Words from Down Under
February 1, 2013
In the County Hotel, one of the few buildings in Napier, New Zealand, that survived the 1931 earthquake in that region, there is a library of books that have been left by previous travelers and may be exchanged for books of current travelers. Among the books I found was Lord Cobham’s Speeches. Lord Cobham was the Governor General of New Zealand from 1957 to 1962.
From his speech at the “Sportsmen Luncheon” in Wellington, NZ, 52 years ago today, I found these pearls:
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“. . . sport is a great character-former; it teaches that self-control which must always precede self-expression, and that gracious acceptance of defeat is the gold to victory’s silver.”
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“Sport is harmony, balance and rhythm, the triple heritage handed down from ancient Greece, without which art is barren and civilization itself out of joint. Above all, the acquiring of a technique is increasingly important in an age when automation and the machine have robbed human beings of that sense of fulfillment that comes of fine craftsmanship.”
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“Today we see the result of trying to hustle youth through childhood and adolescence into manhood and womanhood. Education is one of the few things that cannot be hurried, although modern techniques may facilitate instruction, for which education is often mistaken . . . In these instances, sport and games can and must play an increasingly important part in producing well-balanced citizens. But before we do this, we must see to it that the games themselves don’t fall victims to the prevalent evils of selfishness, sharp practice and greed.”
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“It is when the player of the game thinks himself greater than the game that both get into trouble.”
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.