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The Winner.
Topics: Perspective, Success, Father
I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five
or
six years old, but they were playing a real game - - a serious game-two
teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents. I didn't know
any of
them; so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being
anxious about winning or losing - I wished the parents and coaches
could
have done the same.
The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One
and
Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious.
They were clumsy and terribly inefficient. They fell over their own
feet,
they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball and missed it
but
they didn't seem to care. They were having fun.
In the second quarter, the Team One coach pulled out what must have
been
his first team and put in the scrubs, except for his best player who
now
guarded the goal. The game took a dramatic turn.
I guess winning is important even when you're five years old, because
the
Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were
no
match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy who was now
the
Team One goalie. He was an outstanding athlete, but he was no match
for
three or four who were also very good.
Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it everything he had,
recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly
to stop them. Team Two scored two goals in quick succession. It
infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac shouting, running,
diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he covered the boy who
now
had the ball, but that boy kicked it to another boy twenty feet away,
and
by the time he repositioned himself, it was too late-they scored a
third
goal.
I soon learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice,
decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from
the
office-he still had his suit and tie on. They yelled encouragement
to
their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field
and
his parents on the sidelines.
After the third goal, the little kid changed. He could see it was no
use;
he couldn't stop them. He didn't quit, but he became quietly desperate
futility was written all over him.
His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder -
yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed. He became anxious.
He tried to say that it was okay - to hang in there. He grieved for
the
pain his son was feeling.
After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it
before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help
to be
had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed to the referee -
and
then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both
cheeks. He went to his knees and put his fists to his eyes - and he
cried
the tears of the helpless and brokenhearted.
When the boy went to his knees, I saw the father start onto the field.
His wife clutched his arm and said, "Jim, don't. You'll embarrass him."
But he tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed
to
the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all - he
charged onto the field, and he picked up his son so everybody would
know
that this was his boy, and he hugged him and held him and cried with
him.
I've never been so proud of a man in my life.
He carried him off the field, and when he got close to the sidelines
I
heard him say, "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there.
I
want everybody to know that you are my son."
"Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried
and tried, and they scored on me."
"Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they scored on you. You're
my
son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish
the
game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And, son, you're going
to
get scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now."
It made a difference - I could tell it did. When you're all alone, and
you're getting scored on - and you can't stop them - it means a lot
to
know that it doesn't matter to those who love you. The little guy ran
back on to the field - and they scored two more times but it was okay.
And my Father - my Heavenly Father rushes right out on the field - right
in front of the whole crowd - the whole jeering, laughing world - and
he
picks me up, and he hugs me and he says, "John, I'm so proud of you.
You
were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son,
and
because I control the outcome of this game, I declare you - The Winner.