The Name on the Front

A Great Lesson from a Great Coach

You will say in your heart...how will I be able to conquer them? (Devarim 7:17)

 You may have heard the name: Herb Brooks. He coached the 1980 United States hockey Olympics team after retiring as a player himself and leading his alma mater, the Minnesota Golden Gophers, to three NCAA championship titles in the 1970s. But Herb Brooks’ U.S. hockey team was not what you imagine. The roster did not consist of all-time professional athletes; it consisted of a group of amateur college students. But even that wasn’t the biggest of their problems.

Of the twenty players on the roster, thirteen came from rival universities. Nine hailed from the University of Minnesota and four from Boston University. It was just four years before, in 1976, that a raging fight broke out between the Minnesota and Boston teams at a semifinals hockey championship, with punches being thrown left and right. Since then, these teams had not been friends, but vehement foes. And now, many of these same players who had previously been unforgiving rivalries were asked to be teammates and work together. It was a tall order. But that still wasn’t the entire picture.

The United States did not enter the Olympics merely to have fun; they wanted to win. But against whom would they have to contend? The Soviet Union who had won the gold medal in the previous six of seven Winter Olympics. It need not be said that the dichotomous and amateur U.S. squad, which was also the youngest national team, was a far cry from matching up against the all-time Soviets.

Herb Brooks was a fearless leader who was determined to persevere and contend against the long-standing champions. But there was one problem.

Brooks was ready for all of this, but only Brooks. His team wasn’t. They weren’t ready to push aside their differences and become a cohesiveness unit where talent would meet teamwork and preparation would meet opportunity. And that was a major problem.

Months before the opening of the Olympics, exhibition play began as the U.S. team stepped onto the ice rink to practice for the real games up ahead. But then came September 17th and the United States faced the Norwegian national team, only to end off the final score at a 3-3 tie. Coach Brooks wasn’t happy. As he saw it, his team wasn’t working hard enough and performing their best. And so, as Coach Brooks let the team know, if they didn’t work during the game, they would work after it.

As the final whistle blew, Brooks directed his team back onto the ice and forced them to skate suicides as the arena emptied out. Red line, back. Blue line, back. Far blue line, back. Far red line, back. Over and over and over. Again and again and again. Even after the custodians turned off the lights, the team continued skating in the dark. “Again!” demanded Brooks.

Why was Brooks making them do this? He himself answered that question. When the team had previously introduced themselves at a practice after two rivaled players broke out in a fight, here’s how it went: “Jack O’Callahan, from Charlestown, Massachusetts.” “And what team do you play for?” “Boston University.” Next player. “What team do you play for?” “University of Minnesota.” “And you?” “University of North Dakota.” “And you?” “University of Wisconsin, Coach.”

Now here stood the team months later, exhausted, skating back and forth, up and down the ice. They could do better, become bigger and play as a team. But they needed to work as a team. “When you pull on that jersey,” yelled Coach Brooks, “you represent yourself and your teammates. And the name on the front is a lot more important than the one on the back!” “Again!” barked Coach Brooks, as the whistle blew for the umpteenth time.

Hours later, every single player without exception was exhausted and on the verge of collapsing. But Coach Brooks was still not done. Turning towards the assistant coach, Craig Patrick, he gave the signal for the whistle to be blown yet another time. “Again,” he firmly said. But Patrick couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bear seeing the squad painfully move any further. “Again,” repeated Coach Brooks.

At that point, the lesson was learned. “Mike Eruzione, Winthrop, Massachusetts!” Coach Brooks paused. “Who do you play for?” “I play for the United States of America.”

Brooks paused again. “That’s all gentleman.” And with that, Brooks walked off the ice, knowing that his team had now seared the lesson into their heart and mind: “The name on the front is a lot more important than the one on the back.”

The 1980 United States hockey team went on to earn the gold medal that year, upsetting the favored Soviet Union in the first game of the medal round, and then Finland in the final game of the tournament. Their victory was dubbed a “miracle on ice.” Yet, the true miracle, as Coach Brooks himself put it, was more than the mere victory.

“As I watched them out there, celebrating on the ice, I realized that… it was a lot more than a hockey game, not only for those who watched it, but for those who played in it. I’ve often been asked what was the best moment for me. Well, it was here - the sight of twenty young men of such differing backgrounds now standing as one. Young men willing to sacrifice so much of themselves all for an unknown.”

When we think of unity, we tend to imagine one person walking over to another and saying, “Hi, how are you? Can I do anything to help?” Both of those initiatives are wonderful, but unity goes far beyond that. Unity is when we wake up every single morning and put on our jersey, yet remember that the name on the front is more important than the name on the back. Every Jew, no matter who he or she is or what their background is, plays as part of a team. And every member of that team has a jersey which has the same name imbedded on the front: G-d. We may have different names on the back, but what unites us is the name on the front. The only question is: which is more important to us?

What happens when we start twisting our head backwards and give a fixated stare at the back of our jerseys? What is the manifestation of that called? Sinas chinam, baseless hatred. G-d tells us again and again, “Just stick together. Your only success is the name on the front. You are My people and I need you because you are proof of My existence in the world.” If we look down at another Jew, we are showing that we do not believe in our mission, and we are not playing the game; and if we are not playing the game, then G-d cannot coach us.

With Tisha B’av not too far behind us, we must remember what it was that we went through. We sat on the floor and thought and thought, over and over, again and again about our role on the team and as a team. But now, after much deep introspection, we must make the bold decision and commitment to walk right back up to the coach and grab our jersey. Now, we know which is more important. We know who we are and what we represent, and we are ready to play. We are ready for Mashiach.

By Mr. Charlie Harary

 

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Mr. Charlie Harary, Esq. is a prolific speaker who has traveled all over the country and abroad speaking for organizations, schools, universities and institutions on a variety of topics and to audiences of various sizes and affiliations. He has created dozens of videos that have received worldwide attention reaching hundreds of thousands of people in over 15 countries.