Take Me out of the Ball Game
Youth Sports and
their Long-Term Effects.
Do you know anyone who brags about
having been picked first for sports in school? Neither do I. To go even
further, I don't think I know anyone who even admits to it.
When I was a youngster
(insert cackling crone-voice and the ominous squeak of a rocker), sports were
insanely important. They were important to the schools I went to (why? I do
not know - it's not like we got funding for being good at field hockey), they
were important to my classmates, and because they were a key source of daily
shame and embarrassment, they were also important to me. Most team sports are
founded on one thing: running. This is a thing I am particularly, spectacularly
bad at. I am slow. After just a few yards, my legs begin to feel like tree
trunks, and using them to propel me into the air and across a few feet only to
do it again on the other side, repeat ad infinitum, seems ludicrous. The
spectacle of me lumbering slowly after a small white ball, stick in hand, while
my teammates on the sidelines turned several shades of purple screaming at me to
"GO!"
was an unlovely one to say the least. And on the individual scale of my own
ability, field hockey was the sport I was
good
at (I had good stick skills - if I could just get there in time, the ball
wouldn't get past me. It was the small matter of me getting there that was the
problem).
As a result of all
of this spectacular inability, I was almost always chosen last for those
scrimmages or gym-class games where the two shiny, popular jock-types get to be
the "captains," picking their friends (other shiny, popular jock-types) in
descending order until it was just another girl and I. Always the same two.
Once, recognizing the obvious, a gym teacher selected the other un-sporty girl
and me to be the "captains." This was an abomination - a reversal of the usual
order which had the inverse effect I am sure she intended. We did not feel
better about ourselves. We knew we were still the last choices for the team.
The only result of this bit of stunt casting was to make us feel even more
conspicuous in our lack of athletic
ability.
All of this maudlin
remembrance is to this end: I
know
I was the last one picked, and there were mighty good reasons for it. Kids are
Darwin's little darlings, competitive to the core, and I was picked last because
while I may have been "fit" by objective standards (heart rate good, in shape,
whatnot - these small, private school sports programs do not let you escape
without doing your share of activity), I was unfit in competitive
terms.
So why is it that now
whenever there are reminiscences of school-sports-past, I never hear anyone say,
"Oh - I was always the one who did the picking," or "I was always picked first,"
or even "I wasn't ever picked last or first, but always somewhere in the
middle."
Everybody
insists that they were picked last. Even allowing for the self-selecting nature
of my geeky circle of friends, this is not possible. I suspect that age and
time have worked their miracles and what was once cool is now a source of mild
embarrassment.
Do I have to
finally admit that all of those people who told me it wouldn't matter one day
were right? Dang - I hate it when that happens.
Posted: Wednesday - May 18, 2005 at 08:54 AM
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