A difference-making athlete has several rare attributes—including an imposing dose of talent, says Aimee Kimball, the director of mental training at the University of Pittsburgh's Center for Sports Training. When Joe Namath quarterbacked the New York Jets to a shocking 16-7 triumph over the heavily favored Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III, he was a loud, cocky, swaggering gunslinger who looked oncoming pass-rushers in the eye and rarely flinched. Namath had one of the league's strongest arms, coupled with an ability to take a beating and get back up. Hence, when he told the media, "We're gonna win the game. I guarantee it," the words raised the confidence of his teammates to an all-time high. Had they been spoken by little-used receiver Bill Rademacher, who would have cared?
Not by Talent Alone
Talent alone, however, is not enough. "Great players can have great impacts, but great players with great attitudes have really great impacts," says Malik Rose, a current New York Knicks forward who won two NBA titles with the San Antonio Spurs. "When a star comes along and spreads his intensity and desire to the other players, it's huge." When the Spurs captured those titles in 1999 and 2003, the team was led by a pair of players, David Robinson and Tim Duncan, with Hall of Fame skills, Hall of Fame work ethics, and Hall of Fame attitudes. They led by example—hustling after every loose ball and playing each game as if it were vital to existence. "That's why we won," Rose says. "Everyone followed those guys."
With the lowly Knicks, however, Rose has failed even to reach the playoffs. To informed observers, the reason is obvious: Whereas San Antonio had Robinson and Duncan, New York was, until recently, led by Stephon Marbury, a player with an uncanny ability to disappoint. Marbury has been traded three times in his career, and the aftermath is always the same: The team he leaves gets better; the team he joins suffers. "It's the simple case of Steph wanting to be a star more than he wants to win," says Russ Bengtson, a contributing editor for Slam Magazine. "He wants that big contract, that shoe deal. When that's what drives you, as opposed to being a part of a team and winning a championship, you're doomed to fail. Steph's a star, but hardly a leader."
Along with talent, there are several attributes that all winning teams (and winning players) possess, according to Kimball and other sports psychologists.
Work Ethic: "If you have a player who is constantly working to improve, it's the number one sign of a winner who'll make winning contagious," Kimball says. "The focus isn't 100 percent on outcome, but on getting better and making the people around you better. If players see their star working his tail off, they'll feel compelled to do the same."
In 1990, the Stanford University women's basketball team—a modestly talented group that had won a mere 4 games, while losing 28, just 4 seasons earlier—won its first national championship behind Jennifer Azzi, an All-American point guard who refused to skip a practice or play soft even against lesser opponents. "Our whole mentality was based on working as hard as we could and as smart as we could," says Azzi, who now works as a motivational speaker.
"At Stanford the mental preceded the physical. We wanted it, we prepared for it, we did it." If Azzi sensed a teammate wasn't giving 100-percent effort, she would pull the person aside and quietly set her straight.
"Jen was our best player and our hardest worker," says Angela Taylor, a Stanford reserve. "Letting her down was worse than letting yourself down."
Humility: In a profession overstuffed with tattoo-covered, sneaker-endorsing, trash-talking, Humvee-driving athletes convinced they are God's gift to humanity, those who rise above are often—if not always—well aware they will not always rise above. "Humility leads to an understanding that I'm not always the best, and that another person on any given day can win," says Wade Rowatt, a social psychologist at Baylor University. "If you look at the best athletes, most display this sort of respect for opponents."
Barry Bonds is a case in point. Known as much for his arrogance as his otherworldly talents, the controversial slugger routinely dismissed opponents (and teammates) as unworthy of his presence. In a 22-year big league career he hit a record 762 home runs—yet his team never captured a World Series title. "Barry was a cancer," says Brian Johnson, a longtime major league catcher and Bonds' teammate on the San Francisco Giants in 1997 and '98. "If you have a guy who sees himself as better than everyone else and feels as if he deserves special treatment, he'll never inspire greatness. Just the opposite."
Indeed, when the Giants finally reached the World Series in 2002, many believed their most valuable player was not Bonds but second baseman Jeff Kent, who hit an impressive 37 home runs that year and, more importantly, possessed a gritty, take-no-prisoners approach that rubbed off on teammates. Kent never—absolutely never—underestimated an opponent. "Jeff was quiet," says Johnson, "but he had the respect of the clubhouse."
A Love of Pressure: Though he had devoted his life to reaching baseball's highest level, one former National League catcher (who requests anonymity) makes a staggering confession. "When the ball was popped up, I didn't want it coming my way," he says. "Let the first baseman take it, let the shortstop take it, let the pitcher take it—just not me.
"That," he says, "was the big difference between someone like myself and someone like a Brett Favre or Derek Jeter or Kobe Bryant. Those guys want the ball in crunch time."
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