I watched Aubree's soccer team lose yesterday by a score of 6-2. This loss was the closest one they've had this year. The week before the score was 21-1. Aubree came off the field, shook her head, and said, "dad, we suck like a duck". Aubree had one moment worth mentioning. There she was standing in front of the goal. The ball came rolling slowly toward her and the goalie was completely out of position. Just before the ball got there she went to her knees and the ball rolled harmlessly past. Why? She saw a girl from the other team go down injured and remembered the rule that all the players were to kneel while the injured player was being attended to. The part that she forgot was that you did that after the whistle blew! When I asked her about it after the game she reminded me of the rule and said, "its not fair to score anyway when someone is hurt".

There is a story about a basketball coach here in Oklahoma whose team was playing the State School for the Deaf. In the closing seconds of a close game he had his players start walking toward the sidelines as if a time-out had been called. When the players for the deaf school started to do the same his players ran back out, grabbed the ball, and scored, winning the game. When asked how he could do such a terrible thing he replied, "hey, you'd do it too if they'd beaten you three years in a row".

I've been involved with sports my entire life as a player, referee, and a coach. I've been involved with teams that were champions and teams that struggled to win a game....any game. I must admit to having a fierce competitive instinct. I hate to lose! But there is more than one way to lose. I would submit that the above-mentioned coach may have won the game but he lost something more important.

I grew up playing baseball and basketball. Ask me how many games my team won when I was an eight year old right fielder. I don't have a clue. But I do remember the very first time my bat made contact with a pitch in a real game. It was the last game of the year and I had gone the entire season without a hit. I struck out almost every time, although I did get walked once or twice. But that last game? I hit a towering foul ball. It went way up into the lights. My dad celebrated that foul ball as if it were the game winning home run in the World Series. That is what I remember.

You know what else I remember? I remember parents screaming and yelling at their kids in a very denigrating way. I remember a coach calling one of his players a "pussy". I especially remember a local doctor screaming at a scrawny little kid who flubbed a fly ball. The doctor said, "get that kid off the field if he doesn't know how to catch a damned ball". The kid's dad marched to where the doctor sat and asked him if he wanted to repeat those words to someone his own size. The doctor sputtered and sheepishly declined. Of course, that scrawny little guy was me.

I used to referee soccer games when I was a high school/college student. One one bright Saturday morning I refereed a game of 10 year old boys. A kid named "C" was easily the best player on the field. He weaved in and out around his opponents as if they were standing still. The entire time his dad was running up and down the field yelling at him. Among the memorable phrases this father yelled to his son was, "I should put a dress on you". This dad was a local pastor. What will that kid remember.....how many goals he scored, what the score was, or the humiliation suffered from the mouth of his own father? I think I know the answer. When my daughter looks back on her athletic career, I want her to remember her dad encouraging her, believing in her, and supporting her.

The best experience of my coaching career came when I was coaching a 7th grade boys basketball team in Mississippi. My team had some nice little players, but the competition in southern Mississippi was ferocious. I pulled out every coaching trick I knew of, but my little team couldn't match up athletically to the teams on our schedule. But this was a fun group of kids. They worked hard and did all that I asked of them. They high-fived me in the halls of the school every day. Sometimes they would cry after yet another loss. After each game I would collect their uniforms (because I had to wash them myself at home), and walk around the locker room patting them on the back and pointing out some good play they had made during the game..."Hey Bryce, that was nice "3" you hit", "Byron, your defense is really improving", "Steven, that was a great steal you made in the 3rd quarter. That guy didn't know what hit him". The next day they would be back at practice valiantly trying to learn the full court press I spent all year trying to teach. The last game rolled around and the first half went like most first halves went. We were trailing by 10 points at halftime. I was relaxed..it was the last game of the year and I wanted them to have fun. I told them at halftime to fire up "3 pointers" at every opportunity. I played the kids who hadn't gotten as much playing time as the others all year.

A funny thing happened. We started catching up. A kid who hadn't scored all year nailed a "3". My best shooter hit two in a row. The game began to see-saw back and forth. I called time out with 5 seconds left and our team trailing by a single point. With those sweaty adolescents crowded around me I drew a play on the clipboard. A normally quiet kid named Corderis bounced excitedly and told me, "coach, we're gonna win". I wasn't so sure, but we had a chance. Five seconds....one shot. The kids executed the play to perfection and Byron lofted a short jump shot from the corner. Swish! The players ran over and knocked me to the ground and started pounding on my chest. Getting knocked down never felt so good. You would've thought we had won the state championship instead of our only win of the season. We high-fived and hugged all over that locker room. I left that gymnasium smelling like teen sweat, carrying a bag of smelly uniforms and my scorebook, and wiping tears from my eyes.

It wasn't that we "won". That game won't be recorded in any of the annals of sports. It wasn't that I did a great coaching job. That shot could've missed. Its that those kids were winners, no matter what any scoreboard says. They strived, they believed, and they didn't give up. One of the parents wrote me a letter the next week and thanked me for, "making my son believe in himself". It made me cry. I should've been the one thanking her for allowing me to learn from her son and his teammates.

You see boys, I've been on a bit of a losing streak myself. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end, just like I'm sure you did. I score a basket or two now and then but sometimes it feels like I won't ever quite get over the hump. But like you did, I will persevere and I'll be a winner again. I'll try to believe in myself in the way that I saw you do. Unlike that idiotic doctor or that misguided preacher, you understood what the difference between a winner and a loser really is.

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