The Game Isn't Everything

Written on November 7, 2012, the day after the US Presidential elections.


I spent last night on a bus with thirty sweaty teenage boys.

Weird, right?  Not really, actually.

Our high school volleyball team played in the regional quarterfinals last night, and the football teams were so concerned that they were going to miss the match (due to practicing for their own playoff run) that they convinced their coaches to let them start practice early, so they could finish early, and then catch a bus together over to the game.

Anyways, my sweet husband drove that bus, so I used my coach's wife privileges to grab a free ride.  The games were electric.  We lost two games and then bounced back with two wins, leaving the trip to the trip to the regional tournament down to the last game, a fifteen-point race.

If school spirit could have won that game, I guarantee it would have.  Our student section--which held at least one hundred fifty kids, I swear, which is pretty good for a high school with just over 400 students--literally rocked the gym.  If I didn't love teenagers so much it would have been pretty obnoxious.  Echos of RED! RED! will be heard in that gym for days to come.  Our volleyball team is incredibly talented, and only boasts two seniors, but I know that they gladly tapped into the energy coming from their fans, and their heartbreaking loss would have come much sooner if it weren't for the encouragement radiating from the stands.

Interestingly enough, I got to school this morning and found an email from our girl's athletic coordinator, thanking the staff and student body for their spirit and support last night.  He said that the other team's coaches approached him after the game, complimented our fan support, and admitted that the noise and energy made it very difficult for their team to focus.  They also noticed that the students were not there to be rude or bash the other team--it was pure love and support for the Cardinals that deafened the gym.

*insert metaphor-transition here*

May our spirit and support for our team always make it hard for the other team to focus.  Whether we win or lose.

We joke about teams, in reference to Twilight or other popular phenomenon (I'm Team Jacob!  Ahhh, I hate you because you're Team Edward, baaaaahhhhhrg), but really, if you have spent significant time on a team, be it for athletics, work, a campaign, etc.--if you have gone to battle with a group of people, time and time again, and learned that they will have your back, period--you know what a precious concept a team is.

I have seen several athletes choose to play club sports instead of competing for their school.  I know that there are probably plenty of legitimate factors that go into these types of decisions, but I have to admit, it usually really bums me out.  There is nothing like playing for your school.  Cheerleaders put up banners, teachers talk about you in class, sometimes there are entire pep rallies in your honor.  Sure, more scouts go to club tournaments, but what are you fighting for?  Yourself?  Indeed, and please do so.  You are powerful and wonderful and important.  But what if you could fight for an entire school, an entire group of people?  Isn't that what life is about?

Then when we see fans at these games, who are the ones that make the team better?  The ones who blindly say, "YES WE ARE GREAT WE ARE WONDERFUL GO GO GO WE WIN!" no matter what?  Doubtful.  Everyone knows they're crazy.  What about the folks who spend the game screaming at the officials, insulting them, blaming them for every misstep on the court or field?  Yeah, that's super attractive to our kiddos.  Way to hold them accountable and teach them respect.  The ones who just want to see their own kids get playing time, at the expense of everyone else?  Super.

What about the folks who watch the game carefully, scream with excitement when everything is going well, retch in horror when we make mistakes, bite their fingernails, pray for success, and when the game is over, hug the kids harder than anyone else?  The ones who tell them honestly, "That wasn't a great game, but we'll get better"?  The ones who will offer the coach a reassuring smile; ask if there's anything they can do to help?   The parents who are the first to give both a high five and a stern look?  The ones who hold their kids accountable and demand that they respect their coaches, even when the coaches are wrong--but will then follow up with a private conversation with the coach, to make sure everything is fair?  They love the team, they love their kids, and they want the best for all, even if "best" is a really small target to hit.  They remember that the game isn't everything--life exists outside of this--but what we learn in the game could change everything.

May we be the best team members, the best fans, the best citizens this country has ever seen.

xoxo Bec