Doug Cartland's Four-Minute Leadership Advisory
Doug Cartland, Inc.
06/18/2013

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Don Larsen pitched a perfect game for the New York Yankees in the 1956 World Series. He has the only perfect game in World Series history. Pretty good...

 

Maybe more amazing than the perfect game itself was his reaction to it.

 

You should watch the clip of the last out. I saw it again just the other day. There is an iconic image of catcher Yogi Berra leaping into Larsen's arms after the final pitch. But what is fascinating is what went on just before that picture was snapped.

 

After Larsen notches the final strikeout, he simply walks off the pitcher's mound as if it was the final out of the third inning of some regular season game. He was heading for the dugout. There is zero display of emotion. There is no pumping of the fists. I'm not even sure if he's smiling.

 

He seemed awkward in the moment...strangely sedate. And then into the frame gallops Berra, as if to say, "Dude! You just pitched a perfect game in a World Series! This is a big deal!"

 

And he leaps into his arms...and the image is preserved for history.

 

It was as if Don Larsen was uncomfortable with the attention...like he wanted to go hide.

 

I've told you of my grandfather before. He was the head football coach at the University of Illinois, won three Big Ten championships and a couple of Rose Bowls, retired from coaching in 1959 and became an international speaker.

 

And, oh could he speak.

 

But he also had an aversion to attention.

 

I remember when I was maybe ten years old and played football in the Park Ridge, Illinois Mighty Mites league. We had our annual football banquet and my grandfather was the guest speaker.

 

I remember how proud I was watching him up there mesmerizing the crowd as he always did.

 

And then he was done. And then he was gone.

 

He almost always finished by saying, "Good night and God bless you." But he would never stay around for the applause...he would barely acknowledge it at all.

 

I remember the entire room rose to its feet and gave him a great ovation...and he wasn't there to see it. He said his final words and simply walked off.

 

He did this, too, when I was a member of a student organization at the University of Illinois and asked if he would come speak. There were only about thirty of us that night. It was much less formal...but still spellbinding.

 

He finished his speech, said "Good night and God bless you," turned and walked right out the door. I had to chase him down the stairs to thank him.

 

"Was it alright?" he asked me.

 

Really?

 

Like Don Larsen, my grandfather was incredibly uncomfortable with adulation.

 

People aren't going to believe this, but I've fought that discomfort myself. Well, not that I've dealt much with adulation, but one of the things I hate doing more than anything is promoting myself. It seems so...so...what's the word...uncouth.

 

But, as distasteful as I find it, I have to do it or I can't grow my business. I have no choice but to tell people how good I think I am. How weird is that?

 

And yet, part of me hopes that that nagging discomfort, that little edge of nervousness, that uneasy thorn under my skin that prods me when I'm complimented or when I need to promote myself never goes away.

 

Don Larsen had a basic humility that made attention uncomfortable. My grandfather had the same. But maybe that's not such a bad thing.

 

After all, humility makes greatness greater.
I'd love to hear from you. Reply to this email and let me know your thoughts. 

 

Doug

 

Doug Cartland, President
Doug Cartland, Inc.

 

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