What Really Matters about Youth Athletics

     My son. Stephen, loves sports--everything about them. Of course, he mainly loves playing them. Now a high school senior, since he could join school athletics beginning in seventh grade, he has been in a sport every trimester: volleyball in the fall; soccer in the winter; track--pole vaulting--in the spring. When not doing school sports, he may go to the driving range or the climbing gym, and in the summer goes on long hiking trips. He's very fit, and while he's unlikely to play anything on the collegiate level, he certainly will play intramurals and perhaps club sports.
     Last Wednesday Stephen came home from soccer practice in a great deal of pain, limping badly. A lingering injury seemed to have exploded into something worse. The initial diagnosis was that he might have torn the labrum in his left hip. The next day he went to the orthopedist and received the relatively good news that the problem is a badly inflamed hip flexor. He was told to use ice, take ibuprofen, and totally rest for three weeks. That's where the real pain hit. Only three weeks remained in the season, when the championship tournament would take place. Yes, the physical pain was great. But the real agony sat much deeper than that. Between punches on a pillow, Stephen kept groaning, "I've been playing with most of these guys since kindergarten. It isn't supposed to end this way."
     In that moment Stephen captured the real reason playing school sports matters. It's the relationships that come with being part of a team. The joy of being a contributor in some fashion. The camaraderie which buoys you through struggles and lifts you even higher during moments of exultation. Teammates who understand, even if they don't really know what to say. Learning how to work with others towards a common goal. A coach who talks with you about ways you can still help the team through your presence...and holds out the carrot of maybe a few minutes in the tourney if you do what you're supposed to do to heal.
     In this era of what's been called the professionalization of youth sports* in our culture, I fear we've lost sight of that, even though we still say all the right things. We ask kids to specialize at younger and younger ages; we have them play more and more intense matches; we spend increasing amounts of money; and we travel further and more often. To what end, exactly? A college scholarship? A shot at the pros? In some cases even studying the odds does not shatter the dream delusion. Whether a kid shows it outwardly or not, with all this comes increased pressure. Yes a few thrive on it. Some aren't fazed by it. But many feel tremendous anxiety. Meanwhile, we see more catastrophic injuries at younger ages. We see kids burning out, forever done with a sport they once may have loved.
     The problem is not just club sports. At games at all levels, in any sport I've observed, there's an edge, almost a nastiness, among the fans, primarily parents. Yelling at officials has always occurred, but it's become more regular and sometimes abusive. Recently I've observed parents singling out players on opposing teams and taunting them. Once all this behavior reaches a certain level, players become keenly aware. It's not exactly positive role modeling.
     As a former athlete, I wonder how I would have fared in today's environment. I don't think I would have liked it nearly as much as I did. As competitive as I am with my self, my personality and values might have led me to crumble under the external pressure. Plus I revel as much in the process as any product. And that would have been a shame, because I attribute so much of what serves me well know in all aspects of my life to what I learned through my soccer "career."
     My athletic dream for Stephen has never been more than he love sports as much as I did, that he gain the sort of timeless and boundless lessons I did. Athletics should be an essential part of a holistic education, one which helps us become more fully human. That, and fun. Especially fun.


*See "How Kids Sports Turned Pro" in the September 4, 2017, issue of Time.

Gut Reaction to Interview with NFLer Turned HS Coach

     This morning I heard a radio interview that had me excited, but ultimately disappointed me. It was with former NFL quarterback Jon Kitna, who is now a nigh school football coach. He recently moved from Tacoma to Waxahachie, TX, to become the head coach there. Pretty cool, I thought, especially when he talked about how he wanted to coach in high school so that he could have a positive impact on so many young men. In fact, he talked about how that was the plan coming out of college, for pro ball never seemed a possibility. He and his wife, also a teacher and coach, dreamed of being some school's "power couple" in terms of helping young folks. I loved it, fondly recalling the soccer coaches who helped to shape me.
     Then it turned sour. The radio host asked Kitna if he would be teaching a class as he had in Tacoma and if he liked doing that. No, Kitna explained, he wouldn't. He then elaborated that he was glad about that because when he was "stuck in a classroom" he "couldn't have an impact on young people."
     I hope Jon Kitna didn't mean that the way it hit me. I believe he didn't mean to insult the many dedicated educators who bust their tails every day to make a positive impact on young people. And who do so without the adulation that comes with the Friday night lights, especially here in Texas. I want to trust that won't be part of the message as he's making that impact.

World Cup 2014 and Cultural Change

     I don't recall when I first started playing soccer. Maybe around 1970 or so. I know that was the first World Cup I knew of. As I was growing up, we kept hearing two things about soccer: that it would be the next big sport in America, and that Americans never would embrace soccer. We just kept playing, half-delighted we played such a "minor" sport, half-frustrated by the lack of recognition. Of course, we really weren't very good on any sort of global, or even regional scale. Our national team would lose badly to third-rate European teams and sometimes hang tough against Central American teams. When we qualified for the 1990 World Cup--the first time ever, with previous appearances based on invitation--it was like the miracle on grass.
     Now here we are, just a generation later, and World Cup fever has struck America. People have the games on; the US-Portugal match was the most viewed ever in this nation. They are talking about the games, albeit with pretty limited understanding. But they are talking about them! They care! Sports websites have the cup as the lead story every day. Our team is very competitive in the Group of Death and should qualify for the next round. To someone with my historical perspective, it's quite remarkable and invigorating.
     Of course, the fervor will recede after the cup. But it's grown since 2010, which was bigger than 2006, which...Soccer now is in the nation's consciousness. Do I expect it to reach the levels of Brazil or Spain or Germany. Probably not. But I never believed I would see what's happening now either. I think we safely can say we're witnessing a true cultural change.*
     So what's the moral of the story? Many others share my soccer past, and many of us ended up coaching. We passed on our love of the sport to whomever we could. One player, one team at a time. With dedication, determination, and faith, true change can occur. In some ways it's frustratingly slow. But in others it's faster than imagined.**
   

*I also wonder if in this World Cup we are seeing another cultural change one tied to the era of globalization. While upsets often have occurred in the past, this time more of the minnows are doing quite well. The gap has closed as players have more exposure--whether actually playing experience or simple exposure--that has raised everyone's level. Now everyone can analyze and learn from the best.

**I'm seeing my dream come true when it comes to soocer.  That gives me hope because of all the positive developments I'm seeing in education.

Ethics and Athletics

     Last week I heard an interview with former major league baseball player Gabe Kapler. The subject was sign stealing and transferring certain information. He was explaining what was considered okay and what was considered cheating. Not being much of a baseball fan, I didn't completely understand his points. However, one comment has stuck with me. I don't recall the exact words, but I believe I can paraphrase correctly: that to a certain degree such behavior is just considered gamesmanship.
     This past weekend Manchester United player Ashley Young, who doesn't have the best reputation for such behavior, was castigated for diving to try to win a penalty kick. Of course, soccer players are infamous for this type of thing. However, United manager David Moyes called out Young publicly and said such things have no place in the game.
     Hmmmmmm...
     This post is not even going to consider both sides of the argument. I'll just come right out and say that I side much more with Moyes than Kapler. As someone who has played highly-competitive soccer and also coached, I understand the drive and pressure which can lead one to seek any advantage. I certain won't claim total innocence, although I can say that my attempts to get away with anything were rare and generally ill conceived. Most of my coaches discouraged it. I've never taught players any of the tricks, let along encouraged use of them. If one of my players did something I found unsporting, I tried to make it a teaching moment.
     But I have to say that all this can be a murky area. For example, let's say a ball goes a bit out of bounds off a player's foot as she is dribbling. The assistant referee doesn't see it and fails to raise the flag. I wouldn't call it cheating or even wrong for the player to continue play. The official simply made an error. Let's extend the logic to another common scenario. Two players are chasing a ball. One tugs at another's shirt to gain an advantage and thus he wins the ball. It's one of the things that angers an opponent and is considered bad form by a purist. The referee doesn't see it, so there's no call. Cheating or gamesmanship? Again, I see both sides. Are they really that different from each other?
     As an educator, I have a concern, albeit one that doesn't really answer the question. In fact, it's based on another question. Where is the line? Perhaps professional athletes have an understanding of it. They, like Kapler, probably would claim they do. Yet Moyes' comment about his own player suggests not. Maybe I shouldn't equate sign stealing in baseball and diving in soccer. However, the principle remains the same.
In any sport, where is the line?
     This question has other implications. We try to teach children fair play, but they see professionals trying to get away with things. Try explaining gamesmanship to a ten-year-old sometime.Plus I wonder how this can disorient one's moral compass point. By that, I mean that for certain individuals the line can shift rather easily. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that the same perspective which justifies rule-breaking, per either the spirit or the letter of the law, could lead to using other means to gain an advantage, such as performance-enhancing drugs.
     I'm not naive enough to think competitive sports ever will be free of such misbehavior. The darker side of human nature can come out in competition, and I've spent enough time with elite athletes to know they will do just about anything to gain an edge. And I like to win at whatever I'm doing. But I also know all the wonderful lessons that I learned through athletics. Those are what we need to stress with our developing athletes more than anything else. Therein lies the real victory.

Say It Ain’t So, Lance

So Lance Armstrong has given up his fight against all the doping accusations. 

This makes me sad. I desperately want to believe that Lance didn’t cheat as part of his remarkable story. He says this is not an admission of guilt, just that he is worn out by the “witch hunt,” the “nonsense,” and the “toll on his family.” He believes he cannot win in an unfair fight. I can understand that, particularly since he is the most drug-tested person in history. Of course, many people will ask, “Why now?” There will be the conclusion some sort of deal is being struck because the anti-doping agency finally has the goods on Lance. Maybe so.

But that’s not what depresses me. During my life I’ve seen plenty of heroes fall because of their human flaws. I understand that’s the power of classical tragedy, and that in modern tragedy all humans (not just the “great” ones) have our flaws that bring us down.

What really makes me sad is how blasé people seem to feel about this. Similarly, while I care, I have to admit I’ll be disappointed but not surprised if he did cheat. I had discussed this with several people throughout the saga, and many simply assume he cheated. Indeed, they would be much more shocked to learn that he hadn’t than that he had. After all, cycling is a sport in which illegal doping has gone on for years, with amphetamines used heavily before that. We’ve seen the prevalence of PEDs in many other sports. Just this week two major league baseball players received fifty-game suspensions for illegal use of testosterone. Much of the commentary I’ve heard on one focused not on the act, but on the ludicrous attempt to cover it up by creating a fake website. I worry that we accept, even expect, cheating to be part of sport now.

By extension, then, what do children come to internalize as normative behavior? That holds true in many aspects of their lives, particularly since they haven’t developed their filters yet. I’m not suggesting that we have to express outrage at every turn.  I just hope we are talking about cases like this with our children in ways they can begin to understand.

That’s why I want Lance to be clean. I yearn for champions who inspire. I love to tell kids, “Look at what this guy did. Listen to his story. It’s incredible! You don’t have to cheat or take shortcuts.” Now I have more doubt in Lance than I had before.  And if he really is clean, then I want him to keep fighting, just like he did/does against cancer, no matter how much the struggle beats him down. Because that’s another lesson we have to try to teach young people: that when you truly believe you’ve done the right thing, you keep on fighting the good fight.

I believe it was Charles Barkley who said professional athletes should not be given the responsibility of being role models (or something along those lines). That reminds me of celebrities who complain about a lack of privacy. In both cases, it simply comes with the territory, rightly or wrongly, fairly or unfairly. That’s why, even with all the good he has done through LiveStrong—maybe even more so because of that—one of my first thoughts upon seeing today’s headline was, “Say it ain’t so, Lance.”

¡Viva Espana! Leadership Lessons from La Furia Roja

                Yesterday Spain won the Euro 2012 football championship, beating Italy 4-0 in the final. With that, they force a discussion on whether they are the greatest team ever. After all, they are the first nation to win three major tournaments in a row, having won Euro 2008 and the 2010 World Cup. While I find such discussions interesting and will engage in a lively debate with my son when he returns from camp, that’s not my point here.

                Instead, I’m going to plant the seeds of a best-seller: ¡Viva Espana! Leadership Lessons from La Furia Roja: What the Spanish National Team Can Teach Us about Leadership and Winning Teams. (How do I trademark this?) Surely the blurbs will contain numerous puns involving the word goal. I think it’s a natural, given the subjects in this genre range from Jesus to Attila the Hun.

                Humor aside, I do believe Spain’s reign reminds me of many of the qualities I try to both embody and foster. That’s very natural given my long association with soccer, and I often credit much of my success to lessons learned as a player and coach. They are not earthshaking or profound, but perhaps this puts them in a new light. Here goes:

·         Teamwork—Create list of the top 100, or even 50, of the top players in the world, and numerous Spanish players would be on it. Iniesta, Xavi, Alonso, Silva, Fabregas, Casillas for sure. Sergio Ramos and Pique are world-class, Torres is fearsome when on his game, Juan Mata would start for many teams but is rooted to the bench, and Jordi Alba is a rising star. Yet Spain has a team concept unlike few others, based on the tiki-taka style. The origins of the term are unclear, but it’s said to refer to the precise ticking of a Swiss clock and the intricacies of how the pieces interact. In a gross oversimplification, the style is I-receive-the-ball, I-give-the-ball, I-move-to support. In a sense, teamwork is the core value.

·         Hard Work—To make the tiki-taka style work, players must work incredibly hard, moving all the time into space. That takes not only physical stamina but also mental exertion to be reading myriad intricacies of the match as they unfold. People marvel at how Spain possesses the ball, but I’ve also noted another amazing facet of their play which is rooted in pure toil. When Spain does lose the ball, unlike most teams who retreat and get a bit of a break while setting up the defense, they immediately pounce into a defensive mindset and chase down the ball. They apply suffocating pressure. You also can’t develop the amazing skill these players have without having put in countless hours of mind-numbing ballwork.

·         Simplicity—From when I could first understand soccer tactics, I have been taught it is a simple game, based on maintaining triangles. So often that becomes lost in more complicated strategies and the whirlwind of play. It’s a simple approach but maddeningly difficult to make happen. Yet Spain maintains this as their essential method of playing. Study them carefully, and you see that tiki-taka is really the constant reformation of triangles.

·         Adaptability—Spain’s all-time leading scorer, David Villa, could not play because of a serious knee injury. His natural replacement, Torres, has been in a long slump. Legendary defender and spiritual leader Carlos Puyol also could not play because of injury. What does coach Vicente del Bosque do? He plays a striker-less formation, with a false nine who really was more of a midfielder. He takes his normal right back, Ramos, and moves him to play central defense. When the team took the field, it was simply a matter of sticking to the core elements above. The triangles just took on different measurements.

·         Vision—The previous point also required vision in seeing how Spain could play the same way, just with some variations. But there is more to it than that. Frequently coaches try to force players into a certain, rigid system. del Bosque took the players he had for this tournament and figured out how to adapt the system to their gifts.

·         Humility—Before the semi-final, German players declared themselves the team to beat. They lost to Italy. Before the final, some Italian players said they believed they had Spain’s number. Meanwhile, Spanish players were giving interviews in which they expressed how fortunate they felt to be in the tournament again, hoped they would have a chance, et cetera. Humility also helps one keep focus and drive after successes.

·         Confidence—Perhaps we have become spoiled, but critics were saying that Spain had become “too boring” because of how much of their possession didn’t necessarily lead to clear chances. They did not consider that the possession is also defensive, based on the notion that the other team cannot score if it cannot get the ball. Other critics said that the striker-less formation would never work. del Bosque and Spain never wavered in their approach. After the opening match, they went a record 509 minutes without allowing a goal; and, ironically, the striker Torres ended up as top scorer despite playing only 189 of 570 minutes.

I’m not sure I actually have the makings of a book here; someone else might take that on. I know there will be dozens of clinics and videos on learning to play the Spanish way. They will have something in common with those leadership books and with how Spain plays soccer: making it seem so much easier than it really is.

Creativity and Relationships

                Most of the many works I’ve read on creativity and innovation acknowledge the importance of feeling stuck, even of experiencing failure. Most recently I came across this passage in Jonah Lehrer’s Imagine: How Creativity Works:

Every creative journey begins with a problem. It starts with a feeling of frustration, the dull ache of not being able to find the answer. We have worked hard, but we’ve hit the wall. We have no idea what to do next. (Kindle edition, Loc 203)

In some ways this is rather obvious, necessity-as-the-mother-of invention stuff. I also could go on one of my this-is-why-we-need-to-let-kids-struggle screeds. Maybe another time.

                Instead, I want to consider why this idea is true not just for creativity, but also for learning, particularly in human relationships.

                Lately I’ve been thinking about the greatest success I ever experienced as a soccer coach. Sometimes I really miss coaching. It’s nostalgia triggered by a spring break visit to my first school, where I hadn’t been in around 15 years. Our host kept introducing me as the guy who started the soccer program.

                My first few years we were terrible, and double digit losses were not uncommon. It was a new program, we were a very small school, I sometime used middle schoolers on the varsity, and we had to play giant public schools. We kept our chins up and had fun, although the constant losing hurt. Gradually we improved to where we could put up a fight. In the fifth year, I thought we finally could be a team to be truly competitive. I had high hopes, and the players were excited. Maybe we even could make the play-offs!

                We began the season badly, and things grew worse—mainly because of my response. I berated the players, and I kept trying to force them into my system rather than make any adjustments. Never did I question my approach, and my mood grew darker and darker. Finally, after one particularly disheartening loss, I sat alone for hours and suddenly asked, “Mark, what in the world are you doing? This isn’t the way you want to coach.” Practice the next day was very different. It began with my apologizing for how I had been treating them as players and as people. In turn, they accepted their responsibility for certain things. We had a long, pretty intense and honest discussion. Training sessions became fun again. We won four of our last five matches.

                Two years later I had a fabulous squad, with many of the players returning from the team mentioned above, along with some strong new boys. Expectations were sky high. A ref told me after a pre-season scrimmage, “Mark, you are loaded for bear!” That created pressure and tension, and I had the problem of not being sure how the pieces were going to fit together, especially in the way I liked to organize a team. I could see the potential, but it wasn’t gelling. I knew I didn’t want to repeat recent history. So I rethought my tactics and designed a team concept based on the players’ talents rather than a standard formation. We kept practices light, with lots of fun and games and laughter. After the regular season we were undefeated. To remove that pressure, I scheduled an extra match against a team I knew would probably beat us. We lost, and it was a relief for all of us. After all, we’d never even had a winning record before, and now people wanted us to go undefeated. We won the first three playoffs games, which put us in the championship match. Everyone was tense. So in our final practice, we had our team meeting, and I sent everyone out not to train, but to play in the mud left over from some recent rains. The next day we won state.

                While I’m incredibly proud of that state championship, it’s not the greatest success to which I referred above. That team was so talented many coaches could have won the title. However, I don’t think I could have without having sloughed through the muddy trenches of two years before…and certainly not without having been able to work through that frustration and re-create the season. Doing that necessitated asking myself some really hard questions and accepting answers I didn’t like. Then I had to change my behavior accordingly. If I hadn’t, a bunch of boys would have had miserable experiences mainly because of me. In both seasons I think I taught some important lessons, but mostly in the first. That experience also taught me a great deal about the never-ending process of learning and growing and self-improvement.

                In many ways, coaching and teaching—and I guess most human activities—ultimately depend on relationships. When one isn’t working and we’ve hit that wall, then if it matters to us, we have to get creative. Sometimes that involves reinvention of the self.

A Larger Victory

     Youth sports have the ability to bring out the worst in folks. Recently I posted about a terrible incident near Pittsburgh. At plenty of games over the years I’ve seen parents berating referees, some of them just teenagers officiating for small children.

     I have plenty of theories for why this occurs, and perhaps someday I will share them in a longer post.

      But for now, I want to thank a bunch of sixth-grade boys from Covenant School in Dallas for reminding us what youth sports really should be about. Here’s the story of how they gave up a shot at a championship to help a friend.

Lin-Sane Rush to Judgment

                This morning I clicked over to www.cnn.com, and there was the latest Jeremy Lin piece: a video titled “Jeremy Lin’s lessons for success.” Below the video were link to multiple other Lin videos and stories. (One was Letterman’s top-ten worst Lin puns, a part of which I’m sure my title could become, but I simply couldn’t resist.) I hear he’s been added to NBA all-star events. All this, I keep thinking, after a streak of seven excellent games. Meanwhile, I look at the book my wife pulled off the shelf last night and left in the den: Mandela’s Way: Fifteen Lessons on Life, Love, and Courage.

                I am fascinated by the Jeremy Lin story—not just the athletic angle, not just the overnight sensation angle. I’m intrigued by what it is revealing about so many facets of our cultural anthology. Lin embodies the quixotic notion that with hard work and perseverance, anyone can achieve his or her dreams. Plus his parents moved to California from Taiwan, so it has the immigrant angle. And that last aspect is part of what I find most compelling: at the same time, Lin both affirms and discredits commonly held stereotypes. Asian-American who graduates from Harvard? Got it; makes sense. Star point guard in the NBA from Harvard? Maybe, but unlikely. Asian-American star point guard in the NBA? You’re kidding me.

                So it’s natural that we’ve been inundated with Lin stories. They are remarkable and inspiring, and we have an obsession with athletics. It’s very similar to the Tebow-mania from a couple months back, and there have been several pieces comparing the two. Whose rise is more amazing? Whose story is more compelling? Which of the two is more likely to last? We have no way of knowing, and we even are wondering. Some are doubting. Yet at the same time we already have granted Lin some sort of mythic status.

                Watching the story unfold, I can’t help but think of certain young athletes I’ve worked with and watched through the years. I always find one oft-repeated story the saddest. I’ll share a single tale that captures the essence of the narrative. I’ll call the boy Joe. In the early grades, Joe was a soccer star. While other kids were forming a hive or doing cartwheels, he was scoring all the goals. Unusually agile, fast, and big for his age, he dominated. With it came all the accolades, particularly the predictions that later he would be a star. Certainly he would play in college, maybe even the pros. His father loved all this and encouraged it to a large degree. The problem was, Joe succeeded early on because he was physically precocious. He dominated only because of that. He did not develop skills or a real sense of the game. Even by middle school Joe was an average player. He never made the high school varsity. His confidence suffered not just in athletics, but in other areas.

                While obviously I’m talking about people at two extremes of the sports ladder, they both capture our desire—maybe even basic need—to anoint a hero. When we do that, we place unrealistic and thus unfair expectations on the emerging idol because of our own desires. For a professional athlete, particularly a superstar, that simply is part of the job. But it shouldn’t be part of the job of growing up. Doing that is hard enough, and children inevitably disappoint their parents. It’s part of how we all learn. And those are the moments when it’s probably most important that we recall and stress what really constitutes long-term success.

                Young people also see that, as quickly as we crown heroes, we will knock them down. For a while there, Tebow was the amazing story, defying all those who said he couldn’t make it as an NFL quarterback. Remember how the Broncos knocked out the Steelers and he was celebrated? Then they were crushed by the Patriots, and all the naysayers chanted, “Told you so.” It’s difficult to convince young people that setbacks and failures are all right when they see this unfold. And our criticism is illogical. I’m perpetually amazed how quick we are to lambaste professional athletes, who are the best in the world in ways many of us can’t conceive. I’ve competed against some professional soccer players, and it humbled me quite quickly. It also helps me remain grateful for the fact that, while I couldn’t reach the highest levels, I loved playing and gained massive life lessons.

                I’m rooting for Jeremy Lin. I want this to be a happily-ever-after story. We crave those. But rather than get too swept up in the Lin-sanity, let’s also use it as a reminder to keep youth athletics in perspective.

An Athletic Education

                Watching Game 2 of the World Series last night, I had one of those moments that reminded me why I love sports and their educational value.

                I think it was in the fifth inning. I say think because, despite the tension of the game, I was dozing off a bit. Suddenly there was the Rangers shortstop, Elvis Andrus, lunging full length at a sharp grounder straight up the field. He snared the ball, managed to prop himself up on his other elbow, and flipped the ball out of his glove towards second base. Second baseman Ian Kinsler arrived just in time—he had been shaded towards first base and thus had extra far to go—to catch the flip right before the runner arrived. Crisis averted. Without this play, the Rangers probably don’t win. (Amazingly, the defensive duo had pulled off a pretty sweet play to end the previous inning as well; it just wasn’t as spectacular.) I snapped wide awake.

                Let’s think about what qualities were captured in this play. There was pure athleticism on display. Both Andrus and Kinsler made great individual efforts. They reacted instinctively, and Andrus was amazingly innovative. At the same time, they had to collaborate in perfect sync. In those couple of seconds, we saw the result of thousands of hours of practice. Interestingly, in the past both players have been criticized at times for making too many errors, so they certainly have shown resilience. Andrus also put aside individual ego for the team. After game, when asked about the play, he said, “I always say when you're not hitting good, you better do something good defensively.” And he did get a key hit in the ninth inning rally.

                Certainly my experience playing soccer drilled into me the importance of these qualities. In fact, I think about the reasons I was drawn to the sport. First, I simply found it fun because it challenged me in ways no other sport did. Second, soccer provides ample room for tremendous individual creativity and flair within a strong team concept. One of my favorite players was Vladislav Bogicevic, a Yugoslavian who played for the New York Cosmos in their glory days. Bogie had magical skills and amazing vision. Rather than look to score, he continually tried to make the unexpected killer pass. He derived pleasure from untangling the knot and from making others look good. I found myself trying to play that way (admittedly, sometimes to my coaches’ consternation, when I would not take certain shots). Today, I frequently say most of the qualities that serve me well emerged during my soccer career.

                This notion calls to mind the story I once read about an upper-level math teacher’s response to the inevitable question, “When are we ever going to use this?” He told the students that they might have to, but they very well may not. Then he compared it to lifting weights as part of training for a sport or for better health. They weren’t, he explained, doing math for the sake of doing math. They really were pumping intellectual iron to strengthen themselves. The analogy works better than the response I’ve often given to that question: “You may, or you may not. But you want to be ready because you never know what life may throw at you.”

                All schools actually teach two curricula: the explicit and the implicit. The explicit is what you normally think of—the objectives, standards, content, skills, et cetera. The implicit curricula encompass all the other lessons that occur along the way, such as self-discipline and perseverance. Both certainly matter; and, structured well and intentionally, they feed each other in a virtuous circle. It can happen anywhere. I know people who talk about their theater experiences, for example, in the same way I talk about soccer. In fact, the implicit curricula is learned in very powerful, often longer-lasting ways than the explicit. I don’t recall much calculus, but I do remember the logical precision that Dr. Haytock required. And while my touch on the ball is now rather pathetic, I draw on other skills every day.

Winning at What Cost?

By now most of you have probably seen the video of a trick play pulled off by the Driscoll Middle School (Corpus Christi) football team. The video went viral rather quickly, and a column about it by Frank Deford has appeared on both npr.com and cnn.com. This post will echo some of Deford’s points—although I think he goes a bit far in equating it to child abuse—and, I hope, put my own spin on this.

When you first watch the play, it can be easy to agree with the 92.1% of poll respondents who called the play “genius.” It is creative and totally effective, and it’s within the rules of game. But I’ve grown dismayed as I’ve read some of the comments on various sites about the play. Most people see absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Here’s what wrong with it. The players are kids. Not even high school kids. Middle school kids. They are at an age when they should be learning fundamentals and teamwork and sportsmanship. We should be teaching kids not just how to be good losers, but gracious and dignified winners. Instead, this sort of antic introduces the notion that only the result matters, not the manner in which it may be attained. Yes, the play is within the rules. But it’s very easy to make the leap from this to breaking the rules, and that it’s okay if the official misses it. That is, unless it’s being done to your team.  I’m reminded of how the rector at my church recently told of a conversation he’d overheard. A father had violated a traffic law. His son said, “Dad, isn’t that illegal?” The father responded, “It’s only illegal if you get caught.”

Speaking of the adult in charge, he may have shown a spark of genius in designing this play. But keep one thing in mind. He used kids to pull this off on a bunch of other kids. That doesn’t require genius. It requires narcissism. It necessitated his need for everyone to see just how clever he is. It reminds me of those teachers who are always teaching over the heads of their students, just to illustrate how brilliant they are. It feeds their egos, but not the kids’ growth.

Also, the play may not violate the literal rules of American football. It does, however, seem to violate the spirit of the game. That’s debatable. But part of the deception involves a coach yelling that his team has committed a penalty. He may not deserve a yellow flag, but he certainly breaks a pretty basic life rule: thou shall not lie.

If this had happened in a professional game, I would cut the coach a bit of slack. A tiny bit. At least there he would have been competing against athletes with a richer understanding of the sport who could react to such chicanery. Professional sports are rife with it. A long-time soccer player and fan, I’m particularly aware of the “gamesmanship” associated with my sport. I’ve heard more than enough jokes about players taking dives and faking injuries. It’s a sport that has “the professional foul.”  Growing up and moving higher in the ranks, I encountered more and more of it; sometimes I was even coached how to do it. But I had no patience for it as a player, and I hate it as a fan. I was fortunate that most of my coaches didn’t let us get away with such cynical play, and I’ve never allowed it from my own players. It’s about integrity.

I know from personal experience the powerful impact sports can have on individual development. I attribute most of what now serves me well to my soccer background. So I worry about what the kids on the Driscoll team are learning. I also wonder about something else. Suppose your child/player were on the opposing team. How would you turn this into a learning experience for them given the cultural reaction to the incident?