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Good Sport/Bad Sports, or is It the Other Way Around? By P.M. PRICE Column

THE VIEW FROM HERE
Friday January 14, 2005

(Names have been changed to prevent me from embarrassing and being therewith scorned by my otherwise adoring children.) 

 

“Who won the game?” a buddy of my 10-year-old son asks. “They beat us by one point.” Jason responds. (In fact, they lost by 10.) 

“This was our first loss of the season,” he explains. (Not.) “Our last game, I scored the winning point!” he brags. (What? Where was I?) 

While driving home I admonish him, “Jason, you didn’t lose by one point. Why did you say that?” 

He laughs. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. 

A single comment made by a sportscaster during the summer Olympics coverage really stuck with me and I recall it now. “What is sports without winning?” It was a declaration, not a question. And the answer to be inferred was “nothing”. 

I recently attended a Cal basketball game and was distracted from the players by the intensity of their coaches. Their faces twisted, eyes flashing, fists raised to match the volume of their voices. They were screaming, livid. As a Cal student in the ‘70s, I attended few games but I do remember them being fun, full of good natured rivalry. During this game, each time the other team went to the foul line Cal fans and cheerleaders not only waved their hands to distract the shooter but they also made an eerie howling sound that my teenage daughter found amusing and I felt to be quite rude. 

“It’s just team spirit!” Liana insisted. Perhaps the definition of “fun” has changed along with that of “dating”, “good study habits” and ”a clean bedroom” but that’s another story. 

One thing that hasn’t changed is the identification of fans with their team players. In fact, both the emotional and physical boundaries between them appear to be thinning, as evidenced by the recent NBA debacle in which both fans and players assaulted each other.  

This blurring of boundaries begins at an early age. When my son and his friends play sports video games I hear them declaring; “I’m Jerry Rice!” “Well, I’m Terrell Owens!” “I just made a touchdown!” “Watch me tackle this guy. I got him!” They even dance around the room, mimicking the buffoonish antics of too many of these athlete/entertainers. 

These days, young sports fans have new, complex issues to deal with. 

When the news media reported the suspected use of steroids among professional athletes, I asked my son what he thought of it all. “Bad.” he stated. “Well, do you think Barry Bonds should keep his records?” I asked. “Yeah. He’s a great player,” Jason said. “But, if he took steroids,” I prodded, “that means he cheated to make himself stronger. What would you think of him if he did that?” “Stupid.” “Why?” (I have to dig a little deeper with this kid.) “Because he probably could have done it without that stuff.” Perhaps. “So,” I continued, “if he did take steroids, do you think he should keep his records?“ Jason looked worried. “I don’t know,” he answered. “What’s wrong?” I pushed. “I feel stupid, too.” “Why?” “For believing in him,” he said. 

Recently and much to my dismay, Jason and his friends have acquired a huge interest in wrestling. He has a play ring and several wrestling figures who body slam and headlock each other on a daily basis. I dislike violence in any guise and I tell him so. “Don’t worry,” he assures me. “No one’s really getting hurt. Everybody knows wrestling’s fake!” 

I take Jason to the park and we toss the football back and forth. I love the spin and twirl of it, the feel of the cone shaped bit of leather as it leaves my fingertips, like an arrow gliding through the air. I share this with Jason and he gets it. I feel swell and for now, this is all there is. And it’s enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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