Call Me Up in Teamland

 

I don’t play golf. I’m not interested in the scenery much, nor am I jazzed about hacking through tall weeds for hours in search of a tiny ball. Scuba diving in the sky-blue waters of the Caribbean is one thing, while mucking it up in the muddy marshes of a public course for an errant shot is quite another. And I’m not about to take advice from a little man holding my bag, literally telling me which way the wind blows. I do appreciate the concept of a mulligan though, something which ought to extend far beyond the fairway and into everyday life. What I want is to be a part of a team. The real issue is that I’m not good enough at golf to collect any gold trophies or cash prizes. 

Any pro athlete will tell you - off the record of course - that the best part of being on a successful team is the lack of work that’s required. All you need is one generational talent to lead the way, while the rest of the squad rides safely on the coattails of the dynamic genius. Teamwork is a terrific boon to the lazy and lethargic. It’s how people like Mark Madsen are able to receive championship rings, more famous for a wonderfully off beat dance during the victory parade than anything done on the court. Imagine you're a stowaway on the first circumnavigation of the world. There you are, below deck, surrounded by dry goods and rotten food, wondering what's next. Guess what? When that ship crosses the finish line, you deserve the same credit as ol’ Ferry Magellan. You were there, and that's what counts.

You’re the last guy to sign the Declaration of Independence. The last person to say, “Yeah, yeah, I guess I’m also Spartacus.” You washed Leonardo's brushes, sharpened Einstein's pencils, tied Jesse Owens' shoes. Sometimes, in my brightest dreams I think of myself as a young worker bee at Los Alamos during the second World War. Playing with plutonium, isolating isotopes, shooting at speedy coyotes in the vast desert. I’m no Dick Feynman, but I’m present. Oppenheimer has more to say, as does Fermi. But I chime in whenever it’s safe, “anyone hungry? Lunch would do us all some good.” And then, when the time comes, I get to say I was there. 

The point of joining a team is not to be the star. It’s to determine the exact amount of effort demanded in order to remain quietly under the radar and then, take credit when it's acceptable to do so. The best part of this philosophy is that when things go wrong, you’re out of the blast radius of blame. There are no guilty consciences on the furtherest end of the bench. Let others do the work while you have the fun.