I’ll never forget stepping over that line. It was a literal action with figurative ramifications that changed us.
It was my sophomore season on the Washington State University Cougar football team. We were stacked with talent, but we just weren’t sealing the deal on some close wins. We lost three games in overtime and two games in the last minute. See what I mean?
Habits weren’t changing the summer after that season, and some of my teammates and I had had enough. We were done with bad behavior and poor performance, and we weren’t going to wait for one of our coaches to force a reset.
Sure, we had a lot of players who were interested. They liked what playing Division I football meant: wearing the crimson jersey and running out of the tunnel to screaming fans at Martin Stadium on Saturdays. But these guys weren’t fully committed to the process or to each other, skipping workouts and taking off reps during weight training.
Are You Interested or Committed?
So the team leaders and I wanted to know who was all-in. We held a players-only meeting on the football field and asked the question, “Are you interested or committed?” Who would commit to this team and help develop a new culture? Who could we count on to create a collective unit that would stop losing and start winning? We believed excellence should be a lifestyle, not just saved for Saturdays. We didn’t want it to be just some of us, we wanted it to be all of us. But we gave a choice: Step over this yard line on the football field or. . .don’t. There’s no gray area. You’re in or you’re not. You’re either interested. . .or committed.
We had a vision of excellence beginning with how we trained and practiced. We laid out the expectations: No one could miss a workout without giving notice. No leaving practice early. We needed to start behaving like the champions we wanted to be. And you know what? One by one, teammates crossed that line. Sure, maybe one or two didn’t—I don’t remember. All I can recall is the feeling, that energy shift. It was almost electric. The culture was changing. It set off a chain reaction that lead to three ten-win seasons for the Cougs. Was that an accident? I don’t think so.
Don’t get me wrong—we had a great coaching staff. But a collective team has more power than a coach. Than a leader. Than a manager. This doesn’t just pertain to sports. This is life. You don’t need a title to be a leader. Peer pressure goes both ways—it can be negative or positive. We had a few leaders on the team who wouldn’t wait for the coach or the athletic director or anybody else to demand change. We took the ownership. We wanted to define our commitment level and support it with our actions. Period.
