The trophy awards “banquet” at Palms
Park in West Los Angeles was always a HUGE deal when I was a little kid, and I
looked always forward with great anticipation to the
well-earned spoils (big audacious trophies) at the end of any
flag-football, basketball, or T-ball season. Bigger than most of my peers in
those early years, I was a bit of a sensation at that
small neighborhood park from years
8-13 or so before I moved onto middle and high school where the reality of a
much deeper and more diverse talent pool reduced me to levels far below
mediocrity (and a college career that was even worse…you
can read about it by clicking here if you want to know just how bad).
But those early
wonder years were my only athletic glory days, and whether lighting it up on
the black-top outdoor hoops court by the library on Overland Avenue, bombing
out home runs on the T-Ball diamond down by the old Southern Pacific railroad
tracks, or running for touchdowns on the slopped football field on the east end
of the park, my solid blue-collar building trades roots made me a standout
among my more affluent, entitled Cheviot Hills peers.
The anticipation
leading up to the season ending awards ceremonies were like the days before
Christmas, and it was always fun to dream about the big (they were pretty
impressive) trophies or plaques the winning team would get each year, along
with various other ancillary awards like most valuable player. There was a real
hierarchy to the honors in those days. Early on, only the winning team
received trophies and they were massive…seeming to come up to my waist. They
got smaller over time, and eventually they added little awards for second place
and plaques (or ribbons) for third, but there was always a discernible
difference between those that finished first, and those that did not. Actually,
the people at the bottom of the heap, typically didn’t received anything. They had
to sit there humiliated, only dreaming of (and hopefully getting motivated to
find out) what it might be like to win. Sometime along the line in the early
70’s when I was a seasoned veteran of about 11 or so, I recall them introducing
a new award called “Most Improved Player.” That always seemed to me like an odd
thing to recognize…and I remember wondering why they didn’t add additional
trophies for things like worst shooting percentage, most fumbles or fewest base hits.
In my last season
at Palms Park before moving on to Little League at the neighboring Rancho Park
(this was tantamount to the bigs), I remember showing up to the awards ceremony
more excited than ever. Our basketball team had won (dominated would be a more
accurate description) the season outright that year, and I was particularly
hopeful at the what I thought was the likely prospect of taking home the
coveted (and very large) MVP award. They held the event outdoors that
year, on a charming evening down by the picnic table/brick BBQ area that was on
the south side of the park by the pedestrian bridge that crossed the
aforementioned railroad tracks. As was often the case on those ceremonial
nights, I was the first to arrive (my parents actually let me ride my bike
about 2 miles to the park…alone from the time I as about 8) and as soon as I
got there I rushed to the picnic area in hopes of sneaking a peek at the huge
trophies.
As soon as the park
director John Consiaaldi
pointed to the table with the trophies, I knew something seemed terribly wrong.
For one thing, they were a lot smaller than they’d been in previous years…and
there seemed to be way too many. I asked the director where the first place
awards were being stored…kind of speculating that they must be so impressive
that they had to be unveiled or something, and I almost shrieked when he
responded that all the trophies were already on the table. “We made them all a
little smaller this year” he said. “A little smaller?” I shot back… “are you kidding
me?” I started doing the math and recognized they’d indeed ordered way too many
trophies. I laughed when I asked why there were so many, and I will never
forget what at least for me, was a shocking and very sad response. “This
year, everybody gets a trophy.”
I remember being
flabbergasted. “What the heck did we just play the whole season for?” I
inquired. “Well,” he said… “winning and losing isn’t everything, and a lot of
the parents thought it would better for those that didn’t win to get a trophy
so everybody would feel better.” “But I don’t care if everybody feels
good,” I answered. “We won the league and deserve to feel better.” I will
never forget it…I was absolutely convinced the world was coming to an end.
Well
thankfully they still kept score at the rough-and-tumble high school were I
would later attend, and the teams that won the most games finished higher in
the competitive Western League standings then those that lost more. It was a
good lesson for me (we went 0-9 my junior year), and we lost a gut-wrenching
season ending homecoming game to the eventual league champion Venice High (the
school where the movie Grease was filmed) to add extra insult to injury. We
didn’t get any trophies for going winless in 1978, and I don’t remember one
representative from Los Angeles Unified School District swinging by to give us
a pep-talk to make sure our self-esteem wasn’t too damaged, As a
matter-of-fact, I recall
the Bear Bryant style tyrant I played for holding his nose in disgust (as to
indicate we stunk) as I
jogged to the sidelines toward the end of blowing that game against Venice.
A younger work colleague of mine was telling me she went to a school for a while that gave out “colors” instead of letter grades. She mentioned they did it to help promote better self-esteem among those students who typically struggled. I don’t get this odd emphasis on self-esteem. If I ever go under the knife to have open heart surgery, I’ll take a doctor that is highly-trained and thoroughly competent with low self-esteem over any marginal surgeon that happens very to feel particularly good or confident about his or her mediocre work. Learning how to win and lose seems like a valuable lesson to me, and even if it’s not…it still seems to reflect pretty much how the real world works.
Have a great weekend, and whatever you do, try to take some time to do the things that matter with the people you love.
Sorry for all the mistakes, typos and lousy spelling. I know this is a mess but just didn't have the time. E
No comments:
Post a Comment