Winning
December 26, 2012
If you and I were playing a game of, let’s say, a game of tennis, and I don’t try to win, and you defeat me, I’ve cheapened your victory. And in cheapening your victory, I’ve been a poor sport.
Trying to win is a good thing. Trying to win is a goal of school sports. Trying in the best way, that is: within the rules, with all our effort, and with grace, regardless of the outcome.
The most satisfying victory we can have in sports is defeating our best opponent on our opponent’s best day.
The least satisfying victory is against a weak opponent, or as a result of an opponent’s mistake, or an official’s bad call, or – worst of all – by our own cheating.
You want your best opponent on their best day. You feel the best when you defeat the best, playing their best.
That’s ecstasy in sports. There is no better feeling in sports.
Don’t mistake anything I ever write to mean I don’t care about winning. I really do. And I care that it has real value.
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.