by Brad Herzog, author of the Count On Me: Sports series
Actually, no. “Fail” is the wrong word. Sure, a jump shooter can fail to sink a three-pointer. And a batter can fail to move the runners into scoring position. And a golfer can fail to escape a sand trap. But in the bigger picture, participation—when done right and respectfully—should never amount to true failure. Kids may lose the game, drop the ball, stumble, strike out. They may be frustrated, disappointed, even temporarily devastated. But no kid—and no parent, coach, or other adult charged with guiding that child—should ever define that as failure.
The five books in my Count on Me: Sports series, published by Free Spirit last year, are all about character amid competition. Each celebrates an attribute—courage, sportsmanship, perseverance, generosity, teamwork—through twenty true stories that warm the heart. Many of the stories concern physical risks in sport, and competitors who turn tragic situations into triumphant ones.
A young female softball player hits the only home run of her life,
But smaller moments can offer large insights, too. They are the moments when an adult can teach a child that the athletic fields are a safe place to be competitive but also kind, where you can be persistent without losing true perspective.
I was at a middle school basketball game not long ago, watching my friend’s son play. My friend is a nice person, a former college basketball player herself. After her son fouled an opponent, who subsequently missed a free throw, she clapped and shouted, “Good foul! Good foul!” She was trying to convey to her son that the strategy to foul wound up having a positive result, something that probably happens scores of times every day during the basketball season. And sure, it’s rather harmless. But all I could think of was that a twelve-year-old missed a foul shot, and a parent in the crowd decided to applaud it.
Perseverance? By approaching a child with love and respect after a contest, regardless of what the scoreboard says, a mom or dad can show that perseverance is not about the end result, but rather the relentless effort. Generosity? Even a simple postgame handshake should be more than just a grudging routine—and nobody can model that better than the adults in the room. Teamwork? One person can do wonders by doing the right thing, but even that pales in comparison to a whole crowd of fans offering a lesson in character education.
I realize some who read this will roll their eyes. “True competitive fire requires aggressiveness, a stop-at-nothing sensibility,” they will say. “Touchy-feely doesn’t score touchdowns.” The thinking is: Hey, it’s a contest. There are lessons there, too. It’s winner take all. And not everyone can win.
But I don’t think that’s true.
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