As I was watching the championship game of the World Baseball Classic (nerd alert!), a few things struck me:
The obvious glee the players showed while representing their countries.
The fabulous blond dyed hair of the entire Puerto Rican team
How much better Dodger Stadium looks without the Dodgers in it.
The inspiring sportsmanship of the Puerto Rican team.
For all of you (and it is probably all of you) who didn’t catch the game, the story was simple: Team USA dominated Puerto Rico. What made it remarkable was, after the final out was made and Team USA had secured their 8-0 win, the entire Puerto Rican team stayed on the field as the USA players celebrated. And the celebration lasted a while. There was much applause and lots of hugging.
It was stunning. And beautiful.
Bear in mind I am a baseball lunatic. I used to tape a strike zone on our garage door to practice pitching with tennis ball. I kept track of an entire season of Giants games on a huge sheet of butcher paper. I still have my first Little League helmet, a Cardinals number that wouldn’t have protected me from anything harder than a wiffle ball. Shockingly, until fairly recently I always thought it was whiffle ball with an “h”. I was wrong of course, and it makes sense. No one wants to try to hit a ball with the word “whif” in it.
But I digress.
Is sportsmanship … or sportswomanship … or sportspersonship dead? If it’s not, it is on life support. Look at any pro sports event and you’ll see players trying to show up each other time and time again. You’ll see elaborate scoring dances, over the top celebrations for dazzling plays like a made free throw or a simple tackle (note to linebackers, that is your job!). Imagine your local barista going around the coffee shop slapping high fives for making a latte; your insurance agent doing a celebratory dance when you sign your latest policy; your dentist, pounding his chest, kissing two fingers and pointing them heavenward after your next filling.
There is an ultrafine line between exuberance and obnoxiousness, but the Puerto Rican team found a way to simultaneously be rabidly enthusiastic while honoring their opponents and the game of baseball. No heads hanged, no pounding dugout water coolers, no yelling, no throwing of bats, gloves or helmets, just a genuine show of respect.
My son plays baseball. He’s very good, better than I ever was, but sometimes he believes that the umpires are out to get him, conspiring to call strikes when there are none. He will toss back his head with an “Are you kidding me?” attitude if he things he got a crummy call. I try to explain what a bad look that is. Much of this is learned behavior. Not from me, the paradigm of sportsmanship, but from myriad examples we see on TV.
Don’t get me wrong, if you have been genuinely wronged you have a right to register your disapproval. But it is also important to remember that everyone on the field – or court or course – is trying to do the best job he or she can, that no one is out to undermine you and that the only actions you have any control over are your own. Umpires are human (so far), they will make mistakes but, just like all of us, they don’t appreciate those mistakes being pointed out in front of dozens, hundreds, or thousands of fans. On a practical note, I remember that if an ump made a bad call when I was at the plate or in the field and I resisted acting like I’d just been shivved in the kidney; if I just nodded and went on to the next pitch or the next play, he would almost inevitably find a way to make it up later in the game.
Play fair, play hard, play humble. Enjoy great plays and good wins, but never raise your self-esteem by lowering someone else’s. Never diminish those who are playing and officiating the same game you love. For they love it too. At least as much as you and maybe more in some instances.
Could we all learn something here? It goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway) that the current occupier of the Oval Office is about as poor a sport as you’ll find.
He – and we – could learn a lot by looking at our friends in the Caribbean. A baseball team that played with heart, won with grace and lost with class.
Of course, they didn’t really lose at all; they elevated the expectations for sportsmanship. For that I say, thank you from all of us. Even the umpires.
Steven welcomes your comments. You can reach him at st***************@gm***.com.
