Help Control the G.O.A.T. Population
Look, Dude, I get it. Your dry cleaner is good. He got the red wine out of that seersucker blazer that one time after your cousin’s wedding. And sure, John Doe put up 35 and 7 in the Eastern Conference Quarter Finals last night. But please, for the love of all things holy, let’s stop calling them G.O.A.T.s. Maybe I’m a literalist, but the idea of turning on the TV and hearing that X, Y, and Z athletes are all in the conversation for the “Greatest of All Time” due to some recent accomplishment, I can’t help but, just…insert face-palm emoji here. It’s right there in the acronym: Greatest Of All Time. We can’t have multiple “Greatestses”.
Our society is full of hyperbole. Chest-thumping, boasting, bragging, posturing, and compensating. It’s all good—you do you. But, let’s not lose sight of one simple but important truth: we still need Greatness. We need heroes. Icons. Legends. Something to hold up above all others. And if we still need that aspirational archetype, then we need to defend that level of excellence with vigor. If everyone is great, no one is great. If everything is important, nothing is important. We need things to be important. So let’s honor those who are appropriately, and exclusively.
Muhammad Ali (the original “Greatest of All Time”) was misunderstood in his time. Today, he’s revered and deified as a cultural and sports icon (and rightfully so). But in his prime, in the midst of the political, racial, and social strife of the 1960’s, when he broke out of his Cassius Clay Chrysalis to become the Muhammad Ali Butterfly? Dude took some serious arrows. He was viewed by some as an arrogant, brash, and offensive loud-mouth. And his critics might have been right, except that he went out and did exactly what he said he was going to do. He floated like a butterfly and he stung like a bee. He beat the best of the best and did it with panache. When all was said and done, he was the G.O.A.T.
I had the honor of meeting Muhammad Ali once. Technically, I watched nine innings of baseball with him. Fortunate enough to sit in a suite with local and visiting dignitaries during a MLB All-Star Game, I found myself sitting directly in front of the greatest boxer of all-time. I kept my cool, respected the man’s privacy, and didn’t fan-boy out. Honestly, I don’t get phased much by celebrity, but by God, this was MUHAMMAD ALI. I maintained for a few innings until I heard a vaguely familiar voice behind me, turned around, and witnessed Hank Aaron and Sharon Robinson (Jackie’s widow) casually chatting up Muhammad like old friends. I promptly blacked out.
Point being, that level of excellence and significance warrants admiration. It deserves reverence. Those all-time greats have earned the right to be part of a discussion of historic proportions . But it’s a finite conversation. The barrier to entry is steep. Not everyone can be truly elite. Hell, not everyone can be really good. That’s OK! That’s actually how it’s supposed to be.
You know how to assess where a particular person fits in the Mt. Rushmore paradigm of greatness in a particular field? Talk to the professionals in that industry. The “men and women in the arena”, if you will, rather than the talking heads or the keyboard warriors. Talk to professional guitar players about the greatest guitarist of all time, and you’ll probably get a very different answer than what you’ll get on Twitter. The insiders appreciate the nuance of the craft and know how hard it is to reach that elite level of technical excellence. Not stage presence, fashion sense, or bravado—excellence.
(For a great illustration of this, watch this clip of Ted Williams being honored before the 1999 MLB All-Star Game in Boston (skip ahead to the 3-minute mark): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fku5SkZq6tI. Here are the greatest baseball players on the planet at the time, gathering around Williams like they were little boys waiting for grandpa to tell a story, eager to shake the hand of the man they considered one of the greatest hitters of all time.
We need that standard of excellence. And the standard needs to be high. Like, really high. Every kid shouldn’t get a trophy, not every tech startup is Facebook, and not every up-and-comer with a mix tape should be compared to hip-hop’s greatest MC’s. By including the flavor of the week in the Greatest Of All Time conversation, we inherently cheapen to achievements of the True Greats. By discounting the best of us, we’re doing a disservice to all of us. By watering down our threshold of true excellence, we’re destroying excellence itself.
Let’s do our own version of animal conservation. Save the G.O.A.Ts by controlling the population.