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Emotion Is Your Enemy
                          student-athletes who were going to get letters, I came to my senses,  111
                          cooled off, and tried to get the boy’s name added. But it was too
                          late.
                             The young player was badly hurt because I let emotions take
                          over my thinking and interfere with good judgment. Seventy years
                          later I still regret what I did. What I don’t regret is that it provided
                          a powerful lesson in the dangers of being ruled by emotions.




                          CHANGE COMES SLOWLY
                          That incident was not the only time I let my feelings spill over. Fol-
                          lowing a game with one of South Bend Central’s archrivals, I trot-
                          ted across the court to offer my condolences to the losing coach.
                          Little did I know that he was extremely upset and in no mood to
                          listen to somebody whose players had just beaten his team for the
                          second straight time that year. This hadn’t happened to them in 13
                          seasons.
                             As I approached him, he let out a string of expletives I didn’t
                          hear again until I joined the Navy—called me every name you
                          could imagine right there in front of the players, fans, and officials.
                          He even suggested that I had bribed the referees to get good calls.
                             I immediately saw red and, without thinking, knocked him
                          down to the court as players and fans rushed in to stop us. His ac-
                          tions were unacceptable; mine, inexcusable. Both of us had dem-
                          onstrated how losing control of oneself can be destructive.
                             Over the years I got very good at preventing my emotions from
                          getting out of hand. It didn’t happen overnight, but the process was
                          accelerated by the incidents I’ve detailed above.
                             Some observers later described me as being “a cold fish,” as if I
                          was no more than a detached spectator during UCLA basketball
                          games. In fact, at one point a play-by-play announcer said, “Coach
                          Wooden just raised his eyebrow. His must be very upset about
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