Why We Do What We Do
March 24, 2017
The vast majority of daily activities of Michigan High School Athletic Association staff revolve around communicating the meaning of educational athletics. That’s why we do most of what we do.
That’s the No. 1 duty of John Johnson in all things broadcasting for the MHSAA. It’s the No. 1 duty of Geoff Kimmerly in managing the MHSAA’s Second Half website with hundreds of positive stories about kids, coaches, officials and administrators. It’s the No. 1 duty of Rob Kaminski in managing MHSAA.com, in producing souvenir programs for MHSAA tournaments and publishing benchmarks magazine.
Communicating the meaning of educational athletics is the No. 1 reason I post 104 blogs every year. It’s the “why” of our Scholar-Athlete program, of the Student Advisory Council, of the Battle of the Fans, of our social media presence, of our Captains Clinics and Sportsmanship Summits, of the Coaches Advancement Program, Athletic Director In-Service programs and both MHSAA.tv and the NFHS Network.
When we conduct MHSAA tournaments, two things happen: (1) kids and coaches get an opportunity to shine; and (2) we get the opportunity to tell the story of school sports.
When we enforce rules, two things happen: (1) we pursue fairness and safety in competition in that case particularly; and (2) we promote the principles of educational athletics generally.
The job we have is event management, and it’s eligibility management; but most of all, the job is message management.
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.