NEWS FROM WORLD: Wins and Losses

Tonight, I watched five-year-olds play soccer. It was one of the most entertaining things I've ever seen, six soccer players running back and forth on the world's tiniest field, unsure of which goal the ball is supposed to go in, or what a goal is at all. They looked so cute in their little jerseys and shin guards of infinitesimal size.

I was there to root on the one and only Sydney Apel. Sydney is the coolest five-year-old I know. I found myself thinking things like, "I remember her first birthday party. Changing her diaper. Crap, is this what it means to be old?" None of it mattered as I sat with her family on the sidelines, cheering her on as if it were her one and only game.

To get to the field, I found myself tip toeing around chairs and blankets and all types of people. They were everywhere. Brothers. Sisters. Mothers. Fathers. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Neighbors. Friends. The park was full of cheerleaders; supporters from all walks of life.

At the end of the games, the coaches invited everyone to form a tunnel for the kids to run through. Both teams, at the same time. Their opposing colored jerseys melded together like primary colors to make something beautiful. The kids ran with their gluten-free, anti-peanut snacks and they cheered for each other. They celebrated that they had just played a game. No one cared who won or lost. They all got snacks at the end, and that's all that mattered.

At what point does this stop happening? When are kids too cool to run under the arms of their supporters? At what point are supporters too busy to cheerlead for their kids? Is it when teens reach that awful age where they claim to want nothing to do with those who have birthed and raised them? Because let me tell you, that is mostly a lie. From age 12-19, none of us really have a clue what is going on within us. Whatever the breakdown is, it is significant.

It makes me sad to think of the number of empty fields I have shown up to in the past few years. As a teacher, a friend, a youth leader, or simply an advocate, I have found myself sitting alone far too many times at a JV game.

I follow a funny mother on Twitter. (that is a mom who is funny, not to be read in a different manner...) The other day, her son picked up a plastic telephone and said, "Bob, you never texted me that email."

This is what these kids know. Text messages. Emails. IM. Tweet tweet. Blog. "Chat" no longer means sitting down over coffee and discussing something; chat involves keyboards and an internet connection and not looking someone in the eye. It will be interesting to see how all of this plays out in a few years...

In a book I'm reading it mentions that at some point shortly after the 60's when stores started to open on Sundays and the schedule of the average American skyrocketed to astronomical hours, Hallmark actually created a line of cards that had lines like "Sorry I couldn't be there today." I find this to be an extremely sad reflection of the value we place on time and family.

Today, this got me thinking, and this is what I thought:
Without fans, the sport doesn't matter much.

I loved going to this game tonight because it made me remember what it is all about. In taking an online coaching class, I came across the information that the word "compete" comes from the Latin word "competer" meaning: "to seek together, to coincide, to agree." To compete means to join together with others and go up against something; to seek together who is the bigger/better/faster/best. Or does it mean something more? Could it be that to "compete" has less to do with the final outcome and has more to do with sitting on the field after the game and agreeing that the game was, again, worth playing today.

The school year is about to begin and I have turned down the opportunity to make a ton of extra money by teaching an extra class. (I've discovered the truth that my sanity is not worth any dollar amount). Instead, I am considering coaching softball. This is an opportunity that I am excited about. I'd like to teach kids how to compete - how to lose without losing anything at all; how to see the final score as nothing more than numbers at which we nod.