Considering the Unrepresented
November 22, 2011
When I interviewed for the job of MHSAA executive director in the spring of 1986, I was asked about my administrative philosophies and approaches to problem solving. I don’t recall now all I said then, but I do clearly remember saying I would “err in favor of kids.” I meant that, when a difficult situation presented an unclear choice, I would give the benefit of doubt to kids.
That was somewhat naïve, I suppose; but I still do bring that mindset to situations that appear to be a toss-up.
Over the years I’ve stumbled upon or consciously cultivated other lessons for myself, and I have shared some of them with my dedicated colleagues at the MHSAA. Of many, here’s the first of six (the other five will be presented in subsequent blogs): Consider those not in the room or not at the table.
When people propose a change in a rule, consider where they are coming from, and consider those who are not present who may have different circumstances, perspectives and needs.
If the proposal is from large schools, consider how it might affect small schools. If from southern schools, how it might affect northern schools. If from suburban schools, how it might affect urban or rural. If from football coaches, how it might affect other sports; if from a winter sport, how it might affect fall or spring sports.
When people seek from the Executive Committee waiver of a particular rule on behalf of one student, ask how that waiver would affect those not present against whom this student would compete.
When someone seeks relief from a penalty, ask how that will affect those not present, including those who have received the penalty in the past or should receive the penalty in the future.
Considering those who are not in the room who may be affected by a proposal by those who are in the room has been a gift given to me by Keith Eldred of Williamston who served on the Representative Council over 25 years ending in 2008.
Ali
July 8, 2016
My wife has never held famous athletes and coaches in very high regard. Much of this has to do with her disdain for misplaced priorities – so much attention and extravagant spending devoted to entertainment and sports when so much of the world’s population is without most basic essentials of life.
Because of my work, my wife occasionally has been in the company of some of the biggest names in American sports; but only one clenched her in rapt attention. It was Muhammad Ali.
We were attending a banquet at which Ali was honored. We sat at adjacent tables, with the back of my wife’s chair almost touching the back of the chair to which Ali was being ushered, slowly because of his disease.
We all stood as Ali entered. My wife’s eyes were on Ali; my eyes were on my wife, for I had never seen her give respect to a sports personality in this manner.
After the banquet, and at times since then, and certainly again after his death June 3, my wife and I have talked about what it is in Ali that she hasn’t seen in other prominent sports figures.
We noted that he brought elegance to a brutal sport, and charm to boastfulness. We cited the twinkle in his eye that outlasted his diseased body.
We recalled the tolerance and dignity he brought to his faith, and how he demonstrated his faith commitment at the most inconvenient time in his career.
We recalled his poetry when he was young and talked too much, and his use of magic to communicate after disease stole his words, as he did that night we were with him.
Years after that banquet, when Ali lit the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics, my wife cried. She had tears in her eyes again when that moment was replayed on the day after Ali’s death.
Ali ascended to worldwide fame in a different era – when professional media tended to be enablers more than investigative journalists, and before social media pushed every personal weakness around the planet overnight. It’s possible Ali would not have been as loved if he had emerged in public life today. It’s also possible he would have been even more beloved.