The summer between 6th and 7th grade I played on a baseball team called the Eagles – a rag-tag group of mostly blue collar kids that didn’t make any of other, more skilled baseball teams in my hometown.
The Eagles, by all accounts, were terrible. In fact, in our only year of existence, the Eagles won 1 game. I hated being on that team. Before the summer, in fact, I assumed I’d be on the same baseball team I’d become accustomed to – the one that won the City title the year before.
After all, I was a decent ball player, a coach-able kid and my parents were tight friends with the head coach of the championship team I’d played on for, going on, three years.
It hurt to be cut from that team – it really stung. But, I wanted to play ball so I picked up the pieces and, at the behest of my dad, joined the Eagles.
I’m thankful that I did.
I thought about that lowly Eagles summer as I watched my son tryout for his club soccer team last week, but not because of any sub-par play or clearly below-grade skill. No, my son’s team is good – definitely far better than the Eagles.
But, I’m afraid, that might be the problem.
I brought my son to a competitive soccer tryout tonight and, from my point of view on the sidelines, there was no player really trying-out at all. We call these sessions tryouts, we give our kids identification numbers and, sure, organized teams will determine their squads tonight. But, there is no sense of urgency, no burning desire to make the team and, certainly, no anxious anticipation of the coaches final decision tonight.
These tryouts are now meaningless – for athletes, parents and coaches alike.
And, while I don’t mind that more kids can find a quality team if they can afford to play, several valuable life lessons are being left behind the trail of our cashed checks.
Kids are rarely disappointed anymore. There are seldom chances for them to feel the deep feeling of despair that churns when something they wanted wasn’t earned. What’s more, few opportunities then exist to soak in the euphoria that comes with the redeeming such a loss.
When making a team is easy, being on the team is unfulfilling. A genius kid earning an A files the grade away, an F-student hangs that A on the fridge for all to see.
Meaningless tryouts don’t push our kids – no matter the sport – because our little ballers have mentally disconnected their effort with their perception of a predestined outcome.
These tryouts are simply confirmation of that which is already known – that showing up is good enough, confirming a reality that tells them that once you’re in the room, you don’t have to prove the repeated wherewithal to stay.
Wait a second, you might say – shouldn’t the coaches be evaluating the talent at tryouts and making cut-downs, if necessary? The answer is “Yes”, but, in my experience, only a few “old school” coaches do.
Most coaches in pay-to-play youth sports are employees and tasked with growing the program. Additionally, coaches understand that rival teams will snatch up kids they annex quickly to grow their presence in the area.
This all adds up to coaches going through the motions, allowing all participants to “make” the team and keeping the short term peace with the parents and players on the sidelines.
Symbolic tryouts and disingenuous invites to all prevent good coaches from being true mentors for our kids and parents – a trusted source of objectivity when emotions run hot on the field of play.
Memories of the hard-ass coach that I hated in the moment and adore looking back will not be shared by my kids, I’m afraid. Heaven forbid our children are scolded on the diamond or assigned to the end of the bench.
My former Eagles teammates might argue that feeling actually helped us develop some grit through our repeated losses.
But, alas, parents are part of this meaningless tryout conspiracy (me included). I might say that cutting Lynden from the team of this choice will make him bounce back stronger. But, that thought won’t matter in the minivan as he cries his eyes out in disappointment on the ride home.
While it sounds tough to advocate for the D-line coach getting in Yosef’s face-mask after missing a critical 4th down tackle, my heart does aches because I know his does in this moment.
But, despite the life’s interruption that short-term disappointment can cause our families when our athletes experience it, tasting the bitter taste of failure and disappointment is as much of a Rite of Passage for young people as puberty.
That taste should burn our soccer star’s tongues, radiant through the minds of our little league home-run hitters and stretch with our nimble ballerinas.
And, while I’d say that I swallowed the jagged pill of failure far too often on that summer with the hapless Eagles team of the C-Ave Baseball Fields, I still remember its taste.
That is meaningful.
