As many other high school athletes, I spent hours practicing my sport. In my case, it was basketball. For years, I toiled away for hours in my driveway; at the local park; and the gym. Day after day, through winter, spring, summer and fall, I would practice my shot.
I eventually got pretty good but sometime after the end of the basketball season my junior year I opted not to go out for track (which was a mistake … but that’s another story). Every day, I would religiously trek over to my high school’s gym – which was appropriately named “Rat Hall” – to practice for a minimum of two hours.
During this unsupervised time, unbeknownst to me, I began to develop a funky way of cocking the ball over my head and jutting out my right elbow. I didn’t notice this glitch in my shot for a couple of reasons. First, I was practicing so much that my accuracy was steadily improving and, thus, I just assumed I was getting better. Secondly, because I was practicing alone and not going against a skilled defender, I didn’t notice any downside to my form.
That summer, before my senior year – a year in which I had already been appointed co-captain of the team at St. John’s Prep – I attended a summer basketball camp at which my high school basketball coach, Mike Percuoco, was an instructor.
Upon seeing my altered form -- which had only grown more pronounced over the summer – Coach Percuoco, with all the delicacy of a grizzled and experienced ranch-hand breaking in a wild and stubborn calf, proceeded to break me of the habit.
I can still recall the feeling of anger I had when Coach Percuoco pulled me aside after my first practice and he made me shoot the basketball with one hand from a foot away from the basket. I felt like I was back in the third grade and starting from scratch. (Which, in truth, I was.) All the time, he kept instructing me to keep my elbow at a perfect 90 degrees and flip the ball with my wrist.
It was a task I didn’t relish but before each day’s practice (actually there were three sessions a day during camp) Coach Percuoco would force me to practice this simple task. He also encouraged me to do the same after each practice as well.
I’ll tell you this, I hated it. I absolutely hated it. But, you know what, I slowly improved. Overtime, my shot grew quicker, more accurate and eventually I was able to shoot over taller defenders more effectively.
In truth, I never become a prolific scorer but years later I can still recall what Coach Percuoco said to me when he first began breaking me of my habit. He said, “Jack, to go forward, sometimes you have to go backwards first.”
It is a lesson I have always carried with me. In fact, it is a large reason why at the age of 39 I left a high profile job within government to begin a career as a writer, consultant and public speaker.
Change is never easy and it can be especially difficult when you think you are already at – or near – the top of your game. In order to improve, though, sometimes you must find the courage to start anew.
In 1999, Tiger Woods won his first Masters Tournament by an amazing 12 strokes. Afterwards, he said something even more amazing. He said, “My swing sucks!” (I only wish my swing sucked as much.) Woods said this because he knew he could be even better. But for him to get better he also knew that he would have to rebuild his swing from its foundation. In other words, in order to reach to an even higher plateau, Tiger Woods knew he first needed to take a step back.
This is a difficult lesson to learn at any point in a person’s life but I’d like to thank Coach Mike Percouco, my high school basketball coach, for instilling it in me when I was only 17 because it is a lesson that is still paying dividends today -- and will do so well into the future. For this Mike Percuoco deserves to be called a “Coach for Life.”
