The End is Near
December 10, 2013
From time to time we are confronted with print or broadcast media reports, or articles in scholarly publications, that criticize schools’ sponsorship of competitive athletic programs. Some authors have gone so far as to predict that the day is coming when schools are forced by the strength of intellectual argument or the shortage of resources to disassociate from competitive sports and to discharge that responsibility to local community groups and private clubs, as is the custom of most other nations.
For 50 years the “end is near” prophecy has been present among our critics. Today the prediction also can be overheard among cash-strapped school administrators, especially if they ascended to leadership without involvement in school sports.
It’s my sense that these dire predictions are not likely to come true for the reasons usually cited – e.g., that the programs dilute focus or divert funds of schools from their core mission. What is more likely is that these predictions will come true because those in charge ignore basic human needs and responses, and they fail to implement programs that meet those needs.
Our response should not be to lower sports’ profile in schools and offer less to students. It should be just the opposite. We should even more boldly proclaim the value of competitive athletic programs; we should provide more sports and levels of teams for high school students; and we should provide junior high/middle school students with more and longer contests, beginning at earlier ages.
We need to go on offense, as my next postings will prescribe.
In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.