This column appeared in last Sunday’s paper and, in a slightly different form, in 1999. It was run again by request, and I’m sticking it here in the ongoing effort to make the blog more archival.
Or something.
There were balls and gloves and helmets and Nikes. Then there was the tux and gown, then the cap and gown.
Now, senior high school athletes, it’s time to move on.
A few of you won’t quite be able to, and will seem, in time, like the inspiration for Springsteen’s song “Glory Days,” or Roth’s novel, “Goodbye Columbus.” That is, a sad ex-jock who could peel the uniform off their body but never their soul.
Most of you will get past it, though. Some will soar past it, like an expert hurdler, en route to bigger and better things.
But for all of you, things are about to change. The sociology of high school is cruelly simple, a jock’s place in it prominent and secure. Unless you’re a big-time, Division I apprentice pro, it’ll never be that simple again.
So there are some things you’d do well to forget, and some you’d do well to remember.
Remember the most obnoxious, meddling, counterproductive parent you came in contact with. The parent who, however well-meaning, was part of the problem, not the solution, whatever the problem was. Even if (maybe especially if) that parent was yours.
Think about that parent a little. Bear in mind that there is nothing in life as likely to make people take leave of their senses than delusions of glory about their children. And bear in mind the truism that those who fail to learn history are condemned to repeat it.
Remember getting your picture or something you said or a recounting of something you did in the paper. Then remember not getting recognition when some lesser someone did. This just in: Life isn’t fair.
Remember the first time you really knew, first hand, what the term “giving 100 percent” means. And how it felt when 100 percent wasn’t good enough. And when 100 percent was good enough and 99.99 wouldn’t have been.
Remember getting beat by someone you don’t like, and swallowing your pride and gritting your teeth and shaking that person’s hand. Remember watching that somebody cut down the nets. Think of how that person probably felt watching you celebrate.
At some point in your career, you no doubt felt you’d been robbed by an official, or treated unfairly by a coach. Remember how you handled that and how you might, with the luxury of retrospection, have handled it differently. Might come in handy down the road.
Remember teams and teammates, locker rooms and buses and huddles and nicknames. The moments that, 20 years from now, you and a teammate will get together with cold beverages and laugh about. Remember camaraderie. That’s what retired pro athletes invariably say they miss most.
Forget the hoary notion that sport builds character. As we see daily, it doesn’t. What builds character is having a passion and striving for it with dignity, losing yourself in something without losing who you are.
Sport is no better an avenue for that than art or music or a dozen other things. No worse, but no better.
There’s probably one coach of all coaches with whom you really connected. If it’s viable, stop back and visit him or her once in a while.
There are people who love you because you’re a jock and people who hate you for the same reason. Remember that both groups are badly missing the point.
Remember how to respect and understand and listen to your body. That might be the most valuable lifetime lesson sport can teach.
Remember that unless you’re Tiger Woods, there’s always somebody out there better than you. And you aren’t Tiger Woods.
So — and this is meant in the kindest possible spirit — get over yourself already.
But don’t forget how glorious it was to be part of it. To get ready for and then play in a big game. To be a major piece of the intricate machine that is a team that works.
To perform under the absurd and exhilarating pressure of knowing that everything you’ve worked so hard for comes down to right here, right now. To sit in a locker room, sweaty and spent and knowing that you’ve just had a great season.
I hope that at least once, you did something great in a game or meet or match and the crowd went nuts. I hope your insides did the samba. And I hope that, within that moment, you took a second to stop and drink it all in, how it looked and sounded and felt.
There’s a good chance you intend to play a sport in college. There’s a good chance that once you get to college that’ll change. Maybe you won’t be good enough. Maybe they’re just won’t be time.
As hard as this may be to believe, there’s a very good chance you’ve already played your biggest game, had your most shining athletic moment.
That’s not a bad thing. It’s more than most of us get.
