Learning to Compete

October 31, 2024

This is the second blog in the series "Let the Game Teach." This is about drilling down into what it means to compete and why winning or losing are not the best indicators of whether athletes are performing at the highest level possible.

Let's start with a famous story.

In 1970, the US 1500-meter runner Marty Liquori defeated the Olympic champion, Kip Keino, in the 1500-meter race at Villanova College. Keino led by almost 20 yards until the last lap when he slowed down, whether out of fatigue or, as he claimed later, out of respect for Liquori racing at his Alma mater. (there were also claims that he slowed down because of racist taunts)

For our purposes, the dramatic part of the race was after Liquori took the lead. In the last fifty yards, Liquori turned to Keino and said, "Don't quit, damn it."

In another sports world, Liquori might have trashed talked, insulting Keino.

But Liquori intuitively knew something: to do his best, he needed Keino to do his best. That's what competition is about. It's not about beating someone or the other team (the common understanding). It's about being pushed to do your best.

There is a lot to unpack.

First, the definition of competing. It comes from the Latin "competere," which means "to strive in common, strive after something in company with or together."

The goal of competing is to push yourself or your team to the limits of what's possible.

Winning, tying, or losing are simply markers in that pursuit.

I know this is hard to swallow because we've been brainwashed by slogans like "Winning is the only thing." Further, the mentality of professional sports (the soap operas) is blasted at us every game, every ESPN broadcast that winning is the entire point of sports. Finally, the way youth sports are structured — it's easy to give trophies to winners, but it's hard to know if a team that "lost" pushed themselves to or past their limits. "Winning" is clear, black and white: either you did or you didn't. Giving 100% is hard to measure.

Let's face it: we are culturally hung up on winning, defined as beating other people or being number one. Yet life is a lot messier than that. Success, fulfillment, and happiness are not directly linked to being number one.

But suppose you're serious about winning. In that case, I can guarantee a way to win consistently: Play against individuals or teams vastly inferior to you. Sixteen-year-olds could play eight-year-olds who have never played the game.

It's laughable, but it makes a point. Deep down athletes don’t want to just win, they want to be pushed to play “out of their minds,” beyond their ability, to push their limits. That’s what competition is about. When you’ve experienced that, you want more, regardless of the score of match or game.

Once we let go of the "need to win" as the only goal, what we want are those games and matches that are “competitive.” Those games are thrilling to watch and unforgettable to play in or coach— regardless of the outcome.

Once, in a very tight and exciting game, at the half, the opposing team's goalkeeper ran to our bench rather than his and yelled out, "This is a great game! Keep it up!"

He was a wise seventeen-year-old.

Next thought on why "winning" is just a marker, not the goal: It's not in our control.

No matter what voodoo, superstitions (I used to joke about sacrificing a chicken), plans we come up with, or exhortations we yell at our team, winning will remain a "maybe."

Why? Because we can't control the other variables: How good or bad the other team or individual is, the officials, the weather, the genetic gifts of our players, the parents and fans, or whether the kids had a good lunch and slept the night before the "big game."

Once, I had a group of seniors stop at a fast-food place on the way to the game and order green chile cheeseburgers. They all got sick 15 minutes into the game, a variable I did not anticipate. We lost.

Teenagers.

As you age, you discover that few things are under your control. (having your first child teaches you that instantly).

We can't control our talent, including our size, speed, quickness, or the number of "fast-twitch" muscle fibers.

When it comes down to it, all we can control is our attitude, effort, discipline, and desire. Even Vince Lombardi thought this. He claims he was misquoted when he said, "Winning isn't everything--it's the only thing." He said, "Winning isn't everything--trying your best is the only thing."

And here comes the hard part. As coaches and players, how do we know that we've given everything we've got? The truth, that is frustrating, is that only the athletes know for sure. There are behavioral markers for coaches. In the game I coach, soccer, there are the players who run "box to box," who talk and constantly encourage their mates, and who go after every contested ball. They are the players who compete every second, no matter what is on the scoreboard. (John Wooden, the famous UCLA basketball coach, said, "Play the game, not the scoreboard) They are the players who, at the end of a game, collapse in exhaustion because they have nothing left (But at the next training, they are ready to go again)

Yet even given those clues, only the athlete knows the truth.

It makes coaching, playing, and parenting an athlete much more interesting. We can measure our success by wins or losses or add other metrics: Did we teach our athletes that their self-imposed limits are imaginary? Did we teach them that hard work pays off? Did we teach them to know the difference between what they can control and what they can't and to be okay with it? Did we teach them to crave the challenging games? And finally, did we teach them that the "competition" is not our enemy but that competing against them makes us better? We need strong competitors, and we should welcome them with open arms. (And then play our best game possible!)

So, next time you're on the court or the field, or a parent watching from the stands looking at those eager young faces, remember it's not just about teaching them to win. It's about teaching them to compete: to go as far as they can with all they've got. That's a life skill.

Let the Game teach!