Winners don’t always score the most points
Success is not measured by the final score. Years ago, when I was teaching US history, I was also coaching football. I coached offensive and defensive linemen. The school had a full coaching staff for the varsity team but only one JV coach dedicated to coaching the younger players. So, a couple of the varsity coaches helped with the younger players at practice and during games. Believe me… coaching from the sidelines is not just standing around with a clipboard while watching players run up and down the field…there’s always a lot going on. Fridays were brutal: JV pregame prep followed by a full four quarters that involved watching, analyzing, substituting, praising players who were doing well, consoling and trying to motivate players who were not playing well, and feeding information to the head JV coach. When the JV game ended, I turned my attention to the varsity game. By the time the varsity players were filing out of the locker room, I was already exhausted. Fridays were 8+ hours nonstop on my feet, but what was even more fatiguing was the emotional rollercoaster that goes with being immersed in back-to-back high school football games.
In the 2010 season, our JV team lined up against a large public high school’s JV team. I was coaching 14 and 15 year-old boys. The Capuchino High School JV team players were young men. They were bigger, stronger, and faster than my players. That day in October, we had only six linemen ready to play.
This story is about one of those linemen… a freshman named Nathan Dhablania. It is a story that proves success is not measured by the final score. One of my six linemen got injured, so I’m down to five players. That means no subs.
The visiting team was running all over our kids. During a timeout, Nate asked me what he should be doing… I told him… just give your best effort. He did. Later in the game, the Capuchino JV team was up by five scores and they still had their starters in the game. We really couldn’t move the ball on offense, but it wasn’t because Nate and the other offensive linemen weren’t trying. They were just physically overmatched.
On defense, our guys could slow Capuchino down, but they could not stop their opponents. On one particular play, Nate got blocked hard… the other team’s player just pushed Nate straight to the ground. The whistle blew and Nate looked over at me on the sideline. My heart ached for him. I held out both hands and moved my palms up as if to signal him… it is what it is… it will be OK… let’s see this through to the end. Then I pumped my right fist and shouted to him, “Let’s go, Nate! You’re my guy!” Nate got right back into the fray… again and again until the game was over. He never gave up. We lost, badly, but Nate’s performance was not measured on the scoreboard.
Nate’s dad was not happy that Nate put so much time into football, and he urged Nate to get involved in other extracurricular activities. Clubs and programs that would look good on a college application. Nate was firm; he wanted to play football.
A couple of years later, I was Nate’s US history teacher. He asked me to write a college recommendation letter for him. I was glad to do it. I asked him to fill out a worksheet for me concerning what he believed were his greatest accomplishments during his junior year. Nate’s worksheet included three references to football. It was clear that he valued the lessons he learned on the football field: responsibility, commitment, teamwork and working hard… even when he might be overmatched… to achieve his goals. In my recommendation letter, I mentioned that October afternoon and Nate’s experience of falling short time and time again but refusing to surrender. I could certainly write laudatory words about Nate’s academic performance in my class, but more importantly, I could write admiringly about his character and integrity.
If you were a college admissions officer, isn’t Nate the type of student you want to select? The University of Southern California’s answer was, “Yes!” Nate has since graduated with bachelor’s and master’s of science degrees in stem cell biology. Then, he moved to a research assistant position at Stanford’s School of Medicine before settling in at Loyola University Chicago to start earning an MD. Do you think Nate would be the kind of researcher who would set aside inconclusive lab results for later or would he pick himself up and try again… and again?
The postscript to this story is that Nate’s dad sought me out one day at school. He told me that he had been wrong about Nate’s desire to play football. He didn’t understand how much playing football really meant to his son. Nate’s dad had started to enjoy being the father of a football player. He added that he wanted to show his appreciation for what football had done for Nate and their relationship. Dad found a way. I guess the post postscript would be Nate’s LinkedIn profile. The last item in the education portion includes Nate’s participation in JV and varsity football.
Today, Nate is a huge success. He defines success on his terms, and that success is not measured by numbers on a scoreboard.
Copyright © 2025 by Ray Fowler
