A young musician stepped out of Grand Central Terminal on a bitter winter day and started heading uptown on Park Avenue. Walking briskly, jacket pulled tight, he approached an old beatnik that was busking on the corner.
“How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” he asked.
The beatnik kept strumming, eyes drifting to his guitar case. A small sign read, YOU CAN’T TAKE IT WITH YA, and the burgundy velvet interior sparkled with coins.
The young musician tossed in some change, and asked again, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”
Without missing a beat, as if singing the lyrics to that very song, the beatnik said, “Practice, man, practice!”
The beatnik knew something that the young musician hadn’t understood. Where something is, and how to get there, are two entirely different questions.
Mudballs at Moshier
I played baseball all the way through high school. Things didn’t always go my way, but I never missed a practice. Never missed a chance to field some mudballs down at Moshier Field. The games were fun, but looking back, I think I liked practice even more.
Why?
Because I like baseball.
I like actually playing baseball.
Keeping score, dealing with umpires, lineups, that all got in the way of doing the thing.
With baseball, and most sports, when it comes to game time, you do a lot more watching and a lot less playing.
At a typical practice you might field a hundred balls. You might hit a hundred too. You’d move from station to station, multiple positions, multiple scenarios. You’d hit off tees, do some soft toss, and a bit of live batting practice.
At the game, maybe you’d get a grounder, maybe not. And if you got to bat more than three or four times, you’d be fired up.
But I was in the minority. Most kids didn’t look forward to practice. It was an obligation, like homework. It was little more than the path towards playing time, competing amongst teammates to catch the eye of Coach Larson.
And my teammates were not alone.
For most people my age, when they hear the word “practice,” one thing comes to mind.
The most famous practice related sound bite of all time, Allen Iverson’s “we talking about practice.”
We Talking About Practice
The 2001-2002 Philadelphia 76ers were coached by Larry Brown. The prior season, Brown won Coach of the Year, and his star Allen Iverson won league MVP. Together, they led the 76ers to the NBA finals where they lost to Kobe, Shaq, and the Lakers.
But the 2002 playoffs didn’t go according to plan, and after the 76ers were eliminated, both Brown and Iverson sounded off.
Coach Brown took issue with Iverson’s practice habits. When the media questioned Iverson about Brown’s comments, we got the legendary “we talking about practice” rant.
“We talking about practice. Not a game. Not a game. Not a game. We talking about practice.”
Iverson was one of the most talented players to ever step on the hardwood, but for anyone who has coached, this rant tells you everything you need to know about what it was like to play with him. He was a dedicated practitioner of something called “hero ball.”
But in the NBA, hero ball is a hard way to win. Batman needed Robin and Kobe needed Shaq. They learned early in their careers that going alone was a losing strategy.
Beware the soloist who never learned to play with an orchestra.
A Westerner’s Perspective on Practice
Michael Jordan played solo for a few years, and then he wised up, eventually winning six NBA titles with the Chicago Bulls.
More important than his talent was his perspective on practice.
For Jordan, practice wasn’t just about getting his reps. He was also establishing himself as the leader of the Chicago Bulls, demanding excellence from his teammates, and bringing the best out of the whole team.
Jordan’s teammate for three of those titles was Toni Kukoc who said, “Our practices were actually harder than games we played. And it was all because Michael and Scottie [Pippen] were there each and every day together with Phil [Jackson] to make us believe that there’s always a chance to get better.”
This was how Jordan lived in his early years. First, he wanted to be the best in the family, and then the playground, the school, the Bulls, and then the NBA. He wanted success. He wanted admiration. And he was committed to excellence, to practice, and to continuous improvement.
He admired people like Tiger Woods, who after winning The Masters, was up the next day for his 6AM workout.
Jordan said, “All I wanted to do was get better.”
He had the ingredients to get better and make his team better at the same time.
Plus, Minus, Equal
Frank Shamrock, the legendary Mixed Martial Artist, and “Fighter of the Decade” for the 1990s has a simple framework for improvement.
The Shamrock System has three parts.
Plus: Find someone who is performing at a higher level than you and engage them to mentor you.
Minus: Identify someone with less skill and mentor them.
Equal: Connect with someone that has the same skill and experience level as you, and work with them to improve.
For Kukoc, Dennis Rodman, Ron Harper, and the other members of the Bulls Championships, filling these three roles was easy. Jordan was everyone’s “plus,” they had a team full of equals, and at the end of the bench were guys like James Edwards and Jack Haley.
But where did Jordan turn for a “plus?” He had Pippen, not an equal, but close. A fellow NBA top 50 player. He had legendary battles with fellow teammates on the USA Basketball Dream Team, that helped build skill and toughness. But he also had his coach, a mentor of a different type.
The Zen Master
Phil Jackson, “The Zen Master,” was showing Jordan and the other members of those championship teams how to elevate from “practice” to “a practice.”
From the western understanding of practice, which included mandatory workouts, drills for skill development, and competitive scrimmages.
To the eastern understanding, a practice. Not sport and skill, but ritual and art.
Not ability and coordination, the realm of the sportsman, controlled by bodily movement, but a spiritual exercise whose aim is in hitting a spiritual goal. For archery, the marksman aims to hit himself.
A contest, maybe.
A competition, no, not anymore.
A practice is a different type of contest, between the archer and themself. It is a pure pursuit of improvement for the sake of improvement, not championships, status, and pecking order.
And Jackson helped to unlock this perspective in his star pupil. Jordan started to understand that mastery, not money, was the primary motivation. And even when the accolades started coming in, he knew that the public praised people for what they practice in private.
He said, “players who practice hard when no one is paying attention will play well when everyone is.”
But he was still keeping notes on his doubters. He still had something to prove.
What Is A Practice?
We’ve talked about practice, the place you go, the things you do, to get better and improve.
But as with anything, there are levels to this game. And once you graduate from going to practice, from practicing, to having a practice, and becoming a practitioner, your life will never be the same.
Michael Jordan was still playing ball with NBA players when he was 50, and it wasn’t because he ran lines back in the 90s. The hot new rookie? Jordan would give them their first lesson in The League.
He could do that because he had a practice. When the season was over, when the scheduled—mandatory—gym time was left behind, he didn’t stop.
He had a practice because every morning when he got out of bed he went to the gym, and he went to the gym every morning when he got out of bed because he had a practice.
A practice isn’t just something you do to prepare for the game or the recital. Practice is the game. And it’s a never-ending game. Infinite.
A practice is a ritual. It’s done daily, like making a morning cup of Joe, for life. It’s done with purity, for the sake of doing, not for political, financial, or social gain.
A practice is spiritual not physical. Picture Nuke LaLoosh, breathing through his eyelids like the lava lizards of the Galapagos Islands.
If you are a musician, a practitioner of music, you are making music whether the world is listening or not. And after the first release comes the second. And then the third. That’s it. That is the practice.
That may be daunting, but it should be alluring. Because now your job is simple. Find that thing that you love to practice, start making it a practice. And then make sure nobody mucks it up.
A practice will elevate you beyond shiny objects and temporary goals. A practice makes games, matches, and races, feel like the easy part. A time to celebrate the work.
Casey Weathers said, “Hard work doesn’t guarantee you results; it guarantees you honesty.” He is talking about practice. And I’ve got news. A practice doesn’t guarantee results either, it releases you from the desire for results.
No promises except the next day. If your eyes open, you get to do it again. When you have a practice, the outcomes are less important than the opportunity.
You may not know if you have a practice at first, and that’s okay, but here are a few clues.
Does it show up when you’re not formally “doing” it?
Does it change how you handle unexpected challenges?
Does it influence situations seemingly unrelated to the practice itself?
Good. That’s a start.
Special Announcement: 31 Easy™ Relaunch
Around this time last year, I launched a month-long challenge. 31 Easy™ was a joke, but a few of you freaks liked it, did it, and shared it with friends and gyms. So, I spent some time polishing it up.
I made it easier, if you can believe that, and better. But it’s still a joke.
The program will help you build better habits and turn those into a daily practice that fits you, not your internet guru. A daily practice that focuses on systems and growth, without goals.
Just like last year, it’s free to start, free to finish, but failure will cost you. The Daily Journal has been updated, and for those that need a little kick in the pants, we have a Somewhat Motivational Journal available for purchase.
Just hit the link and check it out: 31 Easy™
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