Game Design Zen

I am a really good coach. In truth, I’m not an expert on soccer and we don’t win all of our games. But … well… let me just share a story.

Last Friday, we were facing an advanced travel team. I swear, it was exactly like the opening scene of a movie. Our opponents had fancy jerseys, they were fast as lightning, and they were unbelievably huge. We were completely outclassed in every way and we knew it.

But, we started the same way we always do. When I called ‘hands-in’, my boys gathered together. They put out their arms and we did our team shout. They have to do it in unison, no exceptions. And if it’s half-hearted, I make them do it again and again, until they mean it.

When they put their hands in, I told em, “Look, we’re going to lose this game. We’ve got no subs, and they’re awesome. But it doesn’t matter. We play as a team and we lose as a team. Do it like you mean it.” And they shouted, louder than ever.

Of course, our opponents crushed us. It was goal after goal after goal, from the moment the first whistle was blown. The score became so lopsided, that the other coach began to feel bad. He started telling his boys to slow down. ‘Pass 3 times first’ and then, ‘pass it back first.’ And eventually, he was screaming at them, ‘play keep away.’ But despite his efforts, it was a blowout.

At halftime, the other coach came over. He offered to share some of his boys to balance out the game. So, I called a huddle and I asked the boys, ‘what do you want to do?’ And you know what? They surprised me. Every one of them looked me in the eye and said, ‘nah, we got this coach.’ ‘Yeah! We need the practice!’ ‘We can do this.’ … Then they cheered and ran onto the field.

The game went exactly as expected, except for one thing. My boys played their hearts out. Despite the difference in size and skill, they fought with everything they had and never gave up. And after the game was over, I heard them talking. They were laughing and having fun. Despite losing, they were upbeat, almost triumphant. They were proud.

Years ago, when I first started coaching, I read a lot of books. All of them talked about the rules of soccer and techniques for practice. They taught you how to win. But almost none of them talked about the real purpose of a coach. See, I’m not trying to train the next David Beckham or Hope Solo. I’m trying to get these kids to find their courage. I’m trying to teach them to live life like they mean it, even when the odds are stacked against them. And that’s something I’m really good at.

We used to have a dictionary  named ‘Old Faithful’. It was a simple, very old dictionary. It had paper and ink, the pages were tattered and torn, and it did what all good dictionaries do. It sat there, lying around the house, waiting for one of those rare moments, the inevitable ‘that’s-not-what-that-means’ argument. Unfortunately for Old Faithful, my wife held a grudge. I think, once upon a time, at the height of a disagreement, out came the fateful words, ‘let’s look it up.’ But the definition was nowhere to be found. It had failed her.

It’s rare that I’m right about a word. So, I was excited. What I didn’t know was that forever more, that particular dictionary would be labeled, ‘not real.’  It was doomed – which according to the dictionary means, ‘inevitable destruction.’ (Ominous music) Dunh dunh duunnn….

But everything was better on Christmas day – I was given a shiny new dictionary. I think it was my wife’s way of saying sorry for destroying Old Faithful. Of course, this new one is fantastic! It has thin pages, itty-bitty print, and a bazillion words. It’s a fifth edition – very authentic. And then I realized, with this new dictionary around, my days of winning obscure ‘look-it-up’ games was over. Old Faithful was gone, but my wife had apologized. I had a new dictionary and life was good.

It’s 3:00 AM and I’m staring at the ceiling. Again. Too much stuff is going to happen in the next couple of days. New proposals to write, demos to give, and a flight to Orlando for a new project. Crazy.

But that’s not what’s keeping me awake. Nope. It’s the soccer game my son played on Sunday. It’s one moment in particular, that keeps playing in my head. The ball is bouncing near our goal. Our keeper, Ernie, moves for the ball – he’s going to block it. The opponent jumps for the ball anyway, but it’s too high. He shouldn’t go for it, but he does and he kicks my goal keeper square in the chest. Ernie crumbles to the ground in pain. I run onto the field.

Ernie is a great kid. He has short brown hair and bronzed skin. He’s a little tall for his age, but his face is still round and young-looking. Ernie is interesting because he feels safest inside the keeper’s box. He feels in control there and he knows what to do. But, now he’s on the ground, curled into a ball. When I get to his side, I talk him through it. It was a nasty kick, but luckily, Ernie’s not hurt that bad. But, now that he’s down, he doesn’t want to get up. Everyone’s watching and he doesn’t want them to see his face. He’s only 13.

What the heck was that other boy thinking? A kick like that is dangerous and totally illegal! ‘Don’t kick my keeper!’ I scolded. The ref should throw a red card. Give a warning at least! I was pretty angry – unusually so. And as I’m walking Ernie off the field, it hits me. Wow! I already have strong feelings for this kid.

But why? I’ve only known these boys a few weeks and I’m not even their actual coach. Well, not really. I mean, it’s just the winter league. It’s just a handful of games between fall and spring, just for fun. And, I’m just helping out. Temporarily.

Back It Up

Wait a minute. I haven’t gotten enough sleep and I’m not making sense. Let’s back this story up, all the way to summertime, when my son signed up for fall soccer. My son was too old to stay in the league he was in. He had to move on to the next league – U14! But most of his friends were younger and didn’t have to move on. So, they stayed back. I had been coaching his team for years, but now it was splitting up. I was sad.

But I was also relieved. If they weren’t moving on, then I wouldn’t have to coach! I could take a year off. I’d have more time for my family and more time to put into Gigi. And since my son was going to be in a whole different league, he’d probably get a great coach.

I was wrong. Apparently, the coach my son was supposed to get moved away. And nobody else stepped up to the plate. So Matt, the manager of the soccer league, looked around for a while, and eventually got some college player to step in as coach. It was a recipe for disaster right from the beginning. By the end of the season, the college guy was barely showing up for games. When it was over, he promptly quit. This team was full of good kids, including my son, and they deserved a good coach. But they didn’t get one.

Are You With Me Now?

Have you ever read the Hobbit? It’s a coming of age story about Bilbo Baggins: a young man who finds himself on an unexpected and dangerous journey. All Bilbo wants is to stay in the safety of his little home in the Shire, but life has something else in store. Later in the story, Bilbo finds himself alone in a haunted forest. He is surrounded by total darkness and he is terribly afraid. All of his friends have been captured by creatures and he is the only one left to save them. It’s his pivotal moment – the moment when Bilbo finds courage and becomes a man. Or, rather, a Hobbit.

Well, kids have pivotal moments too. And as coach, I help them prepare. Teenage boys love to put on a brave face for the world. But, just like Bilbo, most are hoping to stay in their comfort zones, where they are safe. Ernie doesn’t like me to put him anywhere but in the goalie box, because he feels safe. But the goalie box wasn’t safe. Life isn’t safe either.

And now I’ve come full circle. I decided not to coach this fall. It was the right thing to do. But as I’m walking Ernie off the field, I realize just how much I miss it.

It reminds me of a conversation I had at the end of the spring season. It was officially my last game as a coach. Matt, the manager of the soccer league, comes over and shakes my hand. He thanks me for my efforts and we talk a bit. He wishes me well, but right at the end, he gets this odd grin and gives the tiniest chuckle. The last thing he says is, ‘You’ll be back.’

I was an awesome caterpillar. And I did what caterpillars do best – I consumed. Books, blogs, every theory in sight. Chomp, chomp, chomp, I gobbled them up. I became fat with ideas and was happy to boot. There was just one problem. I didn’t know I was a caterpillar. And a caterpillar can’t keep consuming forever. I had grown enough and ready or not, was about to change.

I used to assume something fluffy and magical happened in a cocoon. But, I recently learned that the reality is much different. The fat caterpillar literally breaks down into mush. He consumes what he no longer needs and rebuilds himself from scratch. When ready, he must fight his way out of the cocoon. The struggle to escape is the final stage of his metamorphosis. Only then, can he stand triumphant, inflating his wings, ready for flight.

For the caterpillar, this all happens in a handful of days, but for me, it took over 9 months. In that time, I too turned to mush. I digested everything: the path of my career, why games work, the uniqueness of my family, the love of my wife. I spent a lot of nights, laying in the dark, staring at the ceiling. I made some products that failed, but I gave some speeches that didn’t. And I began to study the stories in my own life. I realized I didn’t want to do just one single thing. I wanted to combine it all: business, family, games, and life. I broke through my cocoon. Metamorphosis complete. I had become Gigi, ready for flight.

‘They don’t trust you,’ I replied. I was chatting with a fellow game designer. He was having trouble getting support for his project and he wanted to know what to do. His problem wasn’t his ideas, it was trust. And that’s not something you can argue your way into.

And I shared this story. When we were building the Damage Control Trainer for the Navy, the top brass at Recruit Command was very supportive of our efforts. The leaders had a vision – they wanted to improve training by using games.

But the red-ropers weren’t interested. You see, each instructor is given a badge to wear on their shoulder: a knot of tiny red ropes. It’s the symbol of their authority and the reason for their title. Of course, red-ropers don’t have authority to say whether the Navy will or will not use a training game. Or so it says on paper. But in reality, everyone knows the red-ropers are the real trainers. They are the boots on the ground. They control the training.

And they didn’t support us. The red ropers heard the word ‘game’ and lost all interest. It was a huge impediment. Sure, every once in a while, a couple of them would show up for a meeting and toss us a few suggestions. We’d get all excited and gobble it up, like hungry dogs. And then we wouldn’t hear from them again for months.

But all of that changed. All of a sudden, we had red-ropers lined up to talk to us. We had direct access to the most knowledgeable experts they had, the best trainers in the Navy! They returned our calls and emails. It was awesome!

The difference was results. We completed the prototype and ran a series of studies with real recruits. It exceeded all expectations! The recruits loved the game, but more importantly, we showed a 50% improvement in their performance. Those results changed everything.

When we started, the red-ropers didn’t trust us. To be honest, why should they? We hadn’t earned trust. We hadn’t shown results! As far as they were concerned, we had no track record. All we gave them was a bunch of babble about the theoretical benefits of using games to train.

This is the problem my friend was having with his bosses. As Stephen Covey explains, in ‘The Speed Of Trust’, trust requires 4 things, the 4th being results. You can’t talk-about results. You either have them or you don’t.

So what should he do? Get some results. He needs to stop talking about how awesome games are and start building a prototype. Build something that works. Get results and everything will change. Steve Martin said it well, ‘Be so good they can’t ignore you.’