Sports should teach life lessons. That doesn’t happen when athletes shine the spotlight on themselves.
Commercials are revealing. They’re more than ploys to get us to buy a particular brand. They reflect our culture. Here’s an example.
A mother stands in her kitchen eating potato chips. A big bag–loaded with bags of chips–sits next to her on the counter. Her daughter, about six years of age, bounces into the kitchen, fully dressed for a soccer game. The child announces she’ll be playing offense that day. If she scores, the youngster tells mom, she’ll celebrate with ‘a happy dance.’
And to prove she’s ready, the young girl dances for her mom. The mom responds approvingly.
Oh, by the way, the girl goes on to say: it’s their turn to bring the team’s snack. The mother looks at that large container with loads of chips. They’ll all set!
So the scene is set. The daughter gets to start. She’ll show off to the crowd if she scores. Her mother approves. They have the RIGHT chips.
Isn’t that great? No, it’s not. It sends the wrong message. Here’s why.
As a high school coach, I always reminded my players to manage their emotions. I wanted them to act like wrestlers I had observed during my coaching career–like the twins who wrestled at the Naval Academy or the brothers who wrestled for Clarke County VA. After a match, you never knew if they had just won or lost. Those wrestlers were role models for my athletes.
Celebrate later–with family and friends–and never play to the crowd. What’s more, never let your opponent know how winning or losing feels. Just play the game.
Sadly, that’s a minority opinion in sports today. Celebrations abound. And celebrations are nothing more or less than public displays of narcissism. The message is clear: “Look at me! I’m great!”
And even more sadly, celebrations–like sewage–have seeped into the water system of everyday life … to the point that a brand chose it as a way to sell potato chips.
But is catching, kicking, hitting, or shooting a ball all that important when compared to other accomplishments of life? Where does that skill with a ball mesh with the other, more important ones necessary for a life of quality?
One would think that the self-serving jubilations of some athletes, from the child clubs to adult professionals, proclaim their identities. Truly, even if a student wins four state championships, or sets a record in a race, what does that count for in the longer race we all share?
It seems to me that the value in a record or championship is only as good as we use it to sharpen our skills for living each day: to eat its bread, thankful for its blessings, and its opportunities.
