The Sporting Life

I think this is what Tiger Woods' dad felt like.

If I bet you which of Hunter's parents said this while watching him hit a baseball at two years old, which of us would you guess? I would be as rich as Tiger Woods if I actually took that bet, because it wasn't me. That's right. His mother said it. The one who is so concerned her sports crazed/obsessed/coach husband was going to push their son too hard, took one look at him when I showed her he could hit fastballs all the way across the street, and she looks at me and dropped the quote. Can you believe that?

As a high school coach, I see many crazy parents who are confused about their son's baseball talents. They were an 8 year old all star, so they should start on JV. How they have to commit to a sport by sixth grade and on a travel and select team, or else. My brother of all people, who could not care less about sports, said he knew things were crazy when he was listening to parents talk about their kids on the select "B" team. Let's let that marinate for a minute. A SELECT B team. Really.?! What part of select is confusing to you, or rather, what part of "B" is confusing?

When I was a kid, you played whatever sport was in season. If you sucked, you kept playing or not because of your passion for the game. And when you lost, you lost. Your dad did not make a new team for you or your mom did not go talk to the coach for you. No huge 7th place trophies. No participant plaques. No playing time rules. What lesson does that teach? Where is that in life?

I loved playing sports but I come from a limited gene pool and so I have always been insecure about how not good I am at these sports. Because I wanted to be the best, I worked hard. I never made it but I never stopped trying. So I played three sports in high school and coach in high school because I am a fierce competitor. I run and cycle to challenge myself and am pretty good at those sports too. Pretty good. Not great. I have a few medals etc but that is not what drives me, those just happen.

Anyway, when I was a kid I played baseball in the summer, soccer in fall and basketball in the winter. I even played football in the park sometimes. (I valued my life too much to play football at Tam, we sucked and I did not want to lose the chance to play other sports by dying, so I played soccer.)

Now kids play Wii and XBox and Farmville and Second Life and disgusting. Yick. And when they do play, there is this weird pressure from parents to pick a sport by sixth grade. Yick, Yick. There is no way to kill a kid's love faster. And all of the great athletes I know, and most I know of, played more than one sport for a while. You gotta diversify. Heck, get in a boat, water ski, whatever. I mean, I get where the idea comes from, why a parent would want their kid to focus, so they can get the best attention, coaching etc. But there are a lot schiesters out there, who take your money and then offer you an "honest" evaluation of your child's skill. Skill he has been paid to hone. I see it, the want to pick one, but there is something to be said for cross-training and broadening horizons.

I have been hearing a lot of discussion about a book called Outliers, by Malcom Gladwell. I know it has been out a couple years now, but as an English teacher I have not had time to read everything I want to. His ideas, I think are being misinterpreted by the misguided. He writes his book as a cautionary tale of sorts, not a how to guide. I have only read a few chapters so far but I can see that. He starts his book by surmising what it takes to be great, meaning he analyzes what are the factors of truly great and successful people. Not their traits so much a their factors. He also has a 10,000 hours rule that proposes for true greatness you need a minimum of 10,000 hours practice at one specific thing. He cites Bill Gates and Oppenheimer as examples. And here is where the caution comes in. Bill Gates was smart, and driven and chose to put in the hours on his own. His momy did not put him on a Science Camp B team.

And, for relevance to Hunter, Gladwell analyzes Canadian Hockey players. Not that Hunter wants to play hockey, but he certainly might. (And he probably has 100 hours of baseball practice already, if not more, for whatever that is worth. Getting there with cycling.) But that is not the interesting thing to me. One overwhelmingly common factor for these great hockey players was being born early in the year. More succinctly, they were old for their class. One of the big decisions we have to make for Hunter is when to start him in school. Since he is born at the end of September, he just misses the cut-off, so he will either have to be very young or very old for his grade. Outliers, says go old. The benefits far outweigh the negatives to be older. There you have it. Hunter is born at the right time and is putting the right practice to be great. And I have begun planning my retirement.

So I cannot blame Heather for uttering what I may have been thinking. He may have some of the factors of greatness. Watching him learn something new is awe inspiring. With physical or athletic things there is not much practice. He watches, tries and does. When he learned to ride his bike, there was little transition. 30 seconds one day, 30 more seconds of trying the next day and the third day, 2 pedals and he was off. Riding a scooter, hitting a baseball, pitching a baseball, hitting a golf ball, dribbling a basketball, kicking a soccer ball, it has all come naturally. It is all very exciting.

And then I fear that he may not be Tiger Woods. Or worse that he may be, and we will be hearing about him being attacked by his wife on national TV, interrupting our Thanksgiving dinners. How do we take time to tell ourselves that it is OK if he is not the next Buster Posey (of the World Champion San Francisco Giants). He can be whatever he wants to be and to strive for kindness as greatness. To dream.

And then when he comes into the room wearing funny glasses or sticks his head in a wind chime, makes a joke or draws a picture or plays with his Lightning McQueen and Chick Hicks cars, or yells Hey you dang wood-chucks, quit chucking my wood, I know he is going to be great. He already is.

I am sure that is how Tiger Woods dad felt.