Student-Centered Sports
November 1, 2013
We boldly, unapologetically and repeatedly state that interscholastic athletics are different than sports programs on any other level by any other sponsor – different because these programs are school-sponsored and, to an extent like no other, student-centered. But what does that really mean?
The easier to describe – school-sponsored – means that interscholastic athletics are conducted by schools themselves. They are administered under the auspices of boards of education, with responsibilities delegated to administrators, and then to coaches, who are closely supervised by those administrators under the broad policies and procedures approved by their local boards of education.
The more difficult to describe – student-centered – means that our orientation starts with students. We think first about how many we can include, not how many we exclude. We adopt rules not to be elite but to enhance the experience for students, knowing that the higher the standards we establish for eligibility and conduct, the greater the benefit to the students, their schools and the surrounding community.
In a student-centered program, thought is given not only to the students who want exceptions to rules, but also to the other students who would be displaced if those exceptions were made.
In a student-centered program, we consider the whole child and all the children.
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.