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Camaraderie

Welcome to Stuff I Learned Yesterday. My name is Mark Des Cotes, I lost any chance of winning my hockey pool when the St. Lewis Blues were eliminated from the playoffs, and I believe if you aren’t learning, you aren’t living. In today’s episode of Stuff I Learned Yesterday I talk about what I learned from Volleyball.

I hope you’re having a great week. I had two clients call me out of the blue this week asking for me to redesign their website. Let me tell you, It’s always nice when great projects like these fall in your lap. And I hope you’re having as much luck as I am.

Today’s Fun Fact of the Day: Did you know that until President Kennedy was killed, it wasn’t a federal crime to assassinate the president? I’m kind of partial to this fun fact since I’m currently reading Stephen King’s book 11/22/63 which is about a school teacher that travels back in time to try and prevent the assassination. They’re currently turning the book into a TV series for Hulu, which irks me a bit since Hulu isn’t available here in Canada. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll get to see it somehow.

Here’s What I leaned yesterday.
I’ve never been a great athlete. I love sports, I’ve just never been any good at them. My favourite sport to watch is ice hockey followed by soccer, also knows as football for all of you listeners outside of North America. Not to be confused with American or Canadian football which are a completely different sport. I’m not a big fan of baseball, basketball or what we call football here in Canada and the US. But I can sit down and enjoy a game of these sports and I can appreciate the skills and abilities displayed by the various players. Although I do believe they are over paid for what they do.

The same can be said of golf, lacrosse, curling, rugby, quidditch and on and on. I can marvel at the displayed skills even if I have no real interest in the actual sport.

When I was 10 years old my family moved to Cornwall Ontario. It was a big adjustment for me moving to a city where I didn’t know anyone. My dad knew I loved watching hockey and he wanted me make new friends as well as learn how to skate. So to kill two birds with one stone, he enrolled me in the local hockey association’s house league.

Things didn’t go very well. Here I was, the new kid in town, lacing up my very first pair of second hand skates and hitting the ice with a bunch of kids that had been playing hockey since they were 3. To make matters worse, not only had my dad acquired outdated equipment from neighbours and coworkers, but since I really had no idea what hand I shot, he had bought me a straight bladed hockey stick. If there ever was a sign of someone who didn’t know how to play hockey that was it.

That first season I spent more time flat on the ice than I did on my feet. I was the kid the coach conveniently “forgot” to sub into the rotation even though everyone was supposed to get equal playing time in house league. I found absolutely no camaraderie in hockey. My teammates ridiculed me for my equipment and lack of skill. They complained when offside calls were made because I couldn’t get out of offensive zone in time. Even parents in the stands would yell at me for my play and at the coach for putting me on the ice.

I wanted to quit many times during that first year but my dad encouraged me to stick with it. By the end of the season I was able to stay on my feet for most of my shifts and even learned how to stop without crashing into the boards.

Somehow, my dad persuaded me to try again the next year. And even though I had gotten better, I was still known as the worst kid in the league, miles behind the other kids. Some of which were destined for the pros. One, a kid by the name of Scott Pearson even made it to the NHL. And here I was still learning how to skate. My ineptitude left little room for camaraderie with my teammates and the jabs from the bleachers hadn’t diminished. At least I had a new curved stick that year so they couldn’t make fun of that anymore. I shoot left in case you’re interested.

For some masochistic reason, I played one more year before giving up on the sport. I even managed to score two goals that third year. I remember the first vividly. I was standing a few feet from the opposing net when a deflected pass intended for one of my teammates ended up on the blade of my stick. I swung it towards the goal and by some miracle the puck went through the goalie’s pads and into the net. I also remember the scolding that goalie got from his father after the game for allowing me, the worst kid in the league to score on him.

My second goal I don’t remember, since I didn’t actually see it. There was some fast play going on in front of the net and I somehow lost my footing. As my legs flew into the air and I fell flat on my back, my arms flailed out to try to halt my fall. Somehow, the stick I was clutching swung out, connected with the puck and directed into the net. I didn’t even know I had scored until several moments later when I finally regained the wind that had been knocked out of me.

I decided to hang up my skates after that. I was tired of taunts from both the opposing players as well as my teammates. And I was tired of the curses and profanities directed at me from the bleachers by parents supposedly there to encourage their kids. Instead I decided to try my hand at soccer. At least I would have a better chance of remaining vertical in that sport. I joined the house league, and although I was better at soccer than I was at hockey, I still wasn’t very good. I did have more fun on the pitch than I had on the ice and my lack of skills were better tolerated. I even made some friends there. Although I still heard curses from time to time coming from the sideline spectators.

When I started high school I was immediately noticed by the various coaches. I stood just over 6’2″ which in the early 80s meant I was a head taller than most of the other kids. I was quickly approached by the basketball, volleyball, and track coaches to try out for their teams. I obliged each one of them only to let them down by my lack of athletic ability. I didn’t make any of those teams.

By the time school soccer tryouts rolled around in the spring my reputation had preceded me. The coaches did not ask me to come out, one of them even questioned if I really wanted to try out for the team. But I put my name down anyway since it was a sport I actually knew how to play. Now I knew all the other kids trying out since they had all been part of the city house league and I knew they were all better than I was. My chances of making the team were extremely slim. But when the coaches passed around a clipboard telling us to write down the position we were trying out for I saw that only one person had written down goalkeeper. The kid that had signed up for that position was a spectacular keeper and everyone knew he was a shoe in for the spot. But on a whim I also put down goalkeeper even though I had never played the position before.

Now I’m not going to lead you on and make you think I beat out that kid for the position because I didn’t. He lived up to his reputation and then some. But since I was the only other one to sign up as goalkeeper the coaches had no choice but to make me the team backup.

I didn’t play a single game my first year, but I practiced and traveled with the team and became an OK goalkeeper along the way. Nobody, including the coaches saw me as unskilled or inept anymore, especially since I was being viewed alongside our superstar net minder. I didn’t care that I didn’t play. I was happy to be part of the team camaraderie.

I saw action in my second year. There was one game that we were winning by something like 12-1 by halftime. The coaches decided to put me in for the second half and I succeeded in stopping all but one goal. I felt great afterwards.

Now due to the treat of a teachers strike, all extra curricular activities were cancelled during my third year of high school. And after that I decided to concentrate on my grades instead of sports which marked the end of my athletic career.

When my son Ryan was 7 or 8 years old he told us he wanted to play soccer so we enrolled him in house league. He loved it so much that he played both in the summer outdoor league and the winter indoor league. I saw a lot of myself in Ryan. He had my height, he’s taller in fact, and he had my athletic ability. He played soccer exactly the way I imagined I looked when playing. But it didn’t bother him. He loved being on the pitch, even when the other players ran circles around him. Sometimes his teammates would yell at him for messing up but Ryan didn’t care. To him it was only a game and a good way to get exercise. He played until he was 17 years old. Giving up only to concentrate on his grades in his final year of high school.

Now, my daughter on the other hand is a natural athlete. When she was old enough she decided to follow in her bother footsteps and try soccer. She quickly caught on and before long was running with the best of them. When she was 9 years old she asked us if she could try out for a competitive travelling team. Some of her fiends were also trying out so we let her. Even though Joelle thought she had done horribly at the tryouts, she made the team. She played for five years before giving up the sport.

As with any organized sporting activity involving children, the parents get to know each other. It wasn’t any different with Joelle’s soccer team. We would hang out at practices, sit side by side at both home and away games and share downtime when away at tournaments. We had a great time together. And although they were all really nice people away from the field, I couldn’t help but notice a difference while the games were on. While the kids were on the pitch, parents would start yelling, and as long as the team was doing well most of those yells were in the form of encouragement, which is fine. But when the team was down, those yells would transform. At first they would direct criticism towards their own kids, but as things got worse they would start yelling at the other players. I was seeing my hockey days from the other side, and I didn’t like it. And it’s like it was contagious because soon the players themselves were doing it to each other and all camaraderie would break down.

As I said a couple of minutes ago, Joelle is a natural athlete. At least in my opinion, which I admit is biased. When she first joined the team she played as a defender, then moved up to midfield in her second year. In her last year she was one of the starting strikers. I loved watching Joelle move across the pitch, she’s fast, agile, and has skill with the ball. Yes, I was living vicariously through my daughter. But through all of that, I knew it was just a game. I never had aspirations of her playing for Canada’s national team. And yet some of the parents didn’t share my same views when it came to their own child. Joelle’s last year of playing just so happened to be the age where scouts come out to watch the games, looking for their next superstar to join the provincial team. Any time word got out that a scout may be watching things got crazy. Some players started getting testy with each other, complaining that a pass to them wasn’t “just right”, or another player was hogging the ball, trying to get all the glory. Parents would yell at every misstep their daughters would make and then complain whenever their child was substituted off the field. Some games, the camaraderie you expect between teammates just wasn’t there.

Joelle finally got tired of it all and last summer she decided not to return to the team.

This year, she decided to try out for a new competitive volleyball team in our area and made the cut. Now, I didn’t know anything about volleyball when she joined, but as I said at the start, I can appreciate the skills the players need and I made a point learning as much as I can of the sport. The volleyball season ended a couple of weeks ago with Joelle’s team competing in the provincial tournament.

Now let me tell you something I noticed while watching the girls practice, and partake in tournaments. The camaraderie is strong amongst them. I don’t know if it’s because they are older and more mature, or if it’s just this sport in general. But throughout the season I don’t remember one negative comment from any of the players or from the parents in the stands for that matter. All I heard all season was encouragement.

On the court, whenever someone messed up, the girls would come together and tells her it’s ok, not to worry. Even when they loose, and they’ve lost some pretty bad games, the girls would talk afterwards of all the great plays they made. I’ve even seen them talk to the opposing teams and compliment them on their play which is something I never saw in soccer.

The season is over, and yet Joelle is still in constant contact with every single one of her teammates. They’re making plans to get together this summer and looking forward to playing again next year. Now that’s what team camaraderie should be like.

Here’s what I learned.
I sometimes think parents forget that the sports their children are playing are supposed to be fun. They’re called games after all. The way they push their kids, and the way they talk about them on the sidelines makes me think it’s more about the parents’ wants than the kid’s wants. And the way they shout and yell from the sidelines sometimes crosses the line into bullying, something their kids would never get away with if they tried it at school. It’s downright embarrassing and I wish they could see and hear themselves, and realize how they sound to others.

And it drives me crazy when a parent enrols their kid in some special training clinic or they hire a private coach, and then go on to say their kid didn’t want them to do it , but the parents know whats best for them.

Would I like to see one of my kids become a pro sports player? Of course I would, who wouldn’t. But I’m a realist. I know the odds are stacked against them making it to the big leagues. This isn’t a case of it’s too hard so you shouldn’t try. It’s a case of wanting my kids to have a childhood. If Ryan or Joelle ever came to me and said they wanted to become a pro something or other I would encourage them every step of the way. But I would also make sure they understood the commitment required. Not what I wanted, but that they really, and I mean really wanted it themselves. If they showed me that commitment I would back them. But if they ever changed their mind I would be ok with it as well.

You hear the stories of pro athletes when they were young. The quarterback that neglected his chores because he spent hours upon hours in the back field throwing a ball through an old tire. Or the hockey player that drove his parents crazy with the constant banging of a ball or puck against the garage door. Or the basketball player that consistently ignored curfew trying to perfect that three point shot. What they all had in common was the love and need to become the best at their game. It wasn’t their parents pushing them, it was their own desire to push themselves.

I think every parent has a dream of their boy or girl becoming the absolute best at their given sport. But they need to remember that it may just be their own dream. Unless the child shares the dream, and I don’t mean because the parent pushed it upon them, there’s no chance of them ever making it.

This past volleyball season taught me that you can have a bunch of athletes playing together just to have fun. Joelle’s team entered the provincial tournament ranked 76th out of 82 teams. They knew they didn’t have a chance of winning it all, but they didn’t care. They were there as a team, sharing in the camaraderie of having made it that far. They played their absolute best, better than I had ever seen them play but in the end they managed to win only 3 of their 9 games. They were proud of their accomplishment. They got to play in the provincial tournament and even though they were eliminated in the quarter finals they enjoyed and savoured every moment of it.

So if you have a child that is a wannabe athlete, with a love and desire to reach the top. I implore you to encourage them. Push them to do their best. Support them at their best as well as their worst. But be willing to stand behind them should they decide to give it all up. After all, it’s their life, not your’s. They’re just kids, and sometimes all they want to do is have fun.

I’m Mark Des Cotes and this has been Stuff I Learned Yesterday.

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