Former
British Table-tennis player and author, Matthew Syed recently published
a book called “Black Box Thinking” where he analyses how
failures/mistakes/and losses , if viewed correctly, can be used to
create success. He uses the example of how the airline industry uses
the black box to analyze every accident, and over time has minimized
the chances of accident. He contrasts this with the medical fields,
where mistakes in operations and diagnoses are often covered up, for
various reasons. Quite startling is the statistic of deaths through
botched medical operations or incorrect diagnoses vs death in
aeroplanes!
A couple of weeks ago, (while I was reading this book), I was scheduled
to play a League match. Neither my opponent nor I had lost in league
this year. My opponent was young, fit, fast and naively unbridled. Me,
I would rely on my experience, possibly some wily tricks and a bit of
experienced gamesmanship. Usually, I like playing young guns as they
normally have only one game plan, and generally do not adapt to a
slower, fiddly type of game required when knee-monia strikes. But, I
was strangely, nervously uncomfortable about this match. My opponent
had recently beaten two of my club-mates. I knew he was good but I
consoled myself with the fact that they were also running bashers, and
my game would be an effective counter. Why was I so worried?
Match day arrived. It was HOT! Not good for my slow-train-coming plans.
Then things turned pear-shaped at the office, with some tough-talk
meetings taking longer than expected, and then I was called into
another one at the n’th hour. My plans for an early arrival were
cow-boshed. We also had Hilary Fisher’s wake at the courts that night,
so preparation of the mind was not perfect. Match one of the league
rubber went to our opponents, but our lady team member, pulled the
duvet straight. Then it was me. Somehow that ant-like anxiety had been
growing. Why?
My mouth was dry as I started the warm up. Maybe those biltong and dry
wors snacks in the meeting were not such a good idea. Or, was I just
nervous? My racquet felt like a bat. The ball, a super-ball. Bouncy,
and not suited to my game. I tested my lobs. They flew way out of
court. My drops clipped the tin. A crowd of post-wake supporters
gathered. They were beerily noisy.
Plans fell into place in Game 1, as I lobbed high, dropped soft and
kept the ball deep in the back corners. Hardly one shot was played in
anger. “Nice-and-easy” as my golf mates tell me. 15-4. “This is going
well”, I mused as I toweled and sipped some water. Maybe even a little
bit of “This is too easy” over-confidence started seeping in.
Game 2 and my service seemed to switch off. My length went wandering. I
started searching, too early, for easy winners. The pace increased, and
my Jack Russell opponent loved it. The more I chased him, the more he
happily barked, and the more he happily fetched. At 13 -13, we
collided. He went down, hurt. I was fine. “A bit of a breather, and
I’ll sort this game out quickly”, I thought to myself. That was not to
be. 2 points later, I was off the court, tail between legs at 1-1 and
worried again. Game 3 went much the same way, with confidence oozing
away, the feel of my high-looping service, lost. The crowd’s shouting,
hovered towards my opponent, my game plan…forgotten, convulsed in
confusion. Stupidly, I started hitting harder. The harder I hit, the
looser I became, the more he ran. And the more he ran, the “tireder and
stoopider” I became.
1-2 down, panting and now, very worried. Out of the sweaty mists, sage
advice from a long-time playing partner were whispered “Stapes … find
your length….slow the pace….attack the backhand.”
Game 4. Easy-peasy. Don’t remember the score but I was back in control. Controlling the pace. 2-2.
But tiredness takes its toll. And when that happens, sometimes, madness
takes control. Voices squirrelled around in my head. That simple plan
that had won me 2 games, disappeared. The final game became a
shoot-out, and as the pace quickened, my body slowed. My length became
shorter, my lobs, lower, sneaky reverse angles, stood high and shouted
to be punished. A nick here, a long rally there…and at 12-14, I stared
defeat in his face. He smiled. And performed the final blow.
Match over.
Condolences rolled, as tired sweaty droplets dripped into a
disappointed puddle. I was gutted but sadly, happy. It had been a Great
Game. We fought but did not fight. And this win, would mean so much
more to my opponent. Slowly, I would gather my sweaty goodies, head for
the shower, Hansa in hand. And as the warmth of the shower massaged my
beaten body, I would question my mind. I would climb out of that
defeated hole, examine my personal Black Box and smile again. The Quote
in the Saders change-room, “The Best Man Won” does not lie.
Why did you get so nervous? It’s just a game of Squash
What happened to your game-plan? You are good at it. Don’t try and beat others at what they are good at.
A cardinal sin for a coach who preaches this daily…What happened to your length?
Why were you worrying about the crowd?
Don’t eat biltong before a squash match…….
My opponent that night was Dean Venter. Age: 12
Me: 57
43 years of experience had just been run down. My body was tired, but I
was beaten in the brain. Thank you, Dean Venter for teaching me some
lessons. You are headed for a great squash career. Keep your feet on
the ground, aim for the stars, and surround yourself with good people
and good advice
Just a thought…hopefully our rugby players will start examining their black boxes
