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EAGLES AND MULES

Now, you may have problems generating and sustaining this kind of "common goal" spirit. I'm not going to be a Pollyanna about team spirit, and say that it's something anybody can develop anywhere. It can be a problem to get six or seven distinct individuals all pulling in the same direction at the same time, and the reason it's often a problem is that, in most organizations, even if you have a leader who sees himself as a facilitator and educator, you're still going to run into team members who see themselves as "better" or "worse" than the rest.

In addition to the manager/player split that I talked about with reference to Lenk's book, there's a second split that divides teammates - or people who ought to be teammates - into a bunch of superstars on the one hand, and a bunch of everyday, "ordinary" players on the other. The superstars, today, are often called "eagles." The rest of the folks are just "mules."

Some of this is inevitable. People do have different abilities. Some players do stand out. But it's easy to let the distinction between eagles and mules get out of hand, and when that happens the team always suffers. You see it all the time in big companies, where the eagles all wear coats and ties and the mules are the ones punching time clocks. The eagle-mule distinction takes on a debilitating class flavor in a lot of firms, which exacerbates tensions that already exist between "brain" people and "brawn" people, and which makes it only natural that management and workers see each other as enemies.

The terms "eagle" and "mule" come from a sports context, but actually I've seen very little "brain-brawn" or other "class" warfare in professional sports. The relevant question in pro ball is never, "Where did you go to school?" or "What kind of car do you drive" or "Did your ancestors come over on the Mayflower?"  It's a much simpler one: "Can you play?" If the answer to that is yes, then come on board and prove it. If it's no, then
I don't care how long your mama has been on the social register, I don't want you on my team.

Actually, the term "mule" came from the same Notre Dame team that spawned the name "Four Horsemen." In the news lingo of the day, what kept the famous backfield from getting sacked on every play was the world-class blocking of the Irish line: that seven-member battering ram known collectively as the Seven Mules. Point man for the Mules was center Adam Walsh, himself an All-American, and it was Walsh who coined the term. "We are just the seven mules," he complained once with bittersweet humor. "We do all the work so that these four fellows can gallop into fame."

Coach Knute Rockne, aware of the linemen's sensitivity on this matter, periodically brought the flying horsemen down to earth and at the same time reinforced the importance of team, not just individual, motivation. When the Four Horsemen began to believe their press notices, Edwin Pope writes, "Rockne would casually remove the Seven Mules and let the horsemen stumble around behind scrub blocking. When they were ready to drop, he would reinsert [them] and taunt the backfield. 'Without the Mules, you Horsemen are just turtles.' "

It was true, too, and not just at Notre Dame. One of the reasons Rockne was such a great coach, and that his teams are still considered among the best of all time, is that he recognized the importance of collective motivation as a corrective to the all-too-human propensity for trying to outshine the group.

It's a sign of the maturity of professional sports that you don't see that tendency nearly as much today as you used to years ago. A case in point: Larry Bird, the Boston Celtics' phenomenal forward.

Larry Bird is a living demonstration of why aggressive, highly skilled players are often referred to as "eagles."  With his energy and talent, Bird could spark even a mediocre group of basketball players to peak performance; working with players of the Celtics' caliber, it's not surprising that he consistently lead the team into close competition for the NBA playoffs. In a world of superstars, competitors like Bird stand out as among the most motivated performers of their time. But do you know why he's so motivated? Part of it is personal, of course. But part of it is the very fact that he is part of a winning organization. Bird, in fact, is one of the best team players you're ever going to see.  He constantly displays that understanding of the link between personal and collective objectives that is characteristic of all true "eagles." Bird knows that the fundamental point of the game is not to show off to his friends or to get himself in the record books, but to have his team put the ball through the hoop more times than the other team. Like any successful player, he knows that the best way to accomplish that is to operate as part of a collective unit.

There's a certain subtle selfishness about this. Any eagle wants to fly, and any superstar wants to shine. But those who remain superstars do so by cooperating with the team.  Ironically, they protect their own elevated status by appearing to downplay it. It's not charity that impels the court eagle to pass. It's a matter of collective, and therefore personal, survival.

Next week we will take this logic into the workplace.

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