Pebbles on the Invisible Bridge

During the Vietnam War, Air Force Colonel George Hall was a POW for over seven years. Before his capture, he was a four-handicap golfer. After losing 100 pounds, and not playing golf in nearly 8 years, he shot a 4-over at Augusta in his first round after his release, as if a day hadn't gone by. He said he'd been playing in his mind during his imprisonment, and that's why he never lost his touch. You play the game in your mind.

The first step in doing something is believing you can do it. It applies to all goals-- long-term, short-term, and immediate. Belief is the universal prerequisite to accomplishment. 

The interesting thing about belief, though, is that it's contagious. John Landy broke the 4-minute-mile barrier just one month after Roger Bannister did it first. Without any major technological improvements, or significant changes in style of running or pacing oneself, two men had done something nobody had ever done before, within a month of each other. Is that just a coincidence?

I have a six-year-old dog. He is a healthy, happy, 55 pound dog, but he is terrified of stairs. Any new staircase, even if it's only a handful of steps, presents a serious mental hurdle. My wife and I have tried everything we can think of to get him to go up a new staircase. We encourage him. We act like it's not a big deal. We try coaxing him up with treats. We try pulling him up. I've even picked him up and put him in the middle of a flight of stairs, forcing him to go up because turning around and going back down is far more terrifying.

The most effective way to get him to go up stairs, though, is for him to see another dog do it first. It works without fail. He needs to see another dog do it to believe he can do it. And once he believes he can do it, he can always do it again, albeit with some nervous hesitation. 

So what would happen if someone routinely did things that seemed highly improbable? What if a major leaguer hit .478 next season? It's not inconceivable. If someone can do something 36 percent of the time, is it impossible to believe someone else could do it 48 percent of the time? If that happened, wouldn't everyone else's averages go up? You play the game in your mind. 

Well, basketball is having its what-if moment. Steph Curry takes, and makes, hundreds of nearly impossible shots. With each unbelievable bucket, his confidence grows, and our confidence in him grows. It's reached a point where we are genuinely surprised when he misses an extremely difficult shot. But what's different about Curry's accomplishments than say, Jordan's, or Lebron's, or Bo Jackson's, or Cam Newton's, is that they don't require otherworldly athleticism. Yes, he is blindingly quick, and has exceptional hand-eye coordination, and not many people are 6'2", but most of us could make all the shots he makes if we had enough chances and practice. Someone who is five-feet-tall is never going to dunk from the free throw line (nobody under six feet has ever done it on film), but most adults are strong enough to throw a basketball 35 feet, one way or another.

There is little doubt that Curry's incredible run will lead to some terrible shots. People jacking up contested back-foot garbage from 30 feet because they're feeling it. But it will also lead to more people practicing those shots, just like Curry does. With enough practice, people will believe they are going to make those terrible shots, and their chances of making them will improve. Suddenly, terrible shots are acceptable shots, and people can shoot them with clean consciences because others will believe they can go in. When you see people say things like, "I channelled my inner-Steph Curry, and it worked!," you know the belief by proxy is real.

Curry is changing the game, it will just take a bit of time for the rest of us to follow him up the stairs.

You Are Not Your Children

Why is it the deplorable characters are always the most realistic?

With the sad passing of Garry Shandling we can expect a deluge of LARRY SANDERS WAS THE MOST INFLUENTIAL COMEDY SERIES OF ALL TIME pieces. Was it? Maybe. But when John Lennon died, did people talk about his influence on Sting? To use shows like Entourage, 30 Rock, Arrested Development, The Office, The Daily Show, and even celebreality TV as the lens through which we see Shandling's career in the rearview, is doing him, and his work, a tremendous disservice.

I never saw The Larry Sanders Show when I was growing up. I didn't have HBO, and even when we would get the occasional free weekend, I would usually be disappointed it was on instead of some b-movie skin-flick. I didn't watch it, but I knew I didn't like it. I knew it won awards, and some people thought it was the best thing on TV at the time, but I just couldn't see why. How could they like this guy?

Everything about Shandling seemed perfectly designed to be loathsome. His face, his voice, his hair, his clothes, his mannerisms. His first impression was by far his worst one, and it would stick with you. Getting progressively worse in your head, until the next time you saw him, you would tell everyone in the room, "I can't stand that guy," and unless someone else in the room was a fan of Larry Sanders, everyone would agree, and that would feed the hatred more. How is it that a room of reasonable people, who like comedy, and are intelligent, and don't like Jeff Foxworthy, could all dislike this guy so much, while some people still think he's great?

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cringe, and they change the channel for 10 years until they call Ricky Gervais a genius.

This is why the Larry Sanders show was both the first great victim but also first great product of premium television. The bad first impression was kind of, sort of, maybe not really, who really gives a shit, part-of-his-schtick. Yes, it is clear we weren't supposed to like Larry Sanders. But were we supposed to like Garry Shandling? If we were, he would have probably had a more public persona "off-screen" (in quotations because we consider people on talk shows, and doing interviews in magazines or at sporting events to be off-screen). Liking him would have gotten in the way of the humor. But how can you get people to watch a show on a network they probably don't have, named after a character they can tell pretty quickly that they don't like, played by an actor they don't like? The answer is, you don't. You don't get them to watch it, and that's partly why it remained so great for six seasons. It didn't cater to anyone. It already knew you were only going to like it if you watched it, so why not make a show just for the people who watch it?

So they made the show they wanted to make. A show-within-a-show filled with selfish, insecure, manipulative people, who are just like us. But the thing you don't get right away is that they are all good people. Their decency is proven by the times they aren't selfish, when they empathize. Their greatness comes from their awfulness. Larry more so than all others. He is everything we hate about ourselves, and shows us how if we are aware of our awful nature, it doesn't excuse our actions, but shows us how some small gesture can offer some redemption. That show doesn't sell Doritos, so we didn't watch it.

Years later, when streaming and pirating became so easy, a whole new audience was turned on to the greatness of The Larry Sanders Show. I was one of those people. I had already seen The Office, and 30 Rock, and Entourage, and I could see how they were all descendants from this great show. But I didn't care then, and I don't care now. I shouldn't have to tell you that something was influential to get you to appreciate it more. You either like it, or you don't. And I fucking love that show.

You thought he was looking at himself, but that's not how mirrors work. He was looking at you.

Nostalgia is a dangerous thing, because we completely forget the ennui that fills all the spaces between the memories, but no matter what was going on, or not going on, some of my happiest moments were sitting on my couch, nursing a hangover, eating Indian food and watching Larry call Hank a talentless fat fuck, and then seeing him feel terrible about it. If you can convince the world that even the most vein, and selfish of us, can just as easily make someone's day as ruin it, that's enough for me.

Saying someone was influential is apologizing for their lack of popularity. Shandling doesn't need your excuses. If he wanted to be popular, he would have taken the late night talk show gigs he was offered before doing The Garry Shandling Show (the spiritual predecessor to Larry Sanders). His greatest feat was making a show about himself in the least self-indulgent way possible. Save the Tina Fey and Jon Stewart quotes for someone who needs them. Shandling let his work speak for itself, and that's one way I wish he was a little more influential.