Varsity Sports
I saw a boy walking down the street near my house today wearing a Varsity Jacket from my Alma Mater. I have one that matches it. Somewhere. I don't remember when I last saw it.
Now this isn't exactly bragging. I was a boxer for my school. There was no varsity boxing team. If you boxed for the school, you were varsity.
What I was thinking of when I looked at him, though, was the fact that perhaps one of the significant shaping moments of my life happened as a result of this program. As a freshman at the school, I made it to the big fight night. I was on the ticket not because of my talent, but because too few people boxed that year so everyone made it to the center stage.
I had no business being in the ring. I had only trained half-assed at best, and didn't pay nearly enough attention to the skills necessary. You hit that guy. Try not to let him hit you. If he does, keep going.
These were the basic elements of my boxing mentality when I stepped into the ring in front of hundreds of people to square off with my opponent. I got the tar beaten out of me. I couldn't land anything, and this guy was tearing me apart. The final bell of the final round was a blessing, in that it was all over. We didn't have to wait for the announcement. Nobody in the stadium had any doubts who had won. I had been defeated, and I left the ring with this in my mind.
I was stopped on my way by the guest of honor's table. The legend who had been invited to witness the anniversary of these fights stood up to shake my hand. He told me I had done a good job. That I should keep my head up. He told me that the fact that I kept going back into the fight, despite the beating I was taking showed a strength and determination that would suit me well when experience and skill caught up.
What did this do for me? Well, the greatest boxer who ever lived told me I had the drive and determination to be somebody in this square ring, and I was going to show that he knew what he was talking about. (As if he needed my help.)
The next year I busted my ass in training. Did everything I could to get in the best shape, build my skills, and be the boxer I intended to be. I worked hard, and worked sensibly. I wasn't going to be the greatest boxer the school had ever seen this year, but I was going to be a hell of a boxer, and I had two more years to make it the rest of the way.
At the end of the season, I walked into the semi-final round ready to take on the world. I applied everything I learned and this time I wasn't taking a beating. This time I was proving that I knew what I was doing. I proved this all the way up to the final round, when the fight was stopped. My nose had been bleeding from the beginning of the fight, and the paramedics decided I couldn't risk three more minutes.
With that it was simply over. No finals for me. I was going home. Three minutes were left, and there was no sign that he could have gotten a sudden second wind and done what he hadn't thus far. With the decision of one man, I lost a fight that I couldn't lose. A decision that prevented me from fighting a fight that I couldn't win, but that I had every right to pour my heart into under those lights once more.
So I looked at that coat today and I wondered. Have I ever driven so hard as I did that year for a sport I then walked away from in anger? Have I ever wanted something so much since then? I don't think I have. I think that was my cynical life lesson. No guts, no glory is a phrase that doesn't quite mean what you want it to. You see, sometimes the guts don't help. It's still out of your control.
I took two things away from that lesson. One, I will still drive headlong into the fight if it is worth fighting. Two, I am not going to break my back for a maybe out there in the future. I will keep my fights close. I will keep them when they come to me.
Is this supposed to be inspirational? No. I am not pointing out a road the rest of you should take. Just pointing out again what most of you already know. I am far from a perfect man. That's just life, or something close to it.
Now this isn't exactly bragging. I was a boxer for my school. There was no varsity boxing team. If you boxed for the school, you were varsity.
What I was thinking of when I looked at him, though, was the fact that perhaps one of the significant shaping moments of my life happened as a result of this program. As a freshman at the school, I made it to the big fight night. I was on the ticket not because of my talent, but because too few people boxed that year so everyone made it to the center stage.
I had no business being in the ring. I had only trained half-assed at best, and didn't pay nearly enough attention to the skills necessary. You hit that guy. Try not to let him hit you. If he does, keep going.
These were the basic elements of my boxing mentality when I stepped into the ring in front of hundreds of people to square off with my opponent. I got the tar beaten out of me. I couldn't land anything, and this guy was tearing me apart. The final bell of the final round was a blessing, in that it was all over. We didn't have to wait for the announcement. Nobody in the stadium had any doubts who had won. I had been defeated, and I left the ring with this in my mind.
I was stopped on my way by the guest of honor's table. The legend who had been invited to witness the anniversary of these fights stood up to shake my hand. He told me I had done a good job. That I should keep my head up. He told me that the fact that I kept going back into the fight, despite the beating I was taking showed a strength and determination that would suit me well when experience and skill caught up.
What did this do for me? Well, the greatest boxer who ever lived told me I had the drive and determination to be somebody in this square ring, and I was going to show that he knew what he was talking about. (As if he needed my help.)
The next year I busted my ass in training. Did everything I could to get in the best shape, build my skills, and be the boxer I intended to be. I worked hard, and worked sensibly. I wasn't going to be the greatest boxer the school had ever seen this year, but I was going to be a hell of a boxer, and I had two more years to make it the rest of the way.
At the end of the season, I walked into the semi-final round ready to take on the world. I applied everything I learned and this time I wasn't taking a beating. This time I was proving that I knew what I was doing. I proved this all the way up to the final round, when the fight was stopped. My nose had been bleeding from the beginning of the fight, and the paramedics decided I couldn't risk three more minutes.
With that it was simply over. No finals for me. I was going home. Three minutes were left, and there was no sign that he could have gotten a sudden second wind and done what he hadn't thus far. With the decision of one man, I lost a fight that I couldn't lose. A decision that prevented me from fighting a fight that I couldn't win, but that I had every right to pour my heart into under those lights once more.
So I looked at that coat today and I wondered. Have I ever driven so hard as I did that year for a sport I then walked away from in anger? Have I ever wanted something so much since then? I don't think I have. I think that was my cynical life lesson. No guts, no glory is a phrase that doesn't quite mean what you want it to. You see, sometimes the guts don't help. It's still out of your control.
I took two things away from that lesson. One, I will still drive headlong into the fight if it is worth fighting. Two, I am not going to break my back for a maybe out there in the future. I will keep my fights close. I will keep them when they come to me.
Is this supposed to be inspirational? No. I am not pointing out a road the rest of you should take. Just pointing out again what most of you already know. I am far from a perfect man. That's just life, or something close to it.
posted by Wanderer at 3:44 PM
2 Comments:
i used to go out with a boxer from Aquinas. I only saw him box once. I made him promise not to bleed, but he broke the promise. I, myself perfer Karate...and back in the day I was pretty good at it, except that I hated the fighting part...
I never promised not to bleed. That would have been kind of silly. That's one of the reasons my mother never watched. Of course she did watch that last fight I mentioned. She didn't like the idea of seeing someone beating on her child, but she supported me because she knew how hard I had pushed and how much it meant. What a present, to see so much blood on the face of her son, and him to walk away, defeated.
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