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Baloney

January 27, 2015

When I was in high school and college I worked a different job each summer, usually looking for hard labor that would help prepare my body for the next football season, and each time confirming that it would not be my choice for lifetime employment. One summer I worked at a lumber yard and paper mill complex along the banks of the Wisconsin River.

Every day I ate lunch with the men who had made this their life’s work; and I grew in ways both positive and negative as I listened to their conversations and tales. We all brought our own lunch pails.

One day, one of the more veteran employees opened his lunchbox and flew into a rage. “I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed. “Baloney again! I hate baloney.”

Trying to calm him down, another worker said, “If you hate baloney so much, just ask your wife to make you something else.”

To which the complainer replied, “That won’t work. I make my own lunches,” which resulted in an uproar of laughter from the rest of us.

I thought of this incident recently as I was preparing to meet with constituents about the rules they most love to hate: policies relating to coach and player contact out of season. Those are our most criticized rules.

But it occurs to me, if we don’t like the sandwich we’re eating – out-of-season coaching rules – we should remember: we made them ourselves, and we can change them. In fact, no one is in a better position to do so than we are. And no one has a greater duty to do so than we have, if we really are in need of a new recipe.

“Tournacation”

February 9, 2018

Here is one of several gold nuggets from Tom Farrey, executive director of the Aspen Institute, in a piece commissioned by the British Broadcasting Company and published in late December.

A study by George Washington University found that what children wanted most from sport was the chance to play and to try their best, guided by a coach who respects them.

Of the 81 reasons they gave for why sports were fun, “winning” came 48th, “playing in tournaments” 63rd, and “traveling to new places to play” 73rd.

Children’s wishes, however, are not always put first, as parents compete to provide what they believe are the best opportunities.

In the U.S., for instance, there may be no better example of the state of play than the growth of the “tournacation,” a term merging “tournament” and “vacation.”

At one of the nation’s largest children’s football (soccer) tournaments, in rural New Jersey, a drone in flight is best positioned to see the scale of such an event.

Up there, you can see the 75 pristine pitches that will host more than 600 teams of children aged nine to 14, chasing shiny balls, in shiny uniforms.

The cars of thousands of parents mass at the playing fields’ edges.

A two-day event such as this is an opportunity for organizers to make serious money, in this case up to $1,250 per team.

That’s on top of travel and hotel costs of as much as $500 and the $3,000 or more many parents pay each year to their child’s club.

It is an industry built on the wallets of parents, and the chase for opportunities to play in college, perhaps with a scholarship.

What the drone can’t see is how many other children – those who aren’t early bloomers, or whose families don’t have the funds, or time, to take part – have fallen away from the game.

They are often unable to join the best teams, which have the best coaches, training environments, and access to college scouts.

Football (soccer) has declined among those left behind, with fewer children joining either local teams, or playing informal games in the park.

Since 2011, the number of six- to 17-year-olds who play football (soccer) regularly has fallen nine percent to 4.2 million, according to the Sports and Fitness Industry Association.

The number of children who touch a football (soccer ball) at least once a year, in any setting, was down 15 percent.

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