Columns
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |
Don't Cut the Kid
By Dave Weinbaum
I have a bone to pick with academic types that are oblivious to the benefits of sports.
Not all of us grew up in the prestigious surroundings of parents that went to
college, much less graduated from it. Unless these educationally lacking parents
have some superior knowledge, coaching and or coaxing their kids academically
may be lacking at best and counter productive at worst.
There are other options for those at risk kids to gain success in normal society.
Extra curricular school activities will acclimate a child to team effort. He will get to
know other kids from different backgrounds, exposing him to children of the
educated. If the team is successful, he will feel a part of that success. After all, the
most important lesson you can learn from winning is that you can.
Since my history was one of academic surrender and low self-esteem, I did the only
thing that my misinformed but well intended parents and I knew to do. I went out for
high school football. I will never forget the day I waited in the football sign-up line as
a 108 lb. freshman. I was so small my parents joked about putting me on steroids!
Two large, fierce looking boys took turns telling me that I was an idiot for going out
for football because I would be killed, maimed, and otherwise disabled by large
beasts like them. Having only played pick-up football with friends in my backyard, I
had no reason to doubt them. It was as obvious as Hillary’s running for President in
2008. But, in my mind, I had nowhere else to go.
Today I wonder how many other kids are in my position. I stayed in football. My
freshman year, I would have been cut. Instead, my school had the wherewithal to
have a “B” team. I found out that while I was often knocked down, it didn’t hurt as
much as I thought it would. I was quicker off the snap than most of the bigger boys
and I could position myself under their strength to make blocks or locate myself to
tackle, while fending off their hits. I was having fun. Most importantly, I gained
grudging respect from my peers and coaches.
I stuck with it.
My senior year, I came into two-a-days weighing 154 pounds and listed at fifth (last
string). My chances of starting were small. The line I was trying to break into
averaged 230 lbs. and all four linemen ahead of me were swifter. Again, the
demons and doubts came in. I considered quitting. Any other school would have cut
me by now.
I held on.
Toward the beginning of the season, the coaches held challenges, a one-on-one
test of offense and defense, strength and technique. Miraculously, I beat every one
in my offensive guard position. I was prouder than Bud Selig was of Jose Canseco
for bringing all that needed PR to baseball.
The next day, expecting to be 1st string, I saw my name posted as third stringer. I
garnered the chutzpah to ask the coach about this discrepancy only to be told that I
hadn’t weight trained religiously enough. I cried all the way home on the back of a
friend’s Honda Scooter. I went to bed depressed and quitting and woke up ready for
war.
In my haste to quit, I forgot that the third string got to scrimmage full contact with the
first and second stringers, in my case, people I had beat one-on-one at least for a
day. Every practice and every play became a bloody war right up to the whistle, and
sometimes beyond. It became obvious to the coach that he needed to give me what
I had already earned, a promotion to first string offensive guard. I played there the
rest of the year and I was effective. I was offered a football scholarship.
And those two buffoons that were “worried” about my well-being my freshman year?
They both quit after two weeks of freshman football practice. Maybe they listened to
their own advice.
This sport experience was a life-altering event. Had my school cut, or had I quit,
who knows what would have become of me? I don’t think it would have been
anything good.
Not to say that my life is perfect. I still get knocked on my rear end on occasion, and
I still fight the tendency to quit when I’m behind. However, most times I’m guided by
my high school football experience to make the right decision, especially in
advising my own brood.
I learned that victories often occur when you see no way to succeed, but refuse to
give up anyway.
I also learned that cutting a child is a sure way to forsake him.
I have a bone to pick with academic types that are oblivious to the benefits of sports.
Not all of us grew up in the prestigious surroundings of parents that went to
college, much less graduated from it. Unless these educationally lacking parents
have some superior knowledge, coaching and or coaxing their kids academically
may be lacking at best and counter productive at worst.
There are other options for those at risk kids to gain success in normal society.
Extra curricular school activities will acclimate a child to team effort. He will get to
know other kids from different backgrounds, exposing him to children of the
educated. If the team is successful, he will feel a part of that success. After all, the
most important lesson you can learn from winning is that you can.
Since my history was one of academic surrender and low self-esteem, I did the only
thing that my misinformed but well intended parents and I knew to do. I went out for
high school football. I will never forget the day I waited in the football sign-up line as
a 108 lb. freshman. I was so small my parents joked about putting me on steroids!
Two large, fierce looking boys took turns telling me that I was an idiot for going out
for football because I would be killed, maimed, and otherwise disabled by large
beasts like them. Having only played pick-up football with friends in my backyard, I
had no reason to doubt them. It was as obvious as Hillary’s running for President in
2008. But, in my mind, I had nowhere else to go.
Today I wonder how many other kids are in my position. I stayed in football. My
freshman year, I would have been cut. Instead, my school had the wherewithal to
have a “B” team. I found out that while I was often knocked down, it didn’t hurt as
much as I thought it would. I was quicker off the snap than most of the bigger boys
and I could position myself under their strength to make blocks or locate myself to
tackle, while fending off their hits. I was having fun. Most importantly, I gained
grudging respect from my peers and coaches.
I stuck with it.
My senior year, I came into two-a-days weighing 154 pounds and listed at fifth (last
string). My chances of starting were small. The line I was trying to break into
averaged 230 lbs. and all four linemen ahead of me were swifter. Again, the
demons and doubts came in. I considered quitting. Any other school would have cut
me by now.
I held on.
Toward the beginning of the season, the coaches held challenges, a one-on-one
test of offense and defense, strength and technique. Miraculously, I beat every one
in my offensive guard position. I was prouder than Bud Selig was of Jose Canseco
for bringing all that needed PR to baseball.
The next day, expecting to be 1st string, I saw my name posted as third stringer. I
garnered the chutzpah to ask the coach about this discrepancy only to be told that I
hadn’t weight trained religiously enough. I cried all the way home on the back of a
friend’s Honda Scooter. I went to bed depressed and quitting and woke up ready for
war.
In my haste to quit, I forgot that the third string got to scrimmage full contact with the
first and second stringers, in my case, people I had beat one-on-one at least for a
day. Every practice and every play became a bloody war right up to the whistle, and
sometimes beyond. It became obvious to the coach that he needed to give me what
I had already earned, a promotion to first string offensive guard. I played there the
rest of the year and I was effective. I was offered a football scholarship.
And those two buffoons that were “worried” about my well-being my freshman year?
They both quit after two weeks of freshman football practice. Maybe they listened to
their own advice.
This sport experience was a life-altering event. Had my school cut, or had I quit,
who knows what would have become of me? I don’t think it would have been
anything good.
Not to say that my life is perfect. I still get knocked on my rear end on occasion, and
I still fight the tendency to quit when I’m behind. However, most times I’m guided by
my high school football experience to make the right decision, especially in
advising my own brood.
I learned that victories often occur when you see no way to succeed, but refuse to
give up anyway.
I also learned that cutting a child is a sure way to forsake him.
ARCHIVES