Let me paint a picture for you. A state championship high school football team goes into "the season after" with everyone against them. "They don't have a chance. They're just a bunch of stuck-up rich kids that have had everything handed to them, etc." We graduated nine starters on each side of the ball this past year. Our top player is now starting for the Nebraska Cornhuskers (the national champions recently embarrassed beyond recovery by Arizona State University, for the tuned out or international crowd). Well, I was on that championship high school team last year, and I just walked in from my team's third loss in a season that has consisted of three games. Our quarterback might have broken his ankle and our running back might have broken his wrist. Hey! Life can't possibly get any better, right? My brother, my grandfather, my father, and Mike Brown (the cornhusker mentioned previously) were all scrutinizing every move we made as the game slipped through our fingers. It was the third game in a row in which we had been up at the half and I had to deal with it again as my hopes and dreams slipped away as breakdowns in team unity buried us.

On the wrestling mat, I tasted blood as it trickled from my nose into my mouth. I looked around at my owners... the people that make my world go 'round. I locked up again with the slob that I happened to be wrestling again; having previously beaten him. I felt losing was not a possibility. Air could not flow through me fast enough; I was winded and feeling a tinge of doubt. I found myself defeated once again in the longest wrestling tournament of my entire life. Another loss. Another reason to throw in the towel. Another dream seemingly slipping away.

Every time I step onto a playing field and get beaten, I grow more bitter and resentful for humans as a race. Perhaps spite for myself is more the culprit, it must be, but that only sets in temporarily. A person beats me. I look into his eyes and figure out just how it happened, and silently I let him know that it will not happen again. Every time I step left to make a block and my guy stunts right, I learn. Every time someone throws or topples and pins me, I learn. Woe to the clowns that I lost to last year and who will see me again this year.

Throughout the three years or so of living high school sports, I have learned many, many things. One of which is that the only person that you should trust is, of course, yourself. There comes a time when losing or breaking-even isn't enough to personally satisfy a person with some sort of desire to rise above it all. I have learned to hate my opponent while beating him, and love him after my points outweigh his. I have learned to hate my opponent while losing and to continue to do so until I get another crack at him. When sympathy for self is lost, only then can I come to terms with the essence of my being and only then can I play the "game" and win, big.

I have learned not to point fingers at anyone but myself. I have learned not to love anything too much. I have learned not to care too much about things that don't matter. I have learned that pain and agony and emotional death are mostly and fairly temporary. I have learned that only I can make me.

Something goes wrong, in one way or another, every time I do something, as I am sure it does with many people around the world. Learn from it. I try to learn from my mistakes, and I learn from other's mistakes, also. One can only progress by getting better, and that can only be accomplished with learning of something that is lacking and then fixing it.

It's the night before our next game which is against the number nine ranked team in the state. I know we can beat them. We have not won a football game all season, but I know we can beat them; it's as simple as that. O-fer... 0-3, the big goose egg, yeah, yeah... They have more skill and experience than us, the whole bit. The papers will probably pick us to lose by a few touchdowns, and that's okay. I am ready to play. My team seems to be ready to play.

Tomorrow night I am going to line up against another young man. However, I will be bigger, stronger, and more driven than that kid. I will beat that kid every play of that game until either he quits or the final whistle sounds. That kid will never want to see me again. The snap of the ball, the sound of cleats tearing through the opposing team's grass, the crash and moan of the pads... I can't wait to ruin some weekends for a few kids. It has been about eight months since I last left the football field a true winner, team and all. Three weeks of being beaten this year so far is wearing mighty thin. Losing has taught me not only to try to beat my opponent, but to hurt my enemy. There's room enough in the game of football to make my enemy never line up against me as an enemy again. And I know... I know that one of those clowns will line up with me later in the year as an enemy on the wrestling mat, and there I don't have to worry about losing the game because someone else had a bad game.

I guess there are two kinds of learning. The kind that is welcomed with open arms, and the kind that gets shoved down your throat against your will. As far as I can tell, forceful digestion of painful knowledge is the most effective type of learning I have experienced. It's amazing what people can do when push comes to shove.

"Hello little man, I'm going to take you to McDonald's and buy you a Happy Meal."
-Texas A&M sophomore lineman to an opposing senior safety before a play

That's about all that needs to be said.

 

 

Sites of Related Interest

ASU football homepage
Nebraska football homepage
Amateur Wrestling Homepage

[Home] [Question] [On the Dock] [About life raft]