Last Friday, we were facing an advanced travel team. I swear, it was exactly like the opening scene of a movie. Our opponents had fancy jerseys, they were fast as lightning, and they were unbelievably huge. We were completely outclassed in every way and we knew it.

But, we started the same way we always do. When I called ‘hands-in’, my boys gathered together. They put out their arms and we did our team shout. They have to do it in unison, no exceptions. And if it’s half-hearted, I make them do it again and again, until they mean it.

When they put their hands in, I told em, “Look, we’re going to lose this game. We’ve got no subs, and they’re awesome. But it doesn’t matter. We play as a team and we lose as a team. Do it like you mean it.” And they shouted, louder than ever.

Of course, our opponents crushed us. It was goal after goal after goal, from the moment the first whistle was blown. The score became so lopsided, that the other coach began to feel bad. He started telling his boys to slow down. ‘Pass 3 times first’ and then, ‘pass it back first.’ And eventually, he was screaming at them, ‘play keep away.’ But despite his efforts, it was a blowout.

At halftime, the other coach came over. He offered to share some of his boys to balance out the game. So, I called a huddle and I asked the boys, ‘what do you want to do?’ And you know what? They surprised me. Every one of them looked me in the eye and said, ‘nah, we got this coach.’ ‘Yeah! We need the practice!’ ‘We can do this.’ … Then they cheered and ran onto the field.

The game went exactly as expected, except for one thing. My boys played their hearts out. Despite the difference in size and skill, they fought with everything they had and never gave up. And after the game was over, I heard them talking. They were laughing and having fun. Despite losing, they were upbeat, almost triumphant. They were proud.

Years ago, when I first started coaching, I read a lot of books. All of them talked about the rules of soccer and techniques for practice. They taught you how to win. But almost none of them talked about the real purpose of a coach. See, I’m not trying to train the next David Beckham or Hope Solo. I’m trying to get these kids to find their courage. I’m trying to teach them to live life like they mean it, even when the odds are stacked against them. And that’s something I’m really good at.

It’s rare that I’m right about a word. So, I was excited. What I didn’t know was that forever more, that particular dictionary would be labeled, ‘not real.’  It was doomed – which according to the dictionary means, ‘inevitable destruction.’ (Ominous music) Dunh dunh duunnn….

But everything was better on Christmas day – I was given a shiny new dictionary. I think it was my wife’s way of saying sorry for destroying Old Faithful. Of course, this new one is fantastic! It has thin pages, itty-bitty print, and a bazillion words. It’s a fifth edition – very authentic. And then I realized, with this new dictionary around, my days of winning obscure ‘look-it-up’ games was over. Old Faithful was gone, but my wife had apologized. I had a new dictionary and life was good.

But that’s not what’s keeping me awake. Nope. It’s the soccer game my son played on Sunday. It’s one moment in particular, that keeps playing in my head. The ball is bouncing near our goal. Our keeper, Ernie, moves for the ball – he’s going to block it. The opponent jumps for the ball anyway, but it’s too high. He shouldn’t go for it, but he does and he kicks my goal keeper square in the chest. Ernie crumbles to the ground in pain. I run onto the field.

Ernie is a great kid. He has short brown hair and bronzed skin. He’s a little tall for his age, but his face is still round and young-looking. Ernie is interesting because he feels safest inside the keeper’s box. He feels in control there and he knows what to do. But, now he’s on the ground, curled into a ball. When I get to his side, I talk him through it. It was a nasty kick, but luckily, Ernie’s not hurt that bad. But, now that he’s down, he doesn’t want to get up. Everyone’s watching and he doesn’t want them to see his face. He’s only 13.

What the heck was that other boy thinking? A kick like that is dangerous and totally illegal! ‘Don’t kick my keeper!’ I scolded. The ref should throw a red card. Give a warning at least! I was pretty angry – unusually so. And as I’m walking Ernie off the field, it hits me. Wow! I already have strong feelings for this kid.

But why? I’ve only known these boys a few weeks and I’m not even their actual coach. Well, not really. I mean, it’s just the winter league. It’s just a handful of games between fall and spring, just for fun. And, I’m just helping out. Temporarily.

Back It Up

Wait a minute. I haven’t gotten enough sleep and I’m not making sense. Let’s back this story up, all the way to summertime, when my son signed up for fall soccer. My son was too old to stay in the league he was in. He had to move on to the next league – U14! But most of his friends were younger and didn’t have to move on. So, they stayed back. I had been coaching his team for years, but now it was splitting up. I was sad.

But I was also relieved. If they weren’t moving on, then I wouldn’t have to coach! I could take a year off. I’d have more time for my family and more time to put into Gigi. And since my son was going to be in a whole different league, he’d probably get a great coach.

I was wrong. Apparently, the coach my son was supposed to get moved away. And nobody else stepped up to the plate. So Matt, the manager of the soccer league, looked around for a while, and eventually got some college player to step in as coach. It was a recipe for disaster right from the beginning. By the end of the season, the college guy was barely showing up for games. When it was over, he promptly quit. This team was full of good kids, including my son, and they deserved a good coach. But they didn’t get one.

Are You With Me Now?

Have you ever read the Hobbit? It’s a coming of age story about Bilbo Baggins: a young man who finds himself on an unexpected and dangerous journey. All Bilbo wants is to stay in the safety of his little home in the Shire, but life has something else in store. Later in the story, Bilbo finds himself alone in a haunted forest. He is surrounded by total darkness and he is terribly afraid. All of his friends have been captured by creatures and he is the only one left to save them. It’s his pivotal moment – the moment when Bilbo finds courage and becomes a man. Or, rather, a Hobbit.

Well, kids have pivotal moments too. And as coach, I help them prepare. Teenage boys love to put on a brave face for the world. But, just like Bilbo, most are hoping to stay in their comfort zones, where they are safe. Ernie doesn’t like me to put him anywhere but in the goalie box, because he feels safe. But the goalie box wasn’t safe. Life isn’t safe either.

And now I’ve come full circle. I decided not to coach this fall. It was the right thing to do. But as I’m walking Ernie off the field, I realize just how much I miss it.

It reminds me of a conversation I had at the end of the spring season. It was officially my last game as a coach. Matt, the manager of the soccer league, comes over and shakes my hand. He thanks me for my efforts and we talk a bit. He wishes me well, but right at the end, he gets this odd grin and gives the tiniest chuckle. The last thing he says is, ‘You’ll be back.’

I used to assume something fluffy and magical happened in a cocoon. But, I recently learned that the reality is much different. The fat caterpillar literally breaks down into mush. He consumes what he no longer needs and rebuilds himself from scratch. When ready, he must fight his way out of the cocoon. The struggle to escape is the final stage of his metamorphosis. Only then, can he stand triumphant, inflating his wings, ready for flight.

For the caterpillar, this all happens in a handful of days, but for me, it took over 9 months. In that time, I too turned to mush. I digested everything: the path of my career, why games work, the uniqueness of my family, the love of my wife. I spent a lot of nights, laying in the dark, staring at the ceiling. I made some products that failed, but I gave some speeches that didn’t. And I began to study the stories in my own life. I realized I didn’t want to do just one single thing. I wanted to combine it all: business, family, games, and life. I broke through my cocoon. Metamorphosis complete. I had become Gigi, ready for flight.

And I shared this story. When we were building the Damage Control Trainer for the Navy, the top brass at Recruit Command was very supportive of our efforts. The leaders had a vision – they wanted to improve training by using games.

But the red-ropers weren’t interested. You see, each instructor is given a badge to wear on their shoulder: a knot of tiny red ropes. It’s the symbol of their authority and the reason for their title. Of course, red-ropers don’t have authority to say whether the Navy will or will not use a training game. Or so it says on paper. But in reality, everyone knows the red-ropers are the real trainers. They are the boots on the ground. They control the training.

And they didn’t support us. The red ropers heard the word ‘game’ and lost all interest. It was a huge impediment. Sure, every once in a while, a couple of them would show up for a meeting and toss us a few suggestions. We’d get all excited and gobble it up, like hungry dogs. And then we wouldn’t hear from them again for months.

But all of that changed. All of a sudden, we had red-ropers lined up to talk to us. We had direct access to the most knowledgeable experts they had, the best trainers in the Navy! They returned our calls and emails. It was awesome!

The difference was results. We completed the prototype and ran a series of studies with real recruits. It exceeded all expectations! The recruits loved the game, but more importantly, we showed a 50% improvement in their performance. Those results changed everything.

When we started, the red-ropers didn’t trust us. To be honest, why should they? We hadn’t earned trust. We hadn’t shown results! As far as they were concerned, we had no track record. All we gave them was a bunch of babble about the theoretical benefits of using games to train.

This is the problem my friend was having with his bosses. As Stephen Covey explains, in ‘The Speed Of Trust’, trust requires 4 things, the 4th being results. You can’t talk-about results. You either have them or you don’t.

So what should he do? Get some results. He needs to stop talking about how awesome games are and start building a prototype. Build something that works. Get results and everything will change. Steve Martin said it well, ‘Be so good they can’t ignore you.’

Naturally, we had the birth planned out too. The doctor told us what to expect. We arrived on time and inducing labor worked exactly like he said it would. My wife grunted and groaned until the meds arrived, right on schedule. It was just like the movies.

But, as Granny Fern used to say, “Life’s what happens while you’re making plans.” And she was right. When our daughter’s head crowned, there was something the doctor didn’t expect. And, when the team of specialists charged into the room, there were complications they hadn’t foreseen. And, when they took my daughter to the ICU, instead of placing her in my wife’s arms … well, that wasn’t part of the plans either.

There’s a word I just learned, ‘off-piste.’ My father-in-law found this word on Christmas day. He was relaxing on the couch. It was that nice, quite period, after the presents had been opened and before dinner was served. My wife and I were prepping the meal, and he was browsing through my dictionary (a present from my wife). He called out, “here’s a word you’ll like!”

‘Off-piste’, he explained, ‘is when you go skiing off the groomed trail.’  It’s used by skiers, but it’s the perfect word to describe how I snowboard. Every chance I get, I head into the woods. I slide off the trail, dodging between the trees, pushing myself to the limits. Sometimes, I discover a little glade – a serene place where no one’s been. The terrain is untouched and there’s fresh powder all around me. The snow hangs softly on the tree limbs and the land opens up into soft rolling hills, glittering like diamonds. The only sounds are the soft whoosh of the board and the wind rushing by. It’s perfection.

That’s going off-piste and those moments are rare. But, it’s not what I thought of when my father-in-law read the definition. It was Christmas and I was focused on my family, not snowboarding. I thought of the life that my wife and I have built together. We planned to stay on the groomed trail, like everyone else, but that’s not where our journey led us.

It’s like that old story. You know the one where a young mother takes a trip to Italy. She’s planned for it her whole life. But when the plane lands, the stewardess says, ’Welcome to Holland.’ Holland is not where she planned to be, but it’s where she must stay.

My wife and I ended up in Holland too. It was not a part of our plans, but we learned to improvise. Even now, sixteen years later, we still take it one day at a time. There’s no script, it’s not a movie, and we don’t know where we’re going. And yet, my wife says everything is exactly as it should be.

‘Life is a journey, not a destination,’ she reminds me. She’s wise like her Granny Fern. We started with a plan, but life happened instead. And it turned out to be the most incredible journey I could ever imagine. When I’m snowboarding, I’m lucky to find a secret glade off the groomed trail. But, in my life? Every day is off-piste.

And, you know what? I wouldn’t change a single thing. I wouldn’t trade my journey for the world. It’s off-piste and it’s perfect.

It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. My mind raced – for one crazy second, I considered just walking off the stage. But I didn’t. I got myself together and continued on. After it was over, people said I did ‘fine’, but I had been rattled. My words had been forced and my tone stiff. After weeks of preparation and years of speaking, I figured I was gonna do great. I was wrong.

But you know what? I wouldn’t change a thing. It was an awful experience but it motivated me. It made me try even harder. I went back to the lab – I had more to learn. I re-evaluated where I was and where I wanted to be. But the whole time, there was one thing I was sure of – I don’t want to settle for ‘fine’. I want to be excellent and I’m willing to work as long as it takes.

Here’s the thing. I really wasn’t skilled enough to do that presentation. But I tried it anyway. I expected it to be tough, but I underestimated just how tough. I figured it would make me a better speaker … and it did! In fact, last week, I won the award for Best Tutorial at I/ITSEC 2011! That’s just so fricking ironic.

Why? Because my topic at Ignite was the Growth Mindset. The point was that everyone should strive to improve themselves. And I flubbed it! I was supposed to ignite a spark of inspiration in others. But, the person I set on fire, was me.

Me at I/ITSEC 2011

But this morning, I was in Farm Fresh. I was buying food for an office party and I was in a hurry. The cashier looked me in the eye and asked, “Would you like to donate a can of food?” Then she reached over and picked up a can of corn. “It’s only 68 cents. It’s for the Food Bank.”

Corn for the Food Bank

Who could refuse that? The decision was trivial. There was no ambiguity of purpose and no question on the amount. Just a yes or no. Heck, she already had the corn in her hand. A simple, friendly gesture that connected me to the corn – it became personal. It was a no brainer.

There was no paradox of choice, there was only good design!

This past summer, my daughter turned 16. It was a big milestone and she wanted a special party. And since she loves those BBC shows like Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey, she asked her mom to put on a fancy, English-style tea party. “It has to be authentic, dad!” English scones and lemon curd. So they shopped for tiny knives, and beautiful white flowers, and those tiny little tea cups.  “Yes, you have to hold them with 2 fingers – stick your pinky out!” Everything was going to be lovely.

There’s just one thing left – the cake! But, not just any ‘ole cake. It had to be fit for royalty – a three tiered cake! But who knows how to make a 3-tier cake? Not my wife, that’s for sure. Course, she could’ve bought a cake like that – but she wanted to put her love into it. So, she spent days learning about it. (I always wondered how they kept the layers from sliding… now I know.) Finally, mom felt ready, so she did a test run. She made an entire 3-tiered cake just for practice (nom-noms for me!). She did all that preparation so that when the big day finally came, everything was lovely, especially the gorgeous cake!

The Three-Tiered Cake!

And that’s what love is. It’s not the gifts, or the fancy party, or even the words, ‘I love you.’ It was the hours and days they spent together, designing and planning, shopping and baking. It was the things they did – it was the heart they put into it.

Now, that party was a lot of work. In fact, it was probably too much work – more effort than is reasonable for a single birthday party. But, there’s more to this story.

We have to go back 16 years, to the day my daughter was born. A day forever etched in my mind. When my daughter’s head crowned, the doctor got this strange look on his face – he was concerned. The nurse dashed out of the room, but soon returned with a mob of specialists and equipment. They performed some heroic measures and they saved our daughter’s life. But later, we met with the doctor and he gave us the worst news of all. My daughter wouldn’t live to see 6 months.

But, of course, you already know he was wrong! My kind, loving, and gentle daughter defied the odds – she fought her way to 6 months, and then to 6 years, and now she’s turning 16! And that’s why this party was so important, so very special to us. That’s why we put so much heart and soul into it. And that’s how I know that love isn’t just something we feel.  It’s all the things we do and how we do them. We love our daughter. Love is a verb.

But, first, let me share a story. When I was younger, I used to play a lot of chess. My inner geek loved it! The rules are easy to learn and yet there’s an almost infinite number of possibilities. Such fun! My friends and I would stay late, after school, or play at each other’s houses.  They’d stomp me, I’d stomp them, and we’d try to impress each other with fancy terms. ‘Oooohh… Queen’s gambit.’

One time, I entered a big tournament! (queue the dramatic music … dunh, dunh, dunhhhhh) Chess tournaments are so intense. Everything’s quiet and everyone’s staring down at the cute little pieces on those tiny boards. There’s so much focused brainpower – probably unsafe really. I won some and lost some, and there was always that tiny hope that I’d beat someone better than me. Fiero!

Chess has been played for more than 1000 years! But, I have to ask, is it a game? Or is it a simulation? I know that sounds like a trick question, but it’s not. Most people play chess like a game. But some people are working on a whole different level – when they look at a chess board, they see a complex simulation – a mathematical symbol set. For some, it’s even a lifelong career.

So which is it, game or simulation? There’s no question that chess meets the requirements of flow – it has goals, feedback, and is simple enough to not distract. And most importantly, it has a great balance of difficulty vs skill when playing an equal opponent. I suppose that makes it a game – and that’s why it’s sold in toy stores and not office max.

But, what if we finish the story? We’ll have to fast forward many years to when I’ve become a software engineer. One of my co-workers had put together a casual lunchtime chess tournament. I hadn’t played for years, but it was just as fun as I remembered! And after that one event, I found myself sucked right back into the attraction! Only this time, I was older. And I studied it seriously, like old people do. I read books and bought software and starting going to tournaments every week. I put a lot of time into it and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute (yay flow!). But at some point, I realized that the game of chess no longer ‘felt’ like a game. It had become something else.

And there’s the answer to our original question: it’s about the level of expertise. Chess was a game when I started, but once I moved past the intermediate skills, it stopped ‘feeling’ like a game. The same is true of learning games. It’s pretty easy to come up with game ideas that teach beginner or intermediate skills. Like the Damage Control Trainer for the Navy. That game teaches basic skills and anyone who’s ever played it has said it ‘feels’ like a game. It really works.

But, what about a game for experts? That’s a different story. It’s hard to design a game that teaches experts but still feels like a game. Pretty soon we have an open-world sand box that allows the trainees and instructors to ‘play’ out complex scenarios. Experts need complex controls and they want sophisticated rules and actions. Somewhere along the way, it stops being a game – it becomes a simulation.

I want to end with one final story. I had a friend that played World of Warcraft (WoW). But not just played it, he PLAYED it. Like 20+ hours a week, for years. He was an uber-elite, WoW’ser. I watched him on a raid once and his screen was so covered with customized interfaces that I couldn’t even see what he was fighting. He said he doesn’t even look at the graphics anymore. All he sees is symbolic data – waves of scrolling numbers, hits, misses, percentage of health, and popup text that tells him to start a new buff rotation. At some point, he stopped playing a ‘game’ and started playing a complex simulation.

So that’s my answer. It’s depends on the level of expertise. I can make lots of products that promote flow, moment-to-moment control, and other techniques from games. But, once I start designing for the expert, it stops ‘feeling’ like a game. I suppose that’s still a fuzzy answer to the original question, ‘Game? Or Simulation?’ But you know what? It’s a simple and quick litmus test – and that sounds like check-mate to me.