ACCOUNTABILITY & RESPONSE-ABILITY
From the series: "STAND OUT IN THE CROWD"
by Frank Allocco, Sr.
Series Introduction
Some eye opening basketball statistics:
The beauty of sports is not in becoming a great player, it is the learning of valuable Life Skills that will serve players throughout their lives. If we look beyond the focus of winning and achieving success, the arena of competition is one of the finest classrooms a young player could ever have.
Some eye opening basketball statistics:
- 2.9% of high school players will play college basketball.
- Less than 1 in 75, or 1.3 percent of NCAA Seniors will be drafted by an NBA Team.
- About 3 in 10,000 players (0.03 percent) of high school seniors will eventually be drafted by an NBA team.
The beauty of sports is not in becoming a great player, it is the learning of valuable Life Skills that will serve players throughout their lives. If we look beyond the focus of winning and achieving success, the arena of competition is one of the finest classrooms a young player could ever have.
“Accountability breeds response-ability!” - Stephen Covey
Last month I had the pleasure to return to my hometown of New Providence, New Jersey. Going home to visit my father (92 years old) and my mother (88 years old) is truly one of the great joys of my life. I always enjoy seeing my brothers and the rest of our New Jersey family.
A visit to New Providence is always special. This suburb of New York City is one of the oldest towns in New Jersey, purchased in 1664 by the Duke of York and settled by a Puritan Colony that arrived in 1720. The centerpiece of our town is the beautiful colonial church founded in 1737. This white wooden structure sits on top of a small hill and is surrounded by the resting place of hundreds of colonial settlers. This church received a bit of notoriety when it was depicted in the opening scene of the movie Win, Win, produced in 2011, but its history and fame go way beyond that most recent recognition.
Almost three hundred years ago, the town was christened Turkey Town and the early pilgrim settlers worked hard during the week and sought solace and spirituality when they congregated at the Presbyterian Church on Sundays and Holidays. At Christmas Eve Mass in 1759, the choir was singing Christmas Carols when the balcony collapsed and the men and women crashed precariously to the floor. Incredibly, no one was hurt in the accident and it was declared an “act of providence” and the town was rechristened “New Providence.”
A visit to New Providence is always special. This suburb of New York City is one of the oldest towns in New Jersey, purchased in 1664 by the Duke of York and settled by a Puritan Colony that arrived in 1720. The centerpiece of our town is the beautiful colonial church founded in 1737. This white wooden structure sits on top of a small hill and is surrounded by the resting place of hundreds of colonial settlers. This church received a bit of notoriety when it was depicted in the opening scene of the movie Win, Win, produced in 2011, but its history and fame go way beyond that most recent recognition.
Almost three hundred years ago, the town was christened Turkey Town and the early pilgrim settlers worked hard during the week and sought solace and spirituality when they congregated at the Presbyterian Church on Sundays and Holidays. At Christmas Eve Mass in 1759, the choir was singing Christmas Carols when the balcony collapsed and the men and women crashed precariously to the floor. Incredibly, no one was hurt in the accident and it was declared an “act of providence” and the town was rechristened “New Providence.”
"As I thanked him for his understanding he replied, 'it’s okay son, but that is the last new glove you are ever going to get'."
New Providence was a great place to grow up, small town America at its finest. It is still a place of comfort for me, with memories of Little League baseball games, Pop Warner Football, Police Athletic League basketball games and the summers spent on the asphalt courts of the Community Pool.
So many memories, too many to count, but one of the greatest was my 11th birthday when I received my first baseball glove. I had other gloves, but being a family of four boys our athletic equipment was passed down year to year. My father was a factory worker who worked multiple side jobs to provide the best he could for his growing family. It was a significant sacrifice for my parents to provide me with a most special gift, a brand new Rawlings Mickey Mantle baseball glove. My excitement was over the top as I swiftly ripped and discarded the wrapping paper to reveal MY OWN glove! The soft leather was snug on my fingers as it encased my hands securely and we began to create that unique bond between a player and his glove. I pounded my fist delightedly into the pocket of the oversized glove; my happiness and excitement couldn’t be contained as I began the countdown to my first baseball game. My oldest brother Jerry finally convinced me to take my glove off and led me down to the basement where he showed me how to oil this new leather masterpiece. The oil felt great on my fingertips, I loved the feel of that glove and finished off my tender touch by placing a ball in the pocket and carefully wrapping it with six rubber bands.
After a month of fermenting on the nightstand next to my bed, the snow had finally melted, the basketballs were put away and it was time to awaken my glove from its slumber. After a couple of weekends of practice, my glove and I were ready for real game action. I put on my New Providence Florist uniform with great pride and then sprinted out of the house, jumped onto my bike and rode to the town field behind Lincoln School. After our favorite coach Mr. Faitoute announced the starting lineups, I assumed my position at shortstop where my glove performed flawlessly! After a great win, I mounted the “Black Knight”, my black Schwinn bicycle, and rode home, stopping at the Center Stationary corner store across from the Presbyterian Church. I spent my last nickel on a red licorice roll and walked out of the store, gently chewing, relishing the taste of the candy and the great win over Elkwood Estates.
When I finally arrived home, I put my bike in the tiny outdoor alcove beneath our kitchen and happily ran into my house. My father asked how the game had gone and if I enjoyed using my new glove. I told him that we had won the game and I had gotten a couple of hits. As I began to share my fielding exploits with him, it finally hit me…my new glove, I had forgotten my new glove! I nonchalantly departed the kitchen and then broke into a quick gallop down the stairs and across the tiny den. I quickly grabbed my bike and rode as fast as eleven-year old legs could carry me back to Lincoln School. I hopped off the bike and ran swiftly to the baseball field. I looked under the bleachers, around the perimeter of the field and even into the woods to search unsuccessfully. Finally, the night began to blacken the New Jersey sky and I dejectedly picked up my bike, wearily lifting my leg over the seat, angrily grasping the handlebars as I began the agonizing mile home to face my father
So many memories, too many to count, but one of the greatest was my 11th birthday when I received my first baseball glove. I had other gloves, but being a family of four boys our athletic equipment was passed down year to year. My father was a factory worker who worked multiple side jobs to provide the best he could for his growing family. It was a significant sacrifice for my parents to provide me with a most special gift, a brand new Rawlings Mickey Mantle baseball glove. My excitement was over the top as I swiftly ripped and discarded the wrapping paper to reveal MY OWN glove! The soft leather was snug on my fingers as it encased my hands securely and we began to create that unique bond between a player and his glove. I pounded my fist delightedly into the pocket of the oversized glove; my happiness and excitement couldn’t be contained as I began the countdown to my first baseball game. My oldest brother Jerry finally convinced me to take my glove off and led me down to the basement where he showed me how to oil this new leather masterpiece. The oil felt great on my fingertips, I loved the feel of that glove and finished off my tender touch by placing a ball in the pocket and carefully wrapping it with six rubber bands.
After a month of fermenting on the nightstand next to my bed, the snow had finally melted, the basketballs were put away and it was time to awaken my glove from its slumber. After a couple of weekends of practice, my glove and I were ready for real game action. I put on my New Providence Florist uniform with great pride and then sprinted out of the house, jumped onto my bike and rode to the town field behind Lincoln School. After our favorite coach Mr. Faitoute announced the starting lineups, I assumed my position at shortstop where my glove performed flawlessly! After a great win, I mounted the “Black Knight”, my black Schwinn bicycle, and rode home, stopping at the Center Stationary corner store across from the Presbyterian Church. I spent my last nickel on a red licorice roll and walked out of the store, gently chewing, relishing the taste of the candy and the great win over Elkwood Estates.
When I finally arrived home, I put my bike in the tiny outdoor alcove beneath our kitchen and happily ran into my house. My father asked how the game had gone and if I enjoyed using my new glove. I told him that we had won the game and I had gotten a couple of hits. As I began to share my fielding exploits with him, it finally hit me…my new glove, I had forgotten my new glove! I nonchalantly departed the kitchen and then broke into a quick gallop down the stairs and across the tiny den. I quickly grabbed my bike and rode as fast as eleven-year old legs could carry me back to Lincoln School. I hopped off the bike and ran swiftly to the baseball field. I looked under the bleachers, around the perimeter of the field and even into the woods to search unsuccessfully. Finally, the night began to blacken the New Jersey sky and I dejectedly picked up my bike, wearily lifting my leg over the seat, angrily grasping the handlebars as I began the agonizing mile home to face my father
"Your poor grades were earned, not given by a teacher 'who didn’t like you'."
As I walked in the house and toward the screened in porch where my father rested, I burst into tears as I told him that I had lost my brand new glove. My Dad was amazingly understanding and sympathetic as he told me that these things happen and that I shouldn’t cry. My tearful outburst softened to a slight whimper as I felt better that he was not mad at me. Losing the glove was one thing but disappointing him would be even worse. As my tears, warmed by his compassion, began to dry, I wondered what model of glove I would be getting to replace my lost one. As I thanked him for his understanding he replied, “it’s okay son, but that is the last new glove you are ever going to get.”
Brought back to reality by that statement, I sadly walked up the stairs to my room and thought of the impact of his words. I thought of the sacrifice he and my mother had made to buy me my own baseball glove. I was disappointed in myself for not taking care of that glove. I thought back to just a month earlier, of my brother and I tenderly caressing that glove in oil, excitedly preparing it for the many years that it would be my companion.
I played three more years of Little League baseball using a hand me down glove before moving on to New Providence High School where I became an All State shortstop borrowing my high school coach Paul Miller’s glove. To this day, I have never owned another baseball glove, a lifelong reminder of the great lesson I got that day; to take care of your equipment and that “money doesn’t grow on trees.” As I got older, I could have purchased a new glove, but never did, choosing to be reminded of my parent’s sacrifice and the reality that people do make mistakes but should always be held accountable for their actions.
In an era of entitlement, we diminish our own actions and deny ourselves the chance to improve when we make excuses for our shortcomings, rather than confront the real issues. It is essential to reject the easier path of blaming others for our failures and to take ownership, assess our strengths and weaknesses and commit to improvement.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
To become the best you can be, you must take responsibility for your actions and realize:
On a final note…. I haven’t lost any of my possessions since that early spring day in New Providence, New Jersey! Thanks for the great lesson Dad!!
Brought back to reality by that statement, I sadly walked up the stairs to my room and thought of the impact of his words. I thought of the sacrifice he and my mother had made to buy me my own baseball glove. I was disappointed in myself for not taking care of that glove. I thought back to just a month earlier, of my brother and I tenderly caressing that glove in oil, excitedly preparing it for the many years that it would be my companion.
I played three more years of Little League baseball using a hand me down glove before moving on to New Providence High School where I became an All State shortstop borrowing my high school coach Paul Miller’s glove. To this day, I have never owned another baseball glove, a lifelong reminder of the great lesson I got that day; to take care of your equipment and that “money doesn’t grow on trees.” As I got older, I could have purchased a new glove, but never did, choosing to be reminded of my parent’s sacrifice and the reality that people do make mistakes but should always be held accountable for their actions.
In an era of entitlement, we diminish our own actions and deny ourselves the chance to improve when we make excuses for our shortcomings, rather than confront the real issues. It is essential to reject the easier path of blaming others for our failures and to take ownership, assess our strengths and weaknesses and commit to improvement.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
To become the best you can be, you must take responsibility for your actions and realize:
- Your poor grades were earned, not given by a teacher “who didn’t like you.”
- When you lose a game, don’t blame the officials, practice harder, work on the real reasons, (poor shooting, lack of defense, etc.) which may have contributed to your defeat.
- If you are not receiving the playing time you desire, don’t criticize your coach or compare yourselves to others, just ask them for help and suggestions on what you need to do to get better
- Work harder to improve your skills and earn the right to compete.
- Recognize weaknesses and turn them into strengths through your effort and commitment to excellence.
On a final note…. I haven’t lost any of my possessions since that early spring day in New Providence, New Jersey! Thanks for the great lesson Dad!!
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