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“How” Matters More

March 4, 2014

“It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” We’ve all heard that bromide, especially when we were just starting out as young athletes.

Well, it does matter who wins. Any time a score is kept, the result of the competition matters to people. And there is very much that is very good about trying to win – giving one’s best effort to prepare for and execute a victory. Trying to win is much better than not trying to win. Sloppy effort does not benefit the participants, or anybody else for that matter.

And this unveils the deeper truth of that tiresome platitude: how you play the game is more important than who wins the game.

One of many events that proves this point to me is a football game played late in the season nearly two decades ago. A team from the east side of our state played against a team from the west side. I don’t remember the final score. I don’t remember which team won the game. But I do remember that there was an ugly incident at the end of the game. 

How that game was played in its closing moments has stayed with me for longer than who was victorious.

Dodger Lessons

August 6, 2013

The first baseball team I played on was the Dodgers. I’ve been a Dodger fan ever since, checking their place in the National League standings almost every day of the season, year after year. It would have been difficult to learn more about sports and life from any professional sports franchise than one could learn from the Dodgers as I was growing up.

It was the Dodgers who returned integration to the Major Leagues in 1951, which from my home in central Wisconsin seemed unremarkable; and when I became old enough to think about baseball, Jackie Robinson was my most favorite player for a long while.

It was the Dodgers who led the Major League’s migration from the northeast to the west, which my young mind could not grasp. From historic Brooklyn to Los Angeles? To play in the Coliseum?

I could not know then that this leading edge of professional sports franchise mobility would become an early adopter of a new toy called “television,” and that this would solidify baseball’s place as the national pastime for two more generations.

I coped with tragedy as catcher Roy Campanella suffered a paralyzing injury. I considered religion’s place in life as Sandy Koufax declined to pitch on Jewish holy days.

The Dodgers of my youth already knew that life is not fair. How could it be after Oct. 3, 1951, when the hated Giants’ Bobby Thompson hit a ninth-inning homerun to steal the National League pennant from my Dodgers?

Sadly, the Dodgers of more recent years have been beset by the kind of ownership dramas now common among professional sports as the insipid idle rich ruin even the most stable and storied franchises.

And speaking of rich, had it not been for my dear mother’s insatiable desire to clean out every closet she found, I might be rich too. For I had collected, and kept in mint condition, the baseball card of every Dodger player of the 1950s. They were thrown out while I was away at college.