The patience that goes with the game, the little things that go

John Elway, a warrior of the gridiron, once reflected: “The patience that goes with the game, the little things that go along with the game, you have so much more time to think in golf than you do in football—you have to keep your thoughts positive. I’m not sure I’ve got that mastered.” In these words, he reveals the contrast between two fields of battle: one of speed and force, the other of stillness and silence. Though he conquered the storms of football, he confesses his struggle with the inner war of golf—a game where the enemy is not an opponent rushing toward you, but your own restless mind.

The ancients would have understood this. They spoke often of the difference between the clash of armies and the meditation of the philosopher. On the battlefield, there is no time to ponder; instinct and training carry the day. But in the philosopher’s chamber, there is endless space for thought, and thus endless opportunity for doubt. Elway’s words reveal the same truth: in football, the body acts swiftly, leaving no room for hesitation. But in golf, where there is silence between each swing, the mind has room to wander, to fear, to lose itself. And here, patience and positive thought become the truest weapons.

Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, emperor and Stoic philosopher. In war, he commanded legions. In peace, he battled his own thoughts, recording them in his Meditations. He knew, as Elway suggests, that mastering one’s inner dialogue is often harder than commanding men. To keep one’s thoughts positive is not a simple task; it requires discipline greater than the body’s, for the mind can betray more easily than muscle. Thus, Elway’s admission, “I’m not sure I’ve got that mastered,” is not weakness but the honesty of a man who has learned that victory of the spirit is harder than victory on the field.

The little things of the game are also essential. In football, grand moments of strength and speed seize the crowd’s attention. But in golf, it is the angle of the wrist, the stillness of the head, the breath before the swing. Life too is like this. There are times when force and courage carry us through, but there are other times when it is the small disciplines—the kindness of a word, the control of a thought, the patience of a pause—that shape destiny. Elway names these “little things,” yet they are in truth the foundations of greatness.

History gives us another example in the samurai of Japan. These warriors were trained not only in the clash of the sword but also in the calm of the tea ceremony and the art of poetry. They knew that a mind trained in patience and stillness was less likely to falter in battle. For even in combat, the spirit must remain calm to act rightly. The samurai embodied what Elway seeks: the ability to balance force with thought, to maintain positive focus even in moments of stillness.

Elway’s reflection also carries a lesson about humility. Here is a man who reached the pinnacle of football, yet he admits his struggle in the slower game of golf. This reminds us that mastery in one field does not guarantee mastery in another, and that growth is eternal. Each new challenge humbles us, reminding us that the work of patience, of controlling thought, of cultivating discipline, never ends. The wise are those who, like Elway, admit the work is not yet mastered.

So, dear listener, take this wisdom to heart: in life, there will be times of football and times of golf—moments of action where you must move without thought, and moments of stillness where your greatest enemy is the storm within your own mind. In the latter, practice patience, guard your thoughts, and attend to the little things. For though these may seem small, they are the true battlefield of the spirit. And if you can master your inner game, then no field, no matter how vast or quiet, will conquer you. Patience, discipline, and positive thought—these are the victories that outlast all others.