In this space, I often wonder if I’m leading readers astray as I encourage people to ‘go for it’ in the football business. What if I’m leading people down a path that winds up in a bad place? What if they take a risk and it works out in a really negative way?

As I was searching for today’s War Story, I came across this from Phil Emery, the former Bears GM who spoke at our seminar last January. Phil is adamant that if you’re going to succeed in football, or even in life, you have to take a few leaps.

“Take risks, and don’t be afraid of them, OK? I’m sure there’s very few people in here that have talked to the one-percenters that are all the political debate about, the top one percent of wealthy people in the United States. OK? I’m not one of those. I didn’t come from there, if you are, you’re very fortunate, OK? You probably took risks to get there. Take risk.  I’ve always kind of looked at it, and I reminded myself when I got the job in Chicago is, you’ve never really had anything, so swing harder. Don’t choke up on the bat, OK? Don’t choke up on the bat. Swing hard. I swung hard, OK? It didn’t work out, but I’m proud of one thing: we weren’t afraid to swing. Nobody left me at the plate looking at the ball, OK? We spent every dime we could spend, and we tried to make the best decisions that we can, or we could. So that’s my advice. Remember, anything is possible. Do it for the benefit of others, and don’t be afraid to take risks. The more risk you take, the more change will happen in your life, and ultimately, change makes you stronger.

“I counted up, I’m going to be moving on my 20^th move post-college. I’ve made 20 different moves. I’ve had 11 different jobs, and my wife’s been with me for 18 of those moves, so she’s gold, OK? We’ve been together for 34 years, and every one of those changes benefits you down the road. The things that I did as equipment manager benefited me as a GM. Why? Because I could walk down to that basement and knew exactly what that person was doing, and those organizational tasks help.”

If you’re more of a visual person, check out 7:56-9:38 in this video and you can hear it from Phil himself.

Last week, I talked about the importance of having the support of those closest to you personally if you’re going to make it in this business. Today, let’s talk about the next ring: your professional team.

When you’re starting out, it’s hard to find good help. At least, it has been for me. What’s more, depending on the nature of what you’re trying to do, you may or may not have people who are willing to buy into your vision. That’s been part of my problem until recently.

Here are some of the qualities I’ve found in the people who’ve been my best helpers/interns/assistants.

A sense of sacrifice: If you bring someone in as an intern, or a partner, or whatever, and it’s all about the money, it will never work. At least, not at the start. I moved heaven and earth early in the life of ITL to find students that would work for ‘experience.’ I found a couple that expressed early interest, but that quickly faded away. These days, when I meet someone that wants to work with me, I always give them my card, then tell them to call me. I make them make the first move. It always works. I never hear from them. They cut themselves.

Initiative: You have to give your people the chance to see what you do, why you do it and how you do it, then let them go. They have to be able to see a need and attack it without you having to tell them. When I was a plebe at Navy, they made us all memorize a story about a driven soldier who did without having to be told. The story was called ‘Message to Garcia.’ I can’t count the number of times an upperclassman screamed ‘Message to Garcia’ to us when we screwed up due to laziness or other inaction.

A remote location: I’m serious about this. It’s a real benefit as you seek out talented folks to help you. One of the battles I fight in Houston, Texas, is that everyone who is interested in working in sports (and who is skilled and able) gets something with one of the major sports franchises in town. That makes it tougher for me, but I’ve been fortunate to work with Rice University and have also crossed paths with some young folks who are exceptional. If you are in Fargo or Albuquerque, there’s far less competition for the people who want to succeed in football.

Work ethic: OK, this one is pretty obvious, but my three guys right now (Alex, D.J. and Kevin) are pretty whatever-it-takes kinds of guys. I’ve given them several projects this summer and they’ve done what it takes to hit the deadlines. That’s critical.

Loyalty: The best assistant I’ve ever had is my guy Murphy, who is not only a lights-out worker but incredibly loyal. He’s so loyal that he gets violently angry at people that are not exactly friends of ITL. That kind of passion is awesome, and pretty important. Speaking of passion . . . .

Passion: Anyone who’s going to work with you better be as excited about the work as you are. That passion will sustain them during the low points.

I’m certainly no expert on the subject, but this is what I’ve seen in my decade-plus trying to climb the football ladder. File this away someplace as you build your own team.

No matter whether you’re just figuring out if you want to pursue a place in the football world, or if you’re already somewhere along that path, your success will depend greatly on who’s around you.

At ITL, we don’t have a big team, but we’re building it. Of course, I have a couple key players that you probably have, as well, whether you know it or not.

First of all, there’s my wife. I know it’s seen as a cliche to thank your spouse when you have any kind of success, but Polly has been a very tangible part of things for me. To cite one example, when I returned from the Hula Bowl in January of 2008, down in the dumps and lacking direction, she’s the one that encouraged me to take the biggest risk of my life professionally. That risk was the re-launch of ITL, but without the safety net of making the site fan-friendly, and with a dramatically higher price point. I remember former subscribers who were happy to see me return, but who literally shouted at me over the phone, outraged at the new rate. Back then, maybe it was a little outrageous, but now, I feel it’s justified. I don’t mean to be immodest when I say that no one else does what we do, and no one else provides the level of service that we do.

There’s also my parents. I have the best parents in the world, and I hope you do, too, if you’re gonna make a run at the football biz. The year I ran the Hula Bowl, I did it without a staff, which made most things a logistical nightmare. But there my parents were in Honolulu in January of 2008. Most people who would go to Hawaii for their 40th wedding anniversary wouldn’t stray far from the beach, but I don’t know if my parents ever even made it to the beach. They were too busy picking up surly coaches from the airport, registering players at the hotel, or helping fit our invitees for the various swag that comes with playing in an all-star game. My parents have endless energy and endless support of me, and that’s a blessing that will really come in handy as you move forward in this industry.

I’ve got a lot of friends who have helped out, too. I know plenty of guys in my position might get flak from their peers, who might be completely dismissive of a shot-in-the-dark attempt at a career like mine. But that hasn’t been the case for me. There’s my former partner, Troy Brown, who has always encouraged me. There’s my former boss, Marty Hajovsky, who always covered for me at my ‘real job’ when ITL was just the job I moonlighted with. There’s another friend, Mark Babineck, who was kind of enough to chip in for a one-year subscription in the first year of ITL, even though I doubt he ever even logged on. There’s another friend, Samer Bitar, who’s helped put together our post-draft offerings more than once, and I have several  members of my church family who follow me here, on Twitter, or on Facebook, and have provided support, encouragement, prayers, or whatever else I’ve needed. In fact, I’ve probably missed out on 10-20 names of friends and confidantes who’ve helped me along the way. I couldn’t have done it without these people.

You can’t do this alone. I hope I’ve shown that, and I haven’t even started talking about the inner circle that helps me do the actual heavy lifting, the day-to-day work, of ITL. I’ll discuss them in my next post.

As I sift through the people on Twitter that post in the football world, I see lots of bio pages that proudly proclaim Pro Football Writers of America (PFWA) membership.

If you’re hoping to be the next McShay, Kiper or Mayock, and you don’t have such a membership, that may be a little intimidating to you. Well, I’m here to tell you not to fear that, or really anything else, as you make your climb in the business. Often, such certifications don’t indicate anything more than an ability to pay club fees.

You won’t find membership in the PFWA on my Twitter bio. Here’s why.

I remember my first NFL combine in 2002. It was a big deal, because I had never been to one, and I knew I’d be launching Inside the League that fall. I had no idea what to expect. I had been told by a friend that all the media hung out in the lobby of the Crowne Plaza hotel at Union Station in downtown Indianapolis, but when I got there, I found out that the NFL had mandated that the media inhabit this one big room in the Indiana Convention Center. I was fortunate enough to get a credential, so I carried by laptop in and inhabited a space somewhere at the tables that were set up along the walls.

I got in before anyone else just to make sure I got a seat, but a couple hours later, the then-President of the PFWA would make an announcement of what players were expected to pass through the interview room that day. He’d also urge everyone to follow their assignments on the transcriptions they’d been assigned. In short order, I found out I would be welcomed into the PFWA, even though I had no affiliations with major newspapers, radio or TV. All I had to do was pay my money and I’d be put on the email list. I’d even get access to the transcriptions, which was really helpful because I was trying to do my own, and could never get all the players myself.

At any rate, one day that week I learned that there were several players that had slipped through the cracks. I had taped these players’ interviews, and I felt that this was my chance to really gain traction with some major writers and make some key contacts. For that reason, I spent the week after the combine madly transcribing, in minute detail, the interviews I’d done with several lesser prospects. The President of the PFWA, who happened to be local, assured me I had done a great thing. “This is a really big help to us,” he said. “You’ve got a great future in the PFWA and I won’t forget this.”

Well, he pretty much forgot about it by the following week. I tried to contact him about a few small things in the ensuing weeks, and he ignored my emails and other notes completely. I finally got my courage up to call him a couple times, too, and I never got any response whatsoever.

I was pretty shocked. I mean, this was the vaunted PFWA. I thought I had arrived when I achieved membership, and thought I was among an army of respected and hard-working professionals, the biggest names in the business. I found out I was just another disposable member, a guy who was counted on to write a check and transcribe some lesser prospects’ interviews, and nothing more.

It was really frustrating then, but it made me realize that such a membership was really nothing more than an empty title. I realized that at the end of the day, my success wouldn’t be counted on how many ‘clubs’ I was in, but in how much legitimate, reliable, helpful information and insights I provided. It didn’t matter one bit if I was in a writers association.

That’s true of you, too. Don’t worry about any — any — clubs, societies, associations, fraternities, or anything else that seems exclusive. Most of the time, those are just places for mediocrity to hide. Once you achieve success, people in these groups will seek you out for membership.

Your success doesn’t ever hinge on recognition from your supposed peers. In fact, most people who really achieved things did it despite their peers’ disdain. It’s just one more thing you can use for inspiration.

I was watching the broadcast of the St. Louis Cardinals’ home opener yesterday — yes, I recognize that there are other sports besides football — and they were interviewing former Cards great Ozzie Smith. He made a point that I’ve never seen anyone else make at such an occasion.

They were asking him about the pageantry of Opening Day and the happy, feel-good atmosphere of the festivities, especially among the retired players assembled, and how much fun he must be having. I’m paraphrasing, but his response was something along the lines of, “Hey, I can relax because I don’t have to worry about hitting a slider or a curveball here in about a half-hour.”

I think he really nailed it with that quote. I go to pro days, all-star games, training facilities, and all manner of places where non-athletes love to hang out and be part of the throng. Very often, I wonder if the people dressed in their leather and expensive sunglasses really have an appreciation for what the players are thinking and talking about and going through.

Extraordinary athletes have a way of making things look easy. I guess that’s what makes them great. But that feeling of competing, and knowing what the price of failure is if you don’t succeed, is something not everyone knows. Most of us that have been ‘in the arena’ have come to the end of our playing days at times, but not all have known that urgency.

I wasn’t an elite athlete. My standard laugh line when I speak is that, as a walk-on linebacker at an also-ran school (Navy) in the late 80s, I may have been the worst player on the worst team in America. I always knew the end would come, and as a rotational practice player on a struggling team, I was living on borrowed time anyway.

I’m going to have the chance to attend a splashy party in Chicago the night before the draft in a couple weeks. It will be fun; it’s always great to take my wife to meet people I work with on a regular basis in a place where we can all relax and set aside the competitive juices. These events are a nice reward, but I don’t regularly attend things like this, partially by design. I never want to be the guy that forgets about the blood and sacrifice that these young men put into their careers.

You may never have played the game, and if not, that doesn’t preclude you from succeeding in this business. Still, if you’re really looking to climb the football ladder, please don’t do it for the parties, or the glamor, or the life. Don’t be ‘that guy.’ Make sure you’ll bleed just as much as your clients if they don’t make it.

Sorry.

Obviously, I’m not going anywhere. I’m the same guy I was. Still running ITL and journaling regularly in this space for people interested in succeeding in the biz.

I hope you’ll accept a funny War Story, since it’s Wednesday, for your trouble.

In the 90s, before the Internet, ATM cards and Pay Pal, money was a lot different. When coaches were going out to recruit, schools handed them a wad of traveler’s cheques — I’m not even sure if these things still exist — and sent them on their way. Today’s WSW is about one coach I know. He even went on to be an FBS head coach and had great success. Maybe today’s story explains how things had a way of working out for him.

This coach was not especially disciplined. In fact, during his time as an assistant coach in the early 90s, his team had been reluctant to send him on the road, fearful he might get himself into trouble. Eventually, the team relented, sending him to South Florida, around Miami. What could happen, right?

Plenty happened. In his first days in South Florida, he discovered Jai Alai, a kind of ‘team racquetball’ contest that was exceptionally popular in the area in the late 80s/early 90s, especially with gamblers. Back then, pari-mutuel wagering and Jai Alai went together like Miami and vice. In the space of a day or two, two things happened. One, the coach got a crash course in Jai Alai. Two, he became dead broke.

That left him with few options. There were no cell phones, and what would he say if he called the school anyway? For the coach, a burly sort, there was one thing to do: find the bars on the Hispanic side of town, where he had an idea.

He’d wait for things to get busy, then challenge a fellow bar patron to arm wrestle. Arm wrestling was this coach’s game, and this became his hustle. For several nights, he spent the evenings arm wrestling for $10 a match, then sleeping in his car.

At this point, fortune smiled on him. Details are scarce, but either he was able to locate a former coach in South Florida, or he bumped into him a friend one night at the bar. Either way, he found a sympathetic ear, and his friend allowed him to sleep on his floor. Now the coach had access to a phone and non-vehicular lodging.

From there, with a small loan from his friend and his earnings toppling arm wrestling enthusiasts, the coach went on a whirlwind recruiting trip, hitting all his stops and making all his contacts before returning to the school. It all worked out, though odds were against it almost from the start.

I like to provide a moral to my anecdotes, or at least make a point. I’m not sure there’s a point today. Maybe today’s lesson is that even when things work out, you’ll need a few breaks.  Good thing my friend, this coach, got plenty during his recruiting trip to Florida.