Pick your passion. Go ahead. Pick it.
What’s the issue that drives you? … that you are totally passionate about? … that you have such a strong opinion on that you are certain that no one — absolutely no one — could convince you otherwise? You know this topic. You feel strongly — incredibly strongly. In fact, you feel so strongly, you believe you are incapable of having any aspect or perspective that is skewed — that is — dare I suggest — even, possibly, partially, wrong?
What is it? What’s your driving passion?
… abortion… adoption… gay marriage… the defense of marriage… mandated healthcare… mandated prayer… mandated anything… responsible economics… environmental responsibility… individual responsibility… freedom of religion… freedom from religion… freedom… birth control… government-provided birth control… income inequality… education inequality… any perceived inequality… cloning… hate crimes… gun control… gun rights… securing our borders… securing the rights of illegals… racial discrimination… gender discrimination… religious discrimination… sexual preference discrimination… social justice… administering justice… drug abuse… disabilities… parenting… parenting teenagers… gray hair removal…
(… sorry, but after listing all those passions, for some strange reason, my growing gray hair came to mind…)
On Sunday — if we were paying attention to more than the food and the football — the estimated 108.4 million of us who watched the Ravens prove victorious over the 49ers, were treated to a wise lesson modeled by the brothers Harbaugh.
John coaches the Baltimore Ravens. Jim leads the 49ers out of San Francisco.
The game was excellent. After a soaring start by the Ravens, tamed seemingly only by an odd electric outage, the game was both competitive and close. With less than 2 minutes to go and trailing by less than a touchdown, the 49ers had opportunity to finally forge ahead. 3 chances. No touchdowns. 1 chance arguably remained. On this fourth and final opportunity, the 49ers threw a fade into the end zone. All eyes watched as a play of several seconds seemed executed in undoubtedly, slow, slow-motion…
Incomplete.
The ball fell to the ground. Incomplete. The Ravens could then hold out for the win.
But on that final 49ers play, the physical contact was significant. Did the receiver push off? Did the defense interfere? Jim Harbaugh, the San Fran coach, screamed at the refs, throwing his hat in disgust, clamoring for defensive holding. John Harbaugh, the soon-to-be-victorious coach, felt just as strongly that no defensive penalty was in order. The 2 men disagreed. No one seemed capable of changing either of their equally, incredibly passionate opinions.
The 2 men — the 2 brothers — disagreed passionately on the call. Regardless of extent their passion, one good man won. The other one lost.
The winner did not gloat in his accomplishment. Even though he won the absolute, pinnacle game of his career, there was no public utterance of arrogance, of how he was better, how his team was better, nor what a big [bleeping] deal this was. The “winning” brother was continually mindful that his circumstances still meant someone else’s loss; someone else he cared about passionately disagreed with what led to his success.
Don’t let the outcome also cause us to conclude that Jim Harbaugh (the Super Bowl’s losing coach) suddenly changed his opinion, acted as if it was no big deal, nor simply suggested he was happy for his brother. Jim declined immediate post-game interviews. When he did speak, he was very clear that he passionately disagreed with the call. However, Jim Harbaugh was able to disagree without reverting to disrespect.
No gloating by John; no assuming he knows best. No pouting by Jim; no assuming he is a victim. The two men won and lost, while continuing to remember that people they cared about believed and felt differently.
Somehow we miss that… We feel so emboldened in our “wins” and our “losses” that we seem to actually forget those we care about. We forget that those who feel differently are not always evil, not always disrespectful, and (God forbid, probably) not always wrong.
We forget that we are brothers.
Respectfully,
AR