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.
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.