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The Measure of Success
February 17, 2017
In January of 2016, my counterparts in the statewide high school associations across the U.S. came together for about nine hours of professionally facilitated discussion.
We were challenged to tell our story, to say what we believe about high school sports and describe the values of educational athletics. We worked together to craft the narrative of school sports, the message of educational athletics and the meaning – the “why” of our work.
We were challenged to clarify what success means in school-sponsored sports – to distinguish our definition of success from that of sports on all other levels by all other sponsors.
On Jan. 11 of this year, during the meeting of the Classification Committee of the Michigan High School Athletic Association, one of the committee members – an active coach and athletic director – chastised and inspired us. He said (and I paraphrase):
“We spend so much time on MHSAA tournaments when that experience can be just one month or one week or one day. Half the teams are eliminated in their first day of the baseball, basketball, softball, soccer, volleyball and other MHSAA tournaments.
“We need to move our focus from MHSAA tournaments to the regular season, to the 9- or 18-game regular season, and to the 100 to 200 practices that occur over three or four months of each season.”
The Classification Committee was discussing the future of 8-player football and the effect of its growth on the 11-player game. He said:
“It doesn’t matter if it’s 11-player, 8-player or any other number. The values don’t change. The lessons aren’t altered. The purpose isn’t modified. In everything, we are helping young people become better adults.”
That’s how we measure success.
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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.