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Consistency. Showing up on time, day in and day out, without fail, and performing well.

Boring, huh?

When I was a college student, I thought people who were really into consistency -- people like Jerry Sloan (who was a Utah fixture even before I went to NYU) -- were pretty much just missing out. They were boring. They set their alarms, they got up, they did the stuff they were supposed to do.

Me? I was all over the globe, literally. I was riding free. Sure, I was late sometimes. Yes, there were days when I did not make it to Spanish class. But I was out there, doing things that people dreamed of doing.

You know that music they play when Indiana Jones is being really heroic? I was living to it.

The Jerry Sloans of the world, I assumed, were simply failing to capitalize on most of life's most thrilling opportunities. They were, I thought, living to muzak.

Now I'm a little older, though. Two big pillars of my life are work and family. And I realize, now, that the Jerry Sloans of the world are a lot less boring than I had realized.

Being consistent is not about being boring. It's about being tenacious as a pitbull.

Here's why: The wild things that happen in life, that keep you from making it in to work on time every day? They never stop happening. Midnight trips to the emergency room. One too many drinks with a college buddy. Car trouble. Medical issues. Birthdays. Getting stuck in some airport. Dumb mistakes. 

Just about all these things happen to just about everyone, and in a lot of us they can keep us from showing up on time, again and again, day after day. When it's 4 a.m. and you haven't slept, and you have to bring your A-game all day the next day, I now realize, the boring thing is to call in sick.

Much more thrilling is to channel your inner Jerry Sloan.

(I guarantee you Jerry Sloan has a thousand stories about crazy things he had to put aside to get focused on work. At least one of them was tragic.)

Ding ding ding, the alarm bell is ringing. Get back into that fight. No excuses. Getting up, getting in there, and mixing it up again ... how much of that do you have in you? How many rounds can you go?

Many, I hope. That kind of gumption works wonders, in any walk of life. That's what, after seeing him work for two strong decades (and reading J.A. Adande's story about him), I know Jerry Sloan is all about.

Cue the Indiana Jones music.

(Photo by Melissa Majchrzak/NBAE via Getty Images) 

UPDATE by e-mail from Ross Siler, who covers Jerry Sloan for the Salt Lake Tribune:

...that picture of Jerry that you have up on your post is perfectly appropriate.

He talks to reporters every morning at shootaround next to the red trash can in the tunnel between the court and the Jazz locker room. When it went missing before the Chicago game last month, Sloan joked that was why the Jazz lost the next time he saw us.

If the Jazz ever return to the NBA Finals, they're going to have to drag that trash can up to the podium for all the interviews Sloan would have to do.

I don't think there's any explanation for why he talks there, other than the fact that nobody can stand behind him, but he's said it's a reminder that every day you could wind up in the trash heap as a coach.

I've come to view Sloan's consistency -- he's the only NBA coach who still eats in the press room before every game alongside the unwashed masses -- as the essence of being a professional. It's about recognizing that the NBA is a job and he expects his players to treat it as such.