The Intangible Tax

The question I often get from people is: “Is it hard being a glue guy? Is it tough being someone who is described by others by his perceived limited talent or skill?”

I have to admit there is an intangible tax on the person who specializes in winning through all of the ‘little plays’ while others get the spotlight with the ‘big plays.’

I’ve lived every role. I’ve been the star. I’ve been the fifth starter. I’ve been the bench guy. I’ve been the guy at the end of the bench who didn’t take his warm-up off.

I have a unique perspective on the tax.

What’s it cost? What do you lose when you say, “You know what? I’m going to be a glue guy and I’m going to excel in all the areas that might be ignored?”

If you’re a glue guy, you probably have a high level of self-awareness about the things that matter. You know something needs to be done. Most likely no one else is going to do it, so it’s up to you to do it in the name of your team and winning. We’re all creatures that need to hear every now and then, “Hey, you’re doing a great job. We appreciate you.”

There needs to be a level of recognition tied to your contribution. It doesn’t have to be star-level. But it needs to exist.

I was lucky to have Michael Lewis write “The No-Stats All-Star,” which was the ultimate acknowledgment of the things I did. I’ve been on plenty of teams where my contributions were overshadowed. I remember reading the paper after I signed my six-year extension in Memphis. One writer said, “The Grizzlies might have overpaid for the Battier, but sometimes you just have to sign your guy.”

OUCH!!!!

But nothing stung like the trade.

When Memphis traded me to Houston, my first instinct wasn’t gratitude. I felt like a scorned lover. My first thought was: “What’s wrong with me? I gave everything to that franchise, to that city. And this is what I get?”

It confirmed what I’d felt for years. I knew what I was doing was helping us win, but I just never got the feeling the front office saw it. That hurt. It really hurt.

Then Houston called.

The conversation changed everything. They weren’t just taking me on. They wanted me for exactly the reasons Memphis seemed to discount: the defense, the spacing, the communication, all the little things that don’t show up in the box score.

Same trade. Two completely different readings of what I was worth. Funny how that works.

That’s when I understood the the best way to deal with the intangible tax: faith.

Not blind faith. Earned faith. My faith kept me grounded knowing not everyone would appreciate how hard I worked at things like spacing, communication, enthusiasm, preparation. No one ever said, “Shane, appreciate your preparation. You were always in the right spot. You never made a mistake on the defensive rotation.”

Said no coach ever. But I knew how important that was to winning.

And the teammates knew.

I remember one of my favorite teammates of all time, Chuck Hayes. About 6’4”, but he guarded Yao Ming and Shaq despite giving up a foot of height. One timeout in the fourth quarter, he looks at me and says: “Alright. It’s about time for your Shane moment.”

I laughed.

But every game after that, every fourth quarter, Chuck would look at me and say: “It’s time for that Shane moment.” That was the ultimate compliment. My teammate didn’t just recognize what I did. He expected it. Because it was my habit.

Sure enough, I could have three points at that stage of the game. Could have missed five shots in a row. But invariably the ball would swing to me in the corner, I’d hit the shot as the clock expired, and the whole place went crazy. Those moments kept me sane.

To my glue guys and glue gals: keep the faith. Your time will come. When it does, it won’t surprise me. And it shouldn’t surprise you either.