There’s No Shame in Doing Your Best and Losing

It was the end of a terribly busy school day, and there was another game that evening. Spring and fall are like this for many families with sports-playing youngsters. There wasn’t much time to eat, even less time to chat about what happened that day. The hour came to don the uniform once again, put on those special shoes, make certain all the “stuff” was in the bag, and finally out the door into the waiting car.
Such a scene is repeated so many times, they are oft overlooked and forgotten, and still they are what many mothers remember as part of those “growing up years.”
This is a new age, especially in sports. No one actually wins and no one really loses, because in someone’s infinite wisdom it was deemed better not to tamper with fragile blossoming egos, and this new “warm fuzzy” is supposed to eradicate harsh reality.
Hope was in her eyes as she strode with hidden pride toward that immaculate diamond where games are played every day, or so it seemed. Some went away jubilant, others exited feeling callous on seeing the other team elated. This was life, but not yet revealed.
A dutiful player, and loyal to her team, she never missed a practice. She tried her best, she really did. She threw that ball as best she could, but really, her style wasn’t stellar. She was anxious to get up to bat, and she watched all her team members when they went to bat, and she tried, oh, how she tried her best to copy their style.
But when the moment of truth came, and the pitcher wound up the ball and tossed it, she could just never really connect and whack that ball into the outfield.
Would it ever be allowed by the great baseball spirit, she wondered, that she would get a double or, oh, wow, imagine it, a home run?
Other team members would don their batting helmets and pull tight their batting gloves. She watched them, thinking, wishing, praying, hoping that one day, just one time at one obscure game, she would make a swing that connected with the small sphere hurtling her way, and the ball would sail out of sight.
Then she would sit back down in the dugout, take a sip of water, and stare wistfully at the unfolding game just beyond the chain-link fence.
Innings passed. She would grab her well-oiled glove and go out to her assigned field position. No one would verbalize it, but she knew she was there because few balls ever went soaring out that way.
A batter would swing, and there would be that magical metallic sound, the crowd would shout, her ears would alert her tense body, and she would scramble toward the…but by then, someone fleet of foot had swept the ball into their glove, and she would resign herself to report back to her spot.
One time during the game, she was granted to go up to bat. Oh, the pride she felt, as she donned the shiny helmet and pulled on the gloves, just like the other girls had done. She strode to home plate and assumed that position she had watched the other girls assume when they got hits.
Time was a blur; all she heard was “Strike three.”
Was it the end? Was that all there was? Dejected, she returned to the dugout. Hopes for glory eluded once again.
Such scenes occur over and over in every ball field in the land. Young people play out the so-called American dream of winning, but to some, it is simply not to be. Our society demands winning, and teaches nothing about losing with grace.
Few coaches tell their players, especially those who live by the rules, don’t miss a game, and seldom, if ever, get a hit when they get up to bat, that some of the greatest sports heroes also struck out many times. Not every pass made a touchdown. Not every soccer ball kicked went into the net. Not every game can be a howling success.
To some, winning is everything. And yes, victory is sweet, but it is not all in all. A loss is not shameful, yet I fear some children live under a cloud if they reside in a household where winning is the “golden rule.”
I believe to lose graciously is more important than cheering in victory.
Since we are all children, regardless of how many birthdays we have celebrated, I reprint this prayer for young athletes, students and anyone else from the Protestant Episcopal “Book of Common Prayer:”
“God our Father, you see your children growing up in an unsteady and confusing world: Show them that your ways give more life than the ways of the world, and that following you is better than chasing after selfish goals. Help them to take failure, not as a measure of their worth, but as a chance for a new start. Give them strength to hold their faith in you, and to keep alive their joy in your creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”