Fresh Air
June 30, 2014
On well over 300 of every 365 days each year I take a brisk early morning walk. One of the many things I’ve noticed over the years is how the smell of the exhaust of even a single passing automobile will stale the fresh air for several minutes after the vehicle is out of sight.
I’ve often thought there was a metaphor here that I could use in commenting on school sports; and my recent reading of Alistair MacLeod’s No Great Mischief gave shape to that thought when the novel’s central character said:
“. . . when we came to intersections, we would have to stop and then the blue whiteness of the exhaust would overtake us. We could see it and smell it. We thought we had left it behind us somewhere back on the road, but when we slowed down, it seemed to overtake and surround us.”
What we have in school sports that none of the so-called more “prestigious” brands of sports offer is fresh air. Purity. Wholesomeness.
This is our trump card, our ace-in-the-hole.
We lack the resources to compete on a marketing or promotional level with college and professional sports; and we look foolish and waste resources when we try.
But when we focus on local rivalries between nearby opponents – complete with pep bands and marching bands, fully-clad cheerleaders, pep assemblies, letter jackets and Homecoming parades and dances – we play to our strength. We’re local, amateur and just a touch corny. Charming is a better word.
As we travel in this direction, the air is clean and fresh. As we slow or even stop at the intersection of other choices, we will smell the foulness in the air and know immediately that the only course for educational athletics is the road we’re already on.
Interruptions
November 23, 2011
I know many of us crave the opportunity to work without distractions and to focus on a problem or project without interruptions. It’s why I seek a week alone at my cottage to read, write and rehearse. It’s my “sabbatical.”
But having said that about the significant benefits of solitude, I nevertheless must state that the sixth and final lesson in this series of blogs is this: The job is the interruptions.
I brought this lesson to the MHSAA from previous employment and it resonates truer today than ever.
The job is the call from the athletic director, coach or official who has a question. The job is the call from the superintendent, principal or parent with a concern.
The job is the knock on the door from another staff member with a difficult question from a constituent, or even a personal issue that’s important to them.
It’s often been when I’ve treated the call or knock as nuisance, given it inadequate time or attention, that the little interruption grew into a bigger problem.
The job is the interruptions. If there were none, we wouldn’t be needed. There would be no job.