Overdo Your Follow-Through — for Tentative Is Far Riskier Than Confident

When I’m shooting free throws on the basketball court, I can tell instantly — the moment the ball leaves my sweaty 47-year-old fingertips — whether I’m about to experience a make or a miss, success or failure, imaginary cheers or imaginary jeers.

It’s all in the follow-through.

If I’ve followed through well on my shot, the ball launches from my hand with zip, arcs gracefully, and inevitably goes in — usually whispering through the net, almost not even touching it, and spinning right back to me at the free throw line. Magic.

If I’ve followed through poorly, the ball comes off my hand sluggishly, with too little backspin, and clanks off the rim — occasionally even missing the rim altogether, resulting in what is known to basketball fans as an embarrassing airball. Tragic.

My high school basketball coach, John Erickson, spent a lot of time talking to us about free throws and follow-through. Picture your shooting hand literally following the ball over the front rim and down into the basket, he said. Snap your wrist forward emphatically at the end of the shooting motion, in an exaggerated, borderline ridiculous way — on purpose — so that your fingers end up pointed down at the floor once you’ve released the ball. Then hold that manufactured position — again, on purpose — until well after you’ve seen the result.

It’s impossible, Coach Erickson stressed, to overdo it: to follow through too dramatically. Indeed, he said, follow through right and you’ll have a hard time missing, even —  especially — under pressure. Follow through wrong, on the other hand, and disappointment is all but certain.

The other day when I was practicing my free throws at the gym, I made 13 in a row at one point. It was all in the follow-through. The next day the best I could muster was three in a row. It was all in the follow-through again. The lack thereof, at any rate. And I knew it. But I didn’t really understand why.

Until now.

I always figured that in his passionate sermons on follow-through, Coach Erickson’s attention was centered squarely on the end of the shot, especially as he was forever screaming “finish your shot, finish your shot!” through the immense hands on his 6-foot-7-inch frame. But follow-through, I’ve come to realize — and Coach Erickson undoubtedly knew way back then — isn’t about finishing right, not directly. It’s about backhandedly guaranteeing that you start right, in an oddly retroactive sort of way, so that a successful outcome takes care of itself.

When you intentionally accentuate your follow-through, you end up confidently shooting the ball instead of trying to steer it into the basket. In so doing, you provide undeniable evidence, to both yourself and the universe, that you mean business; that you are genuinely committed to the shot you’re taking. You acknowledge and accept, through your actions, that tentative is far riskier than confident. And then you hold that position until well after you’ve seen the result.

It’s one thing to merely say “I’m confident” or “I’m committed” in life. But the universe — and you and I, as it turns out — demands proof. Follow-through — exaggerated, borderline ridiculous follow-through in our activities, in whatever form(s) it might take — is that proof. The proof that makes our shots launch with zip, arc gracefully, and go in.

Peter Vogt

I’m a writer. An essayist, to be more exact. I tell stories here—true stories, from my own life, in hopes they will make a positive difference in yours.

I share laughs and tears, insights and observations, frustrations and realizations, relying all the while on the storytelling wisdom of Julia Cameron, author of The Right to Write.

It is a great paradox that the more personal, focused, and specific your writing becomes, the more universally it communicates.