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Darin Featherstone: Personal Statement for Law School

On the wall of the Utah Blaze locker room, in the privacy of our inner-most sanctuary, there is a quote inscribed in white letters on a large black sign:

Nothing fills the warrior’s heart more with courage than to find himself and his comrades at the point of annihilation, at the brink of being routed and overrun, and then to dredge from one’s own discipline and training the presence of mind not to panic, not to yield to the possession of despair, but instead to complete the acts of order which are the supreme accomplishment of the warrior; to perform the commonplace under far-from-commonplace conditions.

The quote is attributed to a Spartan warrior, Dienekes, who was one of the 300 Spartans who stood against the overwhelming Persian forces at Thermopylae.  This is the same Dienekes who, when warned that the rain of Persian arrows would block out the sun, reportedly replied, “Good.  Then we shall have our battle in the shade.”

I don’t know how reliable the source is: the Spartans left no written records of their own.  Most of the accounts of them come from the Athenians, Sparta’s mortal enemies.  But whether or not a Spartan ever said it, it is certainly apropos of life in the Arena Football League.

When I became the Head Equipment Manager for the Utah Blaze, I learned quickly that professional football operates on a peculiar mentality about “winning” that might not seem politically correct, but would have made perfect sense in ancient Sparta.  Although I am only a part of the staff, in professional football everyone—from the head coach to the third-string quarterback to the equipment manager—knows that their fates are intertwined.  If the team wins, we all are successful.  But if the team loses, the coaching staff may be replaced, and when that happens, players and staff are replaced along with them.  A long line of people are always waiting anxiously for us to make a mistake, hoping to take our jobs.  That’s why you won’t hear the phrase “winning isn’t everything” coming from players, coaches, or staff.  For us, winning is everything.  Or rather, everything we’re working and fighting for ultimately depends on winning.  As Vince Lombardi, the legendary coach of the Green Bay Packers, said, “Winning isn’t everything, but losing is nothing.”

On the morning of a home game, my staff and I are usually the first cars to pull up to security and park in the shadows of the Delta Center.  We start by prepping the visitors’ locker room, and I tell you, seeing the names on those jerseys as we walk past the lockers is surreal.  Name after name of former college star and NFL casualty: it’s like reading a scroll of names of fallen heroes.  We work steadily at our duties until about 3 o’clock in the afternoon when the countdown to kick-off begins.  There are clocks hanging in the hallways and rooms of the locker area, and as the seconds count down, they seem to be tracking the rising tension in the room.  About forty minutes before kick-off, all the players are there, suited up, gloves and pads securely strapped on, ankles and wrists tightly taped and ready.  They sit in a rough circle, shoulder to shoulder, in their black, orange, and silver jerseys with sparkling black helmets hanging above their heads.  They stare across at their teammates, concentrating, focusing on the task before them.  Even without the quote on the wall, there would be no doubt in that room that they are warriors, preparing for battle.

I’ve tried to explain to other people what it feels like to be in that locker room, knowing that your team’s season and your job is on the line, knowing that mistakes are not acceptable, and hearing (every time the door swings open) the thunderous roar of 20,000 fans.  As I describe it, people always comment either on what a “rush” it must be or how nervous they would feel under the pressure.  For me, the experience is not about either of those.  I’ve practiced for every conceivable mishap, so I’m not really nervous.  But what I feel is not really a euphoric rush either, not even when we win.  It’s not like the excitement a fan feels.  For me, winning simply feels….satisfying.  You see, I don’t work in pro football to see my name in a headline or to feel the rush of a victory.  I do it because, like most of the coaches and players in the game, I have a family at home that depends on me.  We do it for them because we don’t want to let them down, that is why success is so imperative.

I’ve learned a few things about winning from my time in the AFL.  The secret to winning, I believe, is the phenomenon Dienekes describes.  When your back is against the wall and you simply must win in order to save and protect what is most dear to you, the key is not to fall into a frenzy of mad abandon.  The key, rather, is to draw from your “discipline and training the presence of mind not to panic…but instead to complete the acts of order…to perform the commonplace under far-from-commonplace conditions.”

As I’ve been filling out law school applications and laying out a plan for a career in the law, I’ve been thinking about the lessons I’ve learned in football about winning.  I know there are many careers I could choose that would provide for my family, but I want to have a career where I can feel the deep satisfaction of having stood my ground when it mattered, fought a good fight for the right cause, and won.  I don’t believe in “winning just for the sake of winning” and I think that a lawyer or any other kind of person can become corrupt if he or she does that.  But there are some causes worth fighting for where winning really is everything, regardless of the odds.  Thermopylae comes to mind.  So does Valley Forge.  So do the legal battles that finally reversed segregation in the United States, and many other battles.  I don’t know what issues will be fought for in my lifetime or what small role I can play, but what I do know is that I want to be prepared to fight when it matters most.  When what is right and just stands “at the point of annihilation, at the brink of being routed and overrun” I want to have the training and discipline necessary not to panic, but instead to “perform the common place under far from common place conditions.”

GPA – 3.8   LSAT 162   Darin received multiple full and partial scholarships.