J'ai eu le plaisir d'être présent en février 2003 dans les tribunes qui font face au court n° 1 du Liberty's. J'ai toujours la naïveté de parler au présent en évoquant ce terrain, espérant que l'un d'entre nous, je parle ici des nostalgiques de ce club où j'ai été atteint du virus du squash, décroche le gros lot à Euromillions. Ses propriétaires, la mort dans l'âme, suivant certains témoins, se sont résolus à mettre la clé sous le paillasson pour enrayer les pertes qu'ils devaient enregistrer dans les comptes de leurs multiples sociétés pour ce point d'exploitation.
Ce mois là, il y était organisé un des derniers tournois PSA et Joey Barrington était accompagné de son père qui prenait de multiples notes pendant ses prestations. Je me souviens encore de les avoir vus faire des boasts & drives sur le court n° 11. Je n'ai donc pas hésité à reprendre ici quelques lignes trouvées sur Internet à son sujet.
Motivation: The commitment and determination of Jonah Barrington
At Jonah Barrington's school, pupils were encouraged to play all sports - and he delighted in the lot; cricket, rugby, football, tennis, badminton, swimming and the squash that was to make him world-famous. He relished the opportunity. Looking back, he feels privileged and lucky. He regrets that children now tend to specialise or are asked to specialise far too early in their lives. In Barrington's view, for any good sportsman or woman to develop, they need exposure to the whole range of sport.
Not only will that develop their coordination, but different sports tend to evoke different reactions in eye and hand. Channel somebody into one specific sport, even into one specific event, at a very early age, and you may limit their potential. There are obvious parallels with management. The broader the experience, both in terms of functions and operations, the better equipped the manager becomes for the truly testing moment: when all his or her commitment must be focused on a specific and important task.
Jonah Barrington's future task wasn't at all apparent in those sporting schooldays. He wasn't the greatest of students: the classroom bored him, and only the sports field was thrilling. There he could express himself and his energy: in the classroom, he couldn't excel - or didn't.He did however manage to get to university in Dublin, but here again, he says, 'outside attractions' tended to deflect him from his work.
The extreme pursuit of these outside attractions and influences gave Barrington a terrific time. It was a rich experience - no doubt too rich: he was eventually sent down. It was then that he stopped to think. In his own words, Barrington realised that he had 'messed up' in most aspects of his life, and that he needed to commit himself to total focus in one area to become a success. He had always felt that to be possible; he just hadn't set himself any targets, or formed any firm commitment to any activity.
Squash, he says, was almost the last possibility he investigated. He felt he lacked the requisite ability or achievement at any other sport, and he was definitely not a Seb Coe, someone who had fastened on the sport he loved when very young. The choice must have been influenced to some degree by Jonah's brother, who was a county standard squash player: and once Jonah had focused himself on squash, it gave him intense enjoyment.
The sport he grew to love also grew to become his obsession and sole focus. His ambition, his dream, was to make himself world champion. It was a whole life commitment. He set about clinically and systematically gearing all his training and all his days to achieving that aim. Barrington studied every aspect, not only of squash and squash players and the squash court, but every other sport to see what he could learn, what aspects might enhance his performance.
He was probably the most dedicated trainer ever seen, certainly in this sport, and perhaops in any sport. The technique of the game itself had made little advance since the Khans of Pakistan, led by the great Hashim, had shocked all opposition by their speed and power. Nobody had thought about the basic fitness requirements on court or had compared squash preparations (which consisted almost entirely of just playing the game) with training methods from other sports. Barrington looked at everything.
If athletes trained at altitude, why not squash players? How did gymnasts train for their phenomenal flexibility? He scoured all possible sources of improvement and information. There was a very powerful reason. It's an understatement to say that Barrington wasn't the most talented squash player in the world. To achieve the ambition to which he was committed, Barrington had to use that very commitment: to out-train, out-practice, out-think and even out-diet the opposition - he used to be great believer in nuts and raisins.
What didn't come naturally would be acquired: he would force himself to become the best prepared, the fittest, and thus the best squash player in the world. When he turned professional in the late 1960s, Barrington wasn't motivated by money for its own sake. He needed all his time to focus his whole being on the long climb of improving his squash. His commitment to perfecting his game was truly professional, anyway. The rest of the sport was dominated by amateurism: that couldn't co-exist with the pursuit of excellence.
Barrington was following the same route that Jack Kramer had used to create the professional tennis cicuit. The ides that squash players could emulate Kramer's circus seemed far-fetched at the time. But Barrington had the confidence to take that risk: the end would justify the means, and others would follow him along a path which would improve the sport and bring it to a wider audience. That would increase income, not only for himself, but the sport as a whole.
Vision, confidence and commitment made Barrington the architect of a huge increase in public interest in squash. As he expected, the other leading squash players did turn professional: as he planned, Barrington become the world champion, though he had to beat brilliant players like the great and supremely talented Australian Geoff Hunt to do so. Hunt has paid unstinting tribute to Barrington: 'Given the same circumstances' (Barrington's relatively late start in squash and limited natural ability) 'I could not have achieved what he has done.'
Hunt had 'no doubt that Barrington...introduced a new concept of physical fitness into squash. His extreme methods, which included training at a high altitude in Kenya before he defeated me in the final of the 1972 British Open Championship, has made him probably the fittest man in the world.' Winning against men like Hunt was an extraordinary feat in itself. But it's the way Barrington motivated himself after becoming world champion that epitomises his dedication, commitment and focus.
He wanted desperately to stay world champion. His motivational technique was to build 'false' barriers, difficulties which had nothing to do with performance on court. He would get himself angry because challengers around the world were getting better treatment from their squash authorities. Others had better facilities and a governing body that would help and enhance, not hinder and mar their prospects.
The great anger and frustration which Barrington felt about the squash establishment in Britain were deliberately used as a motivational tool. They helped give him a psychological edge over his opposition. He would go on court as the self-appointed underdog, put under greater pressure than his opponent by his lack of similar opportunities to prepare for competition. The supposedly impoverished environment reinforced his desire to train harder, work harder and play harder - and better - on court.
He wasn't, of course, under any serious disadvantages. But he believes that building a 'false environment', creating barriers for himself to climb, was crucial in his sustained achievement as world champion. His ability to feel hard done by resulted, not in self-pity, but in still greater commitment. In this frame of mind, competitors were trying to take away his living, trying to take away his money, seeking to deprive Barrington of the rewards for which he had sacrificed everything. His reaction was to raise his commitment, drive and preparation higher still.
Those words - 'higher still' - applied literally to his altitude training. Once, when he had to play high up in Zimbabwe, instead of staying in England preparing at sea level in the comfort of London, he sought the necessary edge over his competitors by training and playing at altitude before arrival. The profile of squash was then so low that Barrington could sneak out to Africa, train in another country at altitude, and arrive in Zimbabwe with the local competitors still believing he'd come straight from sea level in England.
His private knowledge that he had been training at altitude in a spartan environment gave Barrington a huge psychological boost, a huge mental edge. Opponents who believed that, this time at least, they were fitter and better prepared had a shock. During the games, Barrington could see the disbelief in their eyes when he didn't tire at the high altitude. Outwitting his opponents in his preparation gave Barrington a wonderful motivational lift; he still remembers his tremendous satisfation at winning that competition.
You couldn't have greater evidence of commitment than this episode - going to Africa, enduring a very basic existence for five or six weeks on his own, forcing himself through severe additional training to get an edge in just one competition. To maintain his position as the best in the world, however, Barrington needed other ways to overcome his lack of ability compared to other squash players, especially the naturally gifted Pakistanis. He had to work harder to get the best possible angle out of every shot. He had to practise more to make sure he understood all the angles in the court.
His knowledge of this restricted space became total. Barrongton's almost scientific approach to the application of angles, speed, and trajectory was coupled with his training to maximise physical output and effectiveness on court. The commitment to being the best was the sole focus of his life at that time. As he travelled the world for years, only to play squash, only to become and remain world number one, he continued to learn. In other countries, how did they train, how did they play, was he missing out on some innovation off or on court?
Opponent after opponent was worn down as Barrington exploited his ability to outlast them in long rallies, using his uncanny ability (to quote the admiring Geoff Hunt) 'to keep the ball along the sidewalls and at the back of the court with accurate lobs and drives'. His commitment to winning was so great that it radically changed the way squash was played - and the way that the game was structured. By re-creating squash as a professional game, he opened the eyes of the world's top players to their income-earning potential.
The professional circuit required someone like Barrington (a 'very robust character', says Hunt) to become a viable business. As the Australian observes, Barrington is 'amiable and amusing, but he can also be quite ruthless in pursuing his own interests, and he is not afraid of controversy.' His absolute focus and commitment not only attracted other players, but also sponsors, whose money was essential to enable the circuit to function. As the players could afford more time to practise and hone their skills, the game naturally improved and became a more attractive spectator sport.
The general awareness of the game was vastly increased by the improved image on court and the enhanced ability of the new generation of full-time players, who combined natural talent with Barrington-like fitness. Like many successful British athletes, though, Barrington doesn't believe that the national culture encourages the tremendous commitment which you require to achieve Number One status and stay there. In sport as in management, the British often seem to wait for adversity to stir them into action. Plainly, it makes far better sense to insist on excellence, to strive for perfection, and to seek the best standards at all times.
That way you avert crisis and demonstrate true professionalism, as a manager or an athlete. And Barrington came to embody the ideal of committed professionalism. It wasn't everybody's ideal. Barrington felt that he was almost ostracised, not only in squash committees round the world, but by many in the media. One article in The Squash Player even attacked Barrington's achievements with fitness: 'He accepted the conditions imposed on the game aerobically by Afridi Sikhs of the North-West frontier, and approached it as an aerobic activity rather than a racket sport. While conceding that he virtually had to in order to win, I submit that he has probably killed the game as a result.'
As events have shown, this prognosis was arrant nonsense. The game remains triumphantly alive. But Barrington's single-minded pusuit of his goal - being best - seemed to his critics un-British, if not downright unsporting. The critics were turned to Barrington's advantage. Their attacks stimulated the competitive urge, and helped to generate the desire and focus - even the anger - that he need to perform to his maximum ability. The more he succeeded, the more time he spent on preparation; analysing his performance and training, his competitors and their methods, and continually looking for valuable innovations.
Again, the management parallels are striking. The longer Barrington stayed at the top, the longer the time he spent on preparation. Far too many top managers act is if reaching their senior posts is the summmit: in truth, it's merely the foothills. Yet they train less, prepare less and plan less. That adds up to massive under-commitment, not only to the company, but to their own careers. The top manager who has ceased to learn is headed for failure: the top athlete who has stopped learning is headed for defeat.
Barrington did exactly the opposite. He trained harder and longer, and did more homework, both on himself and the opposition. The harder he trained, the harder he forced himself to the limits of his own endurance: thanks to him, the aerobic level (the processing of oxygen to muscle tissue) has been raised at least three times in top squash. He takes tremendous pride in the belief that nobody else in squash has pushed themselves so far. The object wasn't simply to establish his own extreme limits, but to ensure that he was fitter than any opponent.
Without that basic commitment, the obscure Dublin undergraduate who had been thrown out of university would never have metamorphosed into a world champion. He was, he admits, 'a loser'. What turned him into a winner, the best in his sport? First came the choice of field: squash was woefully underexploited and unrewarding for the players, but that very fact provided the opportunity for a breakthrough. Second was Barrington's total commitment to his choice - fuelled by the urge to surpass his brother, who was successful, not only at squash, but in his career. His brother was the family's golden boy, and Jonah something of a black sheep.
The consequent creation of a champion is more inspiring and instructive than the sagas of athletes who have preternatural gifts. To became world Number One, Barrington had to defeat opponent after opponent who had greater talent, but who were outmatched by the Cornishman's dedication, determination and drive: in a word, commitment. These opponents also trained hard and prepared carefully for their matches: he trained harder and planned more effectively - witness the use of altitude training to help defeat Hunt in 1972.
In 1973, Hunt was determined to get his revenge. He raised his normal (or rather abnormal) succession of eight quarter miles, run in 70-75 seconds, with only a minute's rest, to no less than ten. He added eight 100-yard sprints, and then did ten more quarters. All this took about an hour, and shows the extremes to which opponents had to go in order to match Barrington's fitness. But the work-outs didn't work: Hunt lost in the semi-final, and Barrington beat the winner to retain his title. As Hunt conceded, it wasn't only Barrington's dedication to fitness that brought success: it was 'determination'.
Another powerful lesson for managers is that Barrington's campaign was based on thorough investigation of other sports and training methods - he certainly knew how Hunt trained, but he also looked outside squash. Often sportsmen and women, like business people, develop tunnel vision. They become obsessed by their own sport, their own sector of industry, their own specialisation. Dread phrases like 'not invented here' and 'we've never done it that way' shut out the most accessible and valuable source of new ideas and new methods.
Such killing phrases were never in Barrington's vocabulary. He sought knowledge from every other area of competition, not only from observation, but from the players and coaches themselves. His sponge-like ability to soak up desired information and turn it to advantage; his fierce competitive spirit; the way he drove himself on through erecting false barriers to progress; his creation of a hasrh personal environment - all these were forces enabling Barrington to sustain his excellence on court. But above all, to stay ahead of the competition, he had to think ahead of it, anticipating and innovating all the time. That's the ultimate commitment, and the ultimate winning way.
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