom of a broken NCAA student athletics model.

There is far too much power and money fueling it to see it going anywhere soon.

How great would it be to see a referee 'T' the coach up next time his abhorrent behaviour rears its ugly head. I would buy a ticket just to see that!

And once again, madness reigns.

A King, An Army and Little Things

"The King is dead... the Army marches on...  and little things matter." - Anonymous




An umbrella seems like a little thing - until it rains. Seeing a 'thumbs up' sign might seem like a little thing - unless you're one stroke down, in the rough with one hole to play - and the sign comes from Arnold Palmer. And whether you call a man Arnie, Arnold, The King or some other popular moniker might be a small matter - but not if he deserves to be called Mr. Palmer.

I was a young executive with IMG when I first met Arnold Palmer in 1986. He was bigger than life and even nicer than his press clippings declared. I could see why they called him The King in an instant.

Here was a man, who could 'walk with kings and keep the common touch'. By now everyone knows Arnold Palmer was a transformative figure. Not only did he alter the game of competitive golf and shift the balance of power, but he did it while opening the game to a new generation of golfers. He did it by being the 'everyman' who walked into a country club setting and claimed his place - politely, with respect... but make no mistake, forcefully.



"Golf is deceptively simple and endlessly complicated" - Arnold Palmer

My favorite story about Mr. Palmer is not about his golf prowess, his excellence as a businessman or the way he defined the American Dream. It is not about his overwhelming charisma, his humble nature, or how he helped invent modern day sports marketing.

My story is about the day he took time out from his very busy schedule to pose for a photograph with my wife Sally... and later signed it to her dad Ken, for his 75th birthday. Unbeknownst to Arnold, Ken had once golfed with his father Deke at Latrobe G&CC in 1960 (give or take a year or two).



But that's just a part of the story. Fifteen years later, I asked Mr. Palmer if he might send a note of congratulations to Ken on is 90th birthday. Arnold agreed, on the condition that I send him some information about Ken, so he could send a customized note.

True to his word, shortly before Ken's birthday a letter arrived on APE letterhead bearing the signature of one Arnold Daniel Palmer. In the long letter, he complimented Ken on his many holes-in-one (more than I have had!) congratulated him on continuing to play into his nineties and encouraged him to keep it up. "It will keep you young" he said in closing.

A man who is among the most famous sportsmen of all time, doesn't have to take the time to send a personal note. But to this man... it was simply a part of who he was.

Little things.

Arnold Palmer and Mark McCormack formed a team that created an entirely new industry. IMG was an audacious experiment in 1959 when it was formed by a handshake between these two men.  It became an amazing agency... one that created the opportunity for me to earn a living, doing things I loved, in an electric environment. I owe much that I have accomplished and the lions share of what I have learned in business to these two giants.




















So we lost a King last week, one that led an army of people into a new age of golf, leaving a legacy that transcends the game and one that firmly proves that "Nice guys can finish first."

To me he will forever be Mr. Palmer.

Just one of those little things.

Love One

The 2016 US Open Tennis Championships were, as usual, filled with surprises, upsets, winners and losers, joy and despair, great moments and small.

Y'know - Life!

I was fortunate to travel to New York City to attend a day at the Billie Jean King Tennis Center and to sit in Arthur Ashe Stadium, watching a Scot named Andy play the quarter finals.



But as I travelled 40,000 feet above the ground back to Oregon from the Big Apple - I wasn't thinking about Billie Jean, Arthur or Andy Murray. I was thinking about another Scot... Isabel Mary MacKenzie.

My mother.

To my knowledge, my mother was not a very athletic person. She was a cultured woman. She knew The Messiah by heart, loved classical music, played the piano, read great books, wrote with impeccable grammar, enjoyed art, had a beautiful voice and was a polished host.

But sports? - as a twelve year old I just didn't see it.

Then one day I learned that the parks department was offering free tennis lessons. All you needed was a racquet... everything else was supplied no charge. I asked if we might be able to afford a racquet... my mother replied, beaming, "You can have mine."

I was flabbergasted. "You have a racquet?"

And then there it was, neatly fixed into a press... a beautiful varnished racquet... just one problem. It had a wicked curve on it, much like the way a hockey stick blade was curved in the 1960's.



But for me... it was amazing... and mine.

I learned to play with that racquet, how to replace broken strings myself and I won my fair share of junior matches and a high school championship along the way.

I learned how to keep score. What deuce meant - that the game was scored love, fifteen, thirty, forty, game. That a Set was first to six games, win by two. That a Match was two of three sets.

I learned that you respected your opponent, never cheated on line calls, never used bad language on the court and shook hands win or lose... and that you meant it.

But I learned something else along the way, something more meaningful, something that stays with me today.

I learned that you could start with a twisted, hand-me-down racquet - you could win tournaments and lose them - you could even attend the Canadian Open and watch Borg and Chrissie, the US Open and see Connors and Martina or Wimbledon to enjoy Sampras and Steffi.

But those tennis life lessons really started with a mother who not only loved me, protected me, taught me - all the while encouraging me to live my own life. She once wrote to me "Be yourself - but be your best self."

I learned that keeping score is a good thing - particularly if you remember to start with-

Love - One.


"When the game is over, the kings and the pawns go back into the same box."

Backing Our Guardians In Blue

Speaker of the United States House of Representatives Tip O'Neil once said, "All politics is local".  So is policing.

It is difficult to process the murders of five Dallas police officers as they were serving the very public demonstrating against some of them. Shoulders sag all across our nation as we grapple with issues of race, ingrained in our history, and complex beyond the simplistic talking points broadcast during the latest news cycle.

I can remember a number of times in my life when the sight of a police officer has given me a sense of confidence, made me feel safer.  I always hold these thoughts in my mind when dealing with the police - they chose to be here, they swore an oath to protect and serve their fellow Americans - and when we all want to run away - they run in to deal with - whatever!

This week, citizens of all political stripes yearn to be a part of the solution. But what to do?

For me, I was moved to do something simple - something I should have been doing with regularity, yet was not.

I wrote a note of support on a card and hand delivered it to my local police precinct here in Portland. Since the front desk was not manned over the weekend, I could not access the station.  I noticed an officer in his patrol car and approached him to see if he would drop off the card for me. Once we engaged in conversation and I extended condolences on the loss of fellow officers, while thanking him for his service, it became crystal clear to me that here was a man shaken, a man in mourning, but an officer of the law, sworn to protect and serve - me. And he was going back onto the street, courageously, to keep the public safe.

The officer then ushered me into the station and introduced me to several other policewomen and men, who were readying for their shifts. They all introduced themselves and there was a moment of emotion in the room. I felt both humbled and remiss.

Remiss because such a small act of thanks, which took very little effort on my part, was so long in coming. Humbled, because I realized I had taken these brave souls for granted for too long.  

Turns out I knew what to do all along. Reach out to your police officers today. Thank them, talk with them, encourage them, back them up, get to know them. We should not leave the idea of community policing to the police only. We are the community.

They need us now.

All policing is local. 

Let's play an active part in keeping it that way.

A Good Walk

The 2016 Masters golf tournament was played this past weekend.

There were many fine shots, angst, gorgeous scenery, exciting moments and a nail-biting ending.

But I was in a bit of a fog whenever I tuned in to watch. And I know why.

On July 18th, 2015 our golden retriever Molly passed away after an almost fifteen year life with my wife and me. The British Open was being broadcast the weekend she left us behind on this planet and Sally was traveling. Molly was not her usual self and I knew she was coming to the end of her life.

It was almost surreal sitting beside her, watching golfers stride the course, hour after hour... my mind on Molly... running through so many memories with her.

One memory very vivid to me was a trip we took to Florida ten or more years ago. I took her for a walk at the end of the day along the golf course behind where we were staying.  All the players had passed and so we had the entire eleventh hole to ourselves.

I tossed Molly's tennis ball as far as I could and, as usual, she tore after it in a flash of golden fur.  At about fifty feet away, she appeared to slow, then disappeared from my view, only to reappear a moment later, in pursuit of the ball.

As I ran towards her I noticed the obstacle... a bunker about eight feet deep, hidden from my earlier viewpoint.

Clearly Molly had sized up that she could make the leap, and pressed on through the sand, in pursuit of her ball.

This was a defining characteristic of our golden girl. She was all in - all the time... and as a result, she lived a life of courage, exploration and... fun.

I know there is some disagreement over who first coined the phrase below (I'll go with Twain for now) -

Mark Twain: Golf is a good walk spoiled.    —The Saturday Evening Post

For me, I think I will leave that analysis to golfers... my favorite walk was with a sweet golden named Molly.  And I would say we likely took over ten thousand walks together during her lifetime.

Not one of them spoiled.

A Red Rose in The Hall… Thorns and all.

Ever enter a home and see a bouquet of roses displayed prominently in the entry hall?

Kind of makes you want to come in - welcomes you so to speak.

But when you enter 25 Main Street in Cooperstown, New York, you know before you cross the threshold, something special is missing… and that is the greatest hitter in the history of baseball, one Peter Edward Rose.

Not just any old garden variety rose this.

But a Rose that got to the bases with hits 4,256 times, the most in baseball history. A record unlikely to be broken.

Astounding.

Rose was also a Rookie of the Year,  an MVP and helped his team to win three World Series. Did I mention a forty-four game hitting streak? Sort of perfected the head first slide… garnering him the nickname, Charlie Hustle.

And hustle he did, all game, every game, for twenty-three years.

Pretty amazing athlete.

And he used some pretty poor judgement off the field. Seems Pete had a penchant for gambling. On games. team games. And as it turns out, BASEBALL games.

Flawed, like every human being.

Okay, I can hear the purists now… he disrespected the game.

What a crock. There are players in the Hall who disrespected the game, and in so doing, diminished hard earned records of players who went before. Give that one a rest.

Twenty-five years is a pretty stiff penalty to pay. But forever?

The other element of the story is how the rules (remember the rules that are so sacred) were manipulated to keep Pete out of the hall.

"In August 1989, three years after he retired as an active player, Rose agreed to permanent ineligibility from baseball amidst accusations that he gambled on baseball games while playing for and managing the Reds, including claims that he bet on his own team. In 1991, the Baseball Hall of Fame formally voted to ban those on the "permanently ineligible" list from induction, after previously excluding such players by informal agreement among voters."

The powers-that-be have spoken, and Charlie Hustle stays outside. Let's call it The Pete Rose rule.

He was wrong. He finally admitted it. He paid a price.

But he deserves, on his body of work… on the field, to be with the other greats. Why not let the entire body of 600 voters, sportswriters all, decide Pete's fate? All candidates require an overwhelming majority in order to enter the hall. Why not put it to a vote, unencumbered by bureaucrats.

In the United States of America, self-proclaimed as the world's greatest democracy… the man deserves a vote.

One of the best Reds ever… a Red Rose.

Thorns and all.

A Golden Life

Our golden retriever, Miss Molly, has been the cover girl for my blog by default.

I remember the day I set up this page to post some of my thoughts, for all the world to see, for good, bad or indifferent, as an aspiring writer, I thought - Why not get some stuff out there?

When the time came to choose a photo for the cover page, I chose a recent one of Miss M.  No focus groups, no long selection process, no reason other than… she's, well, Molly.

And Molly has been as constant as the Northern Star these past fourteen years.

Happy to be home? So Is Molly.

Working late in the office? Molly asleep under my desk.

Want to go for a walk? Molly too.

Answering the door late at night? You guessed it, Molly right there.

Driving from New York to British Columbia. Molly gets the whole backseat.

Feeling down? Molly with her head on your knee.

Lost a big deal? Molly with a shoe… C'mon boss, let's go out.

Simple fact is that Molly is always there

So what other image should grace my blog, but our golden girl?

When you open the dictionary to the word, 'loyalty', there is a photo of Molly… want to try, 'kind-hearted'... there she is... 'courageous', yup…

I'm writing a memoir to publish after Molly leaves us behind on this planet. It will be titled. 'A Golden Life'… and folks will think it is about Molly's life, her exploits, highlights, tough times, humorous moments. And to be sure, it will be all about Molly.

But the life she touched with gold -

Will be mine.

So… Why not be great?

I have a plaque in my office with a simple message - "When you feel like quitting, think about why you started."

So when I pick up the file I have been working on the past five years titled, "Flyers", I sometimes feel like quitting. After all, what could I possibly know about producing a major motion picture? And why would anyone want to pay to see a story about the Wright Brothers invention of the airplane anyway?

In September 2010, I was inspired to begin a project to produce a film about the Wright Brothers. Three elements contributed to my inspiration. First, I have always been fascinated with the history of these inventors who shared my family name. Second, my uncle Neil Paterson won the Academy Award for screenwriting the picture "Room at The Top" in 1959. And third, I am a lifelong film buff (okay, maybe not lifelong… probably didn't see my first film until I was about eight years of age… I think it may have been "Lassie Come Home").

I've traveled to Kitty Hawk, Dayton, Huffman Prairie, The Smithsonian and The Henry Ford in Dearborn researching the story on the ground and have read the majority of books about the Wright Brothers. I travelled to Hollywood to meet with representatives of major studios and met with directors and screenwriters in an effort to find someone who shares my passion for the project.

I have found a tie between Bill Gates and the wonderful story of the Wright accomplishment and discovered many links to other notable, successful individuals who are mesmerized by the sheer perseverance and creativity employed by two bicycle mechanics from Dayton, Ohio.

And still no collaborators.

Yet.

That's the great thing about having a dream. You get to feel like quitting, and then you get to think about why you started.

And you get to ask -

Why not be great?