One Thing
March 11, 2016
One of Michigan’s finest athletic directors is Plainwell’s Dave Price, who recently encouraged me with a school newspaper article about a student who epitomizes school sports, Plainwell High School senior Jessica Nyberg. She participates for the Trojans in swimming & diving, basketball and soccer.
Trojan Torch staff writer Jordan Raglon featured Jessica in an article on Feb. 17, citing how much teammates and coaches value her companionship and leadership. The author cited her accomplishments in all three sports, but what caught my attention was this statement by Jessica: “If there was one thing sports has taught me, it’s that everyone matters.”
I can’t think of a better theme for school sports, or a better mission for educational athletics.
At its best, school sports teaches that teamwork works. That substitutes who practice with peak performance push the starters to even higher levels of performance, and turn some starters into stars.
At its best, school sports finds room for every student, regardless of ability or disability, to be a part of the team so long as the student meets the standards of eligibility, decorum, discipline and dedication the school and team demand.
At its best, school sports understands that “everyone matters” means that no student is above the rules, and that failure to apply rules to one student devalues other students who have complied with the rules.
With the attitude that “everyone matters,” teams tend to come together, discrimination tends to end, and fair play advances.
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.