I grew up in a small town in Iowa.  As kids we ran around town in the summer, often barefoot in the sun, playing games all day.  Many of us had BB guns and were very good at using them.  As long as we targeted starlings and didn’t shoot out any windows no one really bothered us (I tested the limits of this theory one time and ended up having to write a 1000-word essay for the local police department on the value of songbirds in society).  When the streetlights turned on we knew it was time to start heading home.  After dinner we’d reconvene in the early twilight for a game of kick-the-can or when the darker angels of our nature took over, ding-dong-ditch ‘em.  My how blessed we were. 

 Eventually all the parochial schools sent their kids to town for high school.   This opened up my life not just to my neighborhood, but to kids from other communities and to those who lived on farms.  Most of us got jobs detasseling or walking beans and thought we were rich with $7/hour and a suntan.  Our grade school games evolved into seasons of high school baseball, basketball, football, and track/field.  We played euchre in the back of the bus on the way to road games.  This is the environment where I met many of my lifelong friends, and where I met some people who still inspire me to this day. 

One of the kids from this era taught me a lesson that I’ve carried with me all my life. It was during my junior year of basketball season.  Our team was very talented with a senior class that had future D-1 players, and a very strong coaching team.  This coaching staff had a belief that if we were in better physical condition, it would give us the edge in close games.  Aligned to this belief system, we ended every practice with wind sprints, “ladders”, and whistlestops where you had to run as fast as you could down the court, but then change direction every time the whistle was blown.  I can still to this day sense the nausea, fatigue, and utter exhaustion from these practices.  After these sprints, the mental and physical toll was complete and comprehensive on the mind and body. 

 It was after one of those practices that I gained my first real understanding of what leadership was all about.  The team was in the locker room humped over in chairs when one of the seniors announced the coaches had left the building. He also announced that we were going back up to the gym and doing more sprints on our own.  In that moment I distinctly remember wondering if I was hallucinating.  I don’t know where it came from, but the entire team found the energy to do an additional 30 minutes of sprints.  No coaches, just us.  In that moment we became a team that did the tough work necessary to succeed, and it took a leader to get it out of us. 

 Nick Nurse was that kind of leader even in high school.  The day we ran those sprints I am sure Nick was hurting as we all were.  But he pushed himself and inspired us to join him.  He made very good players around him better.  We won the state title that year, and Nick went on to success at the University of Northern Iowa and famously led the Toronto Raptors to an NBA title in 2019 as their head coach.  His journey to the top of the NBA was much like his leadership on his high school team – he put in the tough work and sacrifice to succeed. 

 We all dream of success.  But what I learned from Nick in high school and throughout his career was that to become your best, to come close to your ultimate potential, you must give it your all.  Nick says it perfectly in his book, “Rapture”, as follows: 

 “…it’s not about the dream; it’s about the work.  You put in the time and the sweat for the satisfaction of knowing you’ve thrown yourself into the struggle.  And you do it to make sure that if somebody does give you that opportunity you were dreaming about, you’re worthy of it.” 

 Nick Nurse, Philadelphia 76er’s head coach

My Christmas wish for you is that you have someone in your life who inspires you.  Who lifts you up and gives you meaning and purpose for all the work and sacrifice you put forth to live a good life. 

And maybe, just maybe, you can be that person to someone else. 

Tony