In the opening scenes of “Jerry Maguire,” the main character, a self-described “shark in a suit” sports agent, has an epiphany and types out a “mission statement” that he then distributes to all the other agents in his firm. He titles it “The Things We Think But Do Not Say” and writes his agency should re-focus on client service and relationships with the players it represents and ultimately become an agency that represents fewer clients and makes less money.

When he walks through the room for the first time after his mission statement has been distributed, his colleagues all start clapping. While Jerry basks in his colleagues’ applause, one leans to another and says that Jerry will probably last only another week at the agency. If you’ve seen the movie, then you know that Jerry is fired shortly after distributing his mission statement and that his own words (“Fewer clients. Less money.”) are used against him by the man who fires him — the wonderfully named Bob Sugar.

I mention Jerry Maguire as a way into what has happened at mega-firm Dewey & LeBoeuf LLP in recent weeks and what is means for everyone who practices law. As you have probably read, Dewey & LeBoeuf will almost certainly be forced to close its doors in a matter of days. Most of the partners have jumped ship to other mega firms. For a time, all employees were rumored to have lost their health benefits due to the firm’s inability to pay its carrier. Its former managing partner is being investigated by the New York District Attorney.

As I understand it, the firm’s downfall was caused in no small part by guaranteed payouts to partners based upon their past ability to generate work. The New York Times has called Dewey & LeBoeuf a cautionary tale and has suggested — much like Jerry Maguire — that it is “time for lawyers to reshape corporate practice so they make less money, have time to serve other legal needs and approach their work with the independence that would make them true professionals.”

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I admit it. I am a complete nerd when it comes to grammar, usage and spelling. It’s an honest obsession. After all, both of my parents are English teachers, and I taught high school English for ten years. As you can probably remember from your own high school English class, any teacher who spent time on grammar was a complete nerd.

So what’s the point? The point is that as I have made my way in the legal world, I have noticed that not many attorneys really care about grammar. I routinely receive pleadings, motions and discovery responses that contain glaring errors.

For example, I recently received a Motion to Continue from opposing counsel that began like this:

Comes now, Plaintiff, Jim Smith, by and through his counsels, John Doe, Esquire, Jane Doe, Esquire and Doe and Doe, LLC, and submit this Motion to Continue. In support thereof, Plaintiff submits the following:

“Counsels”? That’s a verb. The grammatically correct plural of counsel in this instance is counsel. What about the lack of subject-verb agreement in the first sentence? The Plaintiff submit? This is basic stuff, made worse — in my opinion — by the proper subject-verb agreement (Plaintiff submits) in the subsequent sentence. I am a self-admitted nerd, but I find this lack of attention to detail infuriating.

Similarly, I often encounter documents from opposing counsel littered with improperly used semicolons. Full disclosure: this was one of my favorite subjects as an English teacher, so I have great affection for the semicolon. I also empathize with those who misuse it, as it is not the easiest form of punctuation to use. However, I would be remiss in a post (mild rant?) about grammar if I did not offer some guidance.

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At my daughter’s preschool, there are daily job assignments — Snack Helper, Line Leader and the always popular Feel Better Friend, who carries Skittles and Band-Aids during outside play for any child who gets hurt.

My favorite job, however, is Problem Solver (or, as my daughter says, the “pwabluhm salvah”). This job asks a 3- or 4- year-old preschooler to mediate any dispute that arises between two classmates. When the teachers explained the jobs at back-to-school night, they all gently chuckled at this notion. The head teacher assured us parents that they wouldn’t hesitate to intervene if it became clear that the problem solver wasn’t going to be successful.

But perhaps this simple description of the child asked to resolve a dispute between classmates has much to teach, especially for those of us who litigate. Are we problem solvers or do we actually create greater (and more expensive) problems for our clients?

When I first started practicing, I heard a story from an experienced attorney whom I’ll call Dan. Dan had been pulled in on a case as local counsel by a large national firm. Big money at stake. The other side had also retained local counsel, a person that Dan had an excellent relationship with from trying cases over the years. As the case unfolded, there came a time when the national firm called Dan and told him it needed a motion to extend the time to respond to something the other side had filed.

“More time?” Dan asked. “No problem. I’ll just pick up the phone and call opposing counsel. I’m sure he’ll give us more time.”

This wasn’t going to work for the national firm. It wanted a motion. Dan was flabbergasted. It actually did not want him to get the relief they were seeking in the most cost-effective way for their client. Instead, it wanted a motion drafted and submitted to the court that included case law, research, etc., — billable hours.

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In my first-year torts class, the professor told us during our first meeting that learning the vocabulary of a lawyer was important. He told us that someday, the potential clients who would seek us out would expect us to “sound like lawyers.” He advised us to get the pocket version of Black’s Law Dictionary, look up any word we came across that we didn’t know, check the margin and then try to use it in a sentence within the next 24 hours.

I remember thinking it was a funny thing to advise, to “sound” like a lawyer. Nonetheless, as a dutiful first-year, I took his recommendation to heart, bought my Black’s and faithfully marked up my copy over the next few years.

I had almost forgotten about his comment until I was preparing for the bar. One of the teachers I had gave the class some very strange advice: if we encountered an essay question to which we didn’t know the answer, we should isolate the area of law and just start underling and defining vocabulary words.

All of us in the class chuckled nervously and glanced at one another. He waited for that to subside.

“I’m serious,” he said after the murmurs subsided. “They want you to sound like lawyers.”

He paused a moment before adding, “The rest is up to you!”

I think often of these two instances when I am speaking with colleagues, clients and even people in other professions at networking events. It is true that attorneys are expected to “talk the talk” the same way insurance salesmen, plumbers and bartenders have specific lingo their clients expect them to know.

The real key, I think, is knowing the appropriate time and place to “sound like a lawyer.”

I can tell you from experience it isn’t at home when you might be, say, discussing kids’ carpool arrangements or their weekend sports schedule with your wife. It also isn’t when you’re explaining what you do to a class of preschoolers or kindergarteners during a career day. It isn’t even really at networking events when asked to explain what you do. In those instances, your elevator pitch has to be accessible to everyone listening, not just the other attorneys in the group.

In fact, it seems that most often, this “sounding like a lawyer” business is a performance for a client, opposing counsel or a judge, each expecting the jargon and ready to counter with their own.

The more difficult task is figuring out how not to sound like a lawyer, and, as you might be able to tell, I’m still learning.

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I play in three weekly basketball games at various gyms near my house. The games themselves are very different: three-pointers count for “2″ in one game, “3″ in another and not at all in a third; in one, the start time can be as late as 9:30 p.m. depending on the 8th grade boys’ practice schedule; and after playing in one gym, someone wheels out a cooler and those so inclined share some good-natured ribbing and an adult beverage.

For all the differences in the three games, though, there are also some striking similarities. For starters, lots of attorneys play in all three of these games… which got me thinking about how these games provide context for and comment on the daily practice of law.

Another similarity is that a high skill level is not a prerequisite for playing (thank goodness). Almost invariably, the players considered “best” in all three games are those who are in the best shape and can get up and down the court quickly and consistently. Other, more naturally-talented players who don’t play as often and clearly don’t spend the time on their own to stay fit usually find themselves gasping for breath with their hands on their knees after a just few times down the court while the man they’re supposed to be guarding speeds past for an uncontested layup.

It’s impossible, I think, not to make the connection to practicing law. Just as the most successful players in these pick-up games are those who train the hardest when they’re not playing, the most successful attorneys are those who work the hardest when the bright lights of the courtroom are not shining. It is the countless hours of practice and preparation — often in an office with darkened windows long after colleagues have left — that separates excellent attorneys from average ones. Success in basketball, as in law, is about hard work and preparation.

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After approximately 10 years of teaching, a profession in which being a good colleague means showing up at an occasional department meeting, maybe cracking a few jokes and not offering any substantive comments that force the meeting to last any longer than absolutely necessary, I found myself in the legal world, where colleagueship has a completely different meaning.

All of a sudden, there was work to be done on deadline and I wasn’t the only one who would be doing it. Where I used to mark up students’ papers with abandon and be the final (and only) arbiter of quality and subpar work, I would now actually be working with other people who would mark up my work product (gasp!) and make suggestions for improvements to opinions, briefs and everything else I drafted.

Do I now know what it means to be a good colleague after a couple of years following this somewhat uncomfortable transition into the legal world? To see how much (or how little) I knew, I asked several attorneys I know — one government attorney, one at a large national firm, and one at a small firm — what they believe makes a good colleague.

Surprisingly, all of us (yes, even me) produced similar answers. So, with spring training right around the corner — Orioles pitchers and catchers report Feb. 18 — I have craftily compiled the main measures of attorney colleagueship into measurable statistics based upon familiar baseball stats. These can be used to evaluate all attorneys — new associates, senior counsel and even partners.

1. ERA (Earned Run Average) = meets Expectations, is Reliable and Accountable

In the feedback I got from almost every attorney I asked, these three traits appeared the most. Just like the baseball stat (which, yes, I know, is already a thing of the past) measures a pitcher’s reliability, this colleagueship statistic measures how well you do what you say you are going to do so that others can rely on you.

An implicit part of this aspect of colleagueship is actually understanding what you’re going to be able to accomplish over a specific time period and communicating that effectively to other colleagues. Unlike baseball, a high ERA as a colleague is a good thing. It means your colleagues can count on you, which means they will like to work with you.

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