By: Lora Wimsatt
Looking back, it’s a wonder any of my kids played sports. It sure wasn’t because their mother had so many fond memories of her own athletic endeavors.
Yes, I really was the last one chosen when sides were chosen. Nobody wanted me on their team; I was the leftover the last team to pick got stuck with.
If my life had been a movie, it might have included that heroic moment in the bottom of the last inning, played out in slow motion as the big red rubber ball was rolled toward home plate in that championship game of kickball in fourth-grade gym class, and I would have kicked the ball so hard it sailed over the swing set, over the playground fence and into another zip code as I trotted triumphantly around the bases, bringing in the winning run and leaping across the plate and into the applauding hands and welcoming arms of my teammates.
Instead – I struck out, whiffing pathetically as my desperate foot missed the ball altogether; or, if I did miraculously manage to make contact with a weak kick, the ball rolled feebly toward the pitcher, who scooped it up and launched it at my stumbling feet with such force that it knocked me down into the dust, where I lay in a sweaty, miserable heap of defeat as the game ended, listening to the winners’ scornful taunts of “Loser!”
It didn’t help that my teammates were saying the same thing.
Somehow, though, I managed to bury those humiliating memories when my own kids clamored to sign up for baseball, softball, soccer, track, football, cheerleading, basketball …
I paid the fees, bought the shoes, drove them back and forth to practice, sat in the bleachers, wore the colors, bought the team photos and the candy bars, learned the cheers and worked the concession stand.
When they won, I said, “Good game. I really like the way you did your best.”
When they lost, I said, “Good game. I really like the way you did your best.”
Looking back now, all those games are pretty much of a blur. They won some, they lost some. Neither one really matters anymore.
What does matter, and what does remain, is that they learned how to win and how to lose.
They learned the rules of the sport, but more importantly, they learned the value of teamwork
and of fair play.
Trophies rust, certificates fade, ribbons fray.
But if you’re looking for real victory, good sportsmanship is gold forever.