Overheard in every schoolyard:
“Hey, you cheated.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“YEAH, YOU DID!”
“NO, WE DIDN’T!”
A minor scuffle ensues; the bell rings; and it’s back to class.
Summer 2014 the streets of Chicago were buzzing. Jackie Robinson West, a team of African American eleven and twelve-year-olds from the South Side were tearing up the Little League World Series. Philly’s Mone Davis and her throw like a girl 70mph fastball were the national story, and deservedly so. But Jackie Robinson West winning the U.S. title before ultimately losing to South Korea in the final was a pretty big deal. Why? In Chicago, it was a matter of local pride. Nationally, it was a matter of civic pride. African American participation in America’s pastime has slipped in recent decades, likely because of nothing more than changing tastes. But the iconic image of Jackie Robinson, the first African American to play in the major leagues, looms large, not just as a symbol of the struggle for civil rights, but as a symbol of fairness and morality in sport. The JRW little leaguers were the first all African American team to win the U.S. LLWS title. These exuberant boys were somehow exorcising both the recent demons of ARod, Barry Bonds, and Pete Rose, and the darker, older demons of Hank Aaron receiving death threats as he approached Babe Ruth’s home run record, the horrifying treatment of their namesake by fans and media, and the simple reality that once upon a time there was a Negro League. It felt great to root for the boys. It was sport stripped to its beaming essence. And they cheated.
If you have not heard, this past week Jackie Robinson West was stripped of their national title. It was a huge story in Chicago. It was a big story on national sports programs. But national front page news? I don’t know. It wasn’t quite Deflategate! It goes like this. JRW used players whose residency violated the defined boundaries of the league. Some Chicago voices are trying to turn it into a race issue, and it does smell vaguely of district gerrymandering and voter disenfranchisement. But that’s grasping at straws. Some enterprising parent or manager walked a couple blocks and said “hey, your kid’s pretty good. He should come play for us.” They brought in a ringer, or two, or three. And someone finally cried foul.
I cheated in a game once, probably more. It was a flag football game in gym class. I don’t remember my age. I wrapped the flags around my belt so they couldn’t easily be pulled off. I scored a long touchdown on the very next play. It was disallowed, of course, but I will never forget the exhilaration of running down that field, defenders grasping desperately at my waist to no avail. Nobody plays sports because he or she likes rules. You play because of the endorphins released by the physical activity, the self-satisfaction of improving a skill, the adrenaline rush of competition, the camaraderie, and the euphoria of winning. Rules are necessary to maintain order, but they are hardly as essential as, say, rules against insider trading or rules of military engagement. But cheating makes a great story, one that plays outside the world of sports. Deflategate anyone? Steroid scandal?
I don’t advocate cheating. I just don’t believe the myth of the tainted sports legacy. What happens on the field, court, rink, diamond, pitch, track, or course is a brief event accompanied by brief euphoria or slightly less brief misery. As fans we are lucky to share in the event and the emotions. The legacy is better left to sports figures like Jesse Owens, or Mohammed Ali, or Jason Collins and Michael Samm, or Jackie Robinson. So, unless you are talking about Joe Paterno and Jerry Sandusky, please don’t talk about tainted legacies when you talk about sports scandals. People get too clever and they get caught. The parents of Jackie Robinson West were chasing euphoria, and they chased it a little too obsessively. But frankly, that’s between them and their priests.
But what do I know? I know three things always give me chills: “I Heard You Looking” by Yo La Tango, handmade cards from my kids, and seeing players jump up and down, embrace, cry, and fall all over each other after a big win, no matter their age, race, or gender. Thanks for the chills, Jackie Robinson West! Your parents cheated; a minor scuffle ensued; the bell rang; and it’s back to class.
Mark it 8, Dude.
giantmooserocks 