Big Lessons for Little Leaguers
March 13, 2015
The only thing worse than adults corrupting kids for their own glory and gratification is politicians trying to excuse those adults so the kids learn nothing positive and much that’s negative from the situation.
So, things went from bad to worse when the mayor of Chicago tried to pressure Little League Baseball to restore the victories and championships that the Jackie Robinson West All-Stars baseball team claimed during the 2014 Little League World Series while some of its players were in violation of the organization’s residency rules.
So far, the kids have learned that it’s not right to cheat. The mayor would have them learn that you can avoid the consequences of cheating if you know people in the right places.
Little League is a victim of its own success. The more hype it has brought to what once was a healthy local game for 9-12 year olds of modest skills – the more it has become a spectacle for all-stars who, really, are merely those children who have matured the most – the more it has raised the stakes, the more Little League Baseball has invited excesses and even corruption.
This trend will only get worse; and it will get worse much faster if the politicians try to overpower those Little League officials who are still trying to hold things in check. Those so-called “stubborn” leaders offer Little League its biggest and best legacy.
Making a Statement
June 17, 2015
Amid the horrific destruction of Baghdad, the conductor of the Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra, Karim Wasfi, is making a statement. Mr. Wasfi has been carrying a chair and his beloved cello to the exact locations where violence occurs, very shortly after it occurs, and he plays.
With the roar of car bombs still ringing in ears and rubble still smoking, Wasfi plays. He told National Public Radio: “The other side chose to turn every element, every aspect of life in Iraq into a battle zone. I chose to turn every corner of Iraq into a spot for civility, beauty and compassion.”
The response of this single citizen to the catastrophic chaos in his city and country is especially powerful because of the beauty of his music amidst the brutality of civil war; but neither his gift nor the jolting juxtaposition should cause us to miss the message that our response to overwhelming problems could be and should be like his, even if less newsworthy from the perspective of a national radio broadcast. For example ...
- We can wring our hands in despair that the Earth’s increasingly polluted air, land and waters are so far gone and the problem is of such great scale that nothing we could ever do will change things; or, we can choose to turn every corner of our little slice of the physical world into a less polluted place. We can make a statement.
- We can weep over the slaughter of elephants, the leveling of mountains or the razing of forests or jungles by crooks or corporations that cannot see the consequences of their reckless avarice; or, we can choose to make our neighborhoods spots of beauty, conservation and sustainability. A statement.
- We can cry ourselves to sleep over humanity’s inhumanity to those who look, dress or worship differently; or, we can choose to make our little community a welcoming place for refugees where long-suffering and persecuted people can feel safe and hopeful. A statement.
- And we can become frustrated that the values of school sports are so regularly undermined by the excesses of youth, college, professional and international sports that it feels hopeless to hang onto what we believe; or, we can choose to devote ourselves to maintaining our little niche of the sports world as a more principled place ... where scholarship, sportsmanship, safety and a sensible scope are recognizable and reliable core values. A statement.
The great conductor carrying his chair and cello to the rubble is real. It’s also a metaphor which reminds the rest of us of other daunting problems and the opportunity each individual person has to make a meaningful response – a clear statement – where we live, work and play.