Free Rudy by Rudy Ruettiger Page A

limitations of the structure of the navy’s teamwork brought out my individuality. My purpose. My heart. As tough as it was, that do-or-die mentality of the navy’s leadership that’s exhibited by empowering the team over individuals worked like magic for me. It works for lots of young guys. There’s a reason why our military has such a great history of creating leaders—the system just works.
    It was not easy. For nine full weeks we were drilled. Constantly. We watched kids break down in body, mind, and spirit. Remember, this was wartime. Vietnam was raging. They had to test us because we were heading out into a world where those tests would truly matter. We weren’t headed into the jungles, but when you go on ship you’ve got to be disciplined and structured. When they call general quarters, you have to know what to do and you can’t panic. They need you to react as you’re told— almost like a robot. “Don’t worry about what’s going on, just do your job.” For most people in a time of crisis, if they stop to think about what’s going on, they freeze. The military can’t have you thinking like that. It’s the same on the football field. That’s why there’s so much repetition in football practices: as soon as you start worrying about that opponent, you’re done. Worry about your job and how you’re going to execute your job . Don’t worry about the play. Execute . Having that football background and the ability to see the correlation definitely helped me get through it. A lot of guys don’t learn that mentality because they have the talent, so they can get away with not fully paying attention to the amount of teamwork it takes to win a game on the field. Me? I wasn’t talented. I had to work hard for every inch of accomplishment, and that was certainly still the case in my first days with the navy.
    In fact, as I opened my eyes to reveille before dawn every morning, through countless moments of physical agony and exhaustion over the course of each and every day, and as I collapsed onto my bed each night, I found myself questioning whether or not I could make it: I don’t know if I can do this. Can I do this? Can I get through this?
    I had never faced anything so physically and emotionally demanding in all my life. But every time I questioned myself, I fell back to the very same thought: I’ve gotta do this! I’ve gotta! I can’t quit! I can’t!
    Guess what?
    I did it.
    So did every other kid. From every walk of life. Of every size and shape. Not one of the shipmates in my barracks dropped out. Not one of them failed. And that got me thinking, This isn’t like school at all . They pushed us hard, sure. But they actually wanted us to succeed. Every one of us. And we did.
    On graduation day, I stood with them, proudly, shoulder to shoulder. I looked out at my parents and my brothers and sisters in the audience, and I swear they were looking at me with more pride than I’d ever known. As if I were somebody . A big shot. Especially my dad. He had a look in his eyes. When I walked over after the ceremonies, he walked right toward me with the sort of excitement he’d show while listening to the Yankees game, or watching Notre Dame highlights on Sunday nights. He put his arm out, shook my hand, and grabbed my shoulder . . . with that look. The polar opposite of the look he gave me back when I broke—and then re-broke—my collarbone. I think he recognized that I had changed. That was awesome for him.
    â€œI’m proud of you, Danny,” he said as he looked me in the eye and squeezed my hand tight.
    That was something.
    I have to admit, I was pretty proud of myself too. This was bigger than anything I had ever accomplished. Scary, yes. Nerve-wracking, sure. Tough? You bet. Yet I did it. All on my own. I emerged, standing on my own two feet, ready to tackle the world.
    Of course, the big