It is baseball season. Home runs and stolen bases are common, but if you didn’t know what they were, they wouldn’t exactly be self-explanatory. A home run would mean running to your house or home. Stealing bases would land you in jail.
I played a fair amount of baseball and was always envious of those with exceptional speed who could rack up piles of stolen bases in a season. One such player was a childhood hero of mine. Maury Wills of the Los Angeles Dodgers (my favorite team at the time), led the National League six straight years in stolen bases. He shattered Ty Cobb’s 47-year-old single-season record of 96 stolen bases with 104 steals. That season changed how many teams played the game as they recognized how they could change outcomes by having their own speedsters. I remember listening to a game on AM radio in which Maury led off the game with a walk. He then stole second, advanced to third on a ground out and scored on a sacrifice fly to center. The Dodgers won the game, one to nothing.
Eventually Lou Brock and Rickey Henderson set new stolen base records with 118 and 130 steals, respectively. However, it was Maury Wills who brought back the art of the steal from the “dead ball” era of baseball. In addition to an all-star selection and gold glove award Wills was named the National League’s Most Valuable Player. And they caught Wills stealing only 13 times the record-setting year. They caught Ty Cobb 38 times while stealing 96 bases.
Although stealing is normally a criminal act, since the national pastime is a game, we will excuse the terminology and look to the life lessons of the act. And as you likely know, sport teaches us many life lessons. Baseball is no different. I could use other terms: advancement or transition forward to make the same point. In fact, a stolen base is both. Stealing, whether a base or someone else’s possession contains the risk of being caught. And that is one way that baseball teaches life. Advancing has its rewards but getting caught or failing has its penalties.
The beautiful thing about moving from first to second or second to third is that the only cost when successful is the expenditure of some energy and a dirty uniform. Becoming out is the cost of failure. So why then, did Ty Cobb continue to attempt moving up when caught so many times? Apparently, he wasn’t afraid of failure, nor did he mind spending significant energy only to be sent to the dugout empty-handed. He also likely was studying opposing pitchers and catchers to help him do better during subsequent attempts. That is learning from your mistakes, another good lesson. Would you focus on becoming the best at something if you succeeded only about 70% of the time? That would answer the questions: are you a risk taker and are you afraid to fail?
When playing baseball, you must circle the bases without becoming an out to score a run. Without scoring at least one run, there is no chance of victory. If Maury Wills was afraid of running in the game I referred to, the Dodgers may not have won that game one to zero. He had to take his foot off the safety of first base to get to second. Wills wanted to steal a base, therefore, stepped off and drove hard for the goal. Sometimes in life people prefer staying in a safe place and making the safe move versus taking a chance of failing and focusing on a target of advancement. Transitioning from where you are to where you want to be requires change and change is difficult, particularly when failure looms possible every 90 feet you travel. Yet life is full of transitions and requires taking that first step to move you into and through change. Getting caught in between first and second or points A and B is one of those periods where you don’t know if you will be safe or not. That can be an exciting, fear-filled, anxious segment of your journey. It all depends on your outlook and attitude. There will be a great reward sometimes (about 70% for Ty Cobb) and huge disappointments at other times. Why I remember when I was in high school and hitting a full-count pitch over the center fielders head and watching it bounce off the school out there as I headed into second base. We loaded the bases and the excitement of hitting a grand slam home run was weakening my knees as I headed full speed into third base and received the go sign from the coach. Not seeing any of my teammates signaling me to slide at home plate I crossed the plate standing up. There was only one problem: because I did not slide, they tagged me out at the last second, hip-high. I was extremely upset, but realize now that if I never would have tried, I would only have made a triple anyway so why not go for it?
In life, as a leader, follower or viewer, if you remain still you may stay safe from getting thrown out or failing often, but you will never hit an inside the park home run. If you keep your feet on first (remain in the “dead ball” era) until it is safe to run, you may never be a difference-maker or transition from who you are today to who you want to become.