Push “Pause”
January 24, 2014
No student has the right to participate in the voluntary competitive interscholastic athletic program sponsored and conducted at an MHSAA member school. In practical application, this means that all students are assumed to be ineligible for participation until they have earned the privilege of participation.
Students do this by demonstrating that they have met every prerequisite condition for participation which, at minimum, are the eligibility rules of Regulation I (for high schools) and Regulation III (for junior high/middle schools). A student must be eligible under every Section of Regulation I or Regulation III before he or she competes in a scrimmage or contest.
For example, every student who is new to a high school is presumed to be ineligible for interscholastic athletics. School administration must be certain that each student’s circumstances comply with one of the 15 automatic exceptions to the transfer rule’s requirement that new students must sit out approximately one semester.
If one of the exceptions explicitly applies, the student becomes eligible, provided he or she complies with all aspects of all other Sections of Regulation I: enrollment, age, physical exam, previous and current academic records, amateur and awards, etc.
That’s why we teach at in-service meetings for coaches and administrators, “If in doubt, sit ‘em out.” Wait for as much information as possible before entering any student into a scrimmage or contest. Very often a week or two pause before play will avoid a season of forfeits and a school year of frustration.
Ali
July 8, 2016
My wife has never held famous athletes and coaches in very high regard. Much of this has to do with her disdain for misplaced priorities – so much attention and extravagant spending devoted to entertainment and sports when so much of the world’s population is without most basic essentials of life.
Because of my work, my wife occasionally has been in the company of some of the biggest names in American sports; but only one clenched her in rapt attention. It was Muhammad Ali.
We were attending a banquet at which Ali was honored. We sat at adjacent tables, with the back of my wife’s chair almost touching the back of the chair to which Ali was being ushered, slowly because of his disease.
We all stood as Ali entered. My wife’s eyes were on Ali; my eyes were on my wife, for I had never seen her give respect to a sports personality in this manner.
After the banquet, and at times since then, and certainly again after his death June 3, my wife and I have talked about what it is in Ali that she hasn’t seen in other prominent sports figures.
We noted that he brought elegance to a brutal sport, and charm to boastfulness. We cited the twinkle in his eye that outlasted his diseased body.
We recalled the tolerance and dignity he brought to his faith, and how he demonstrated his faith commitment at the most inconvenient time in his career.
We recalled his poetry when he was young and talked too much, and his use of magic to communicate after disease stole his words, as he did that night we were with him.
Years after that banquet, when Ali lit the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics, my wife cried. She had tears in her eyes again when that moment was replayed on the day after Ali’s death.
Ali ascended to worldwide fame in a different era – when professional media tended to be enablers more than investigative journalists, and before social media pushed every personal weakness around the planet overnight. It’s possible Ali would not have been as loved if he had emerged in public life today. It’s also possible he would have been even more beloved.