I was, to put it mildly, an absolutely disgusting high school cross-country runner. No, disgusting is not slang for good. I mean bad. Real bad. A teammate - who wasn't a very proficient runner himself - often competed in what appeared to be casual street shoes or cross trainers. During some races I finished behind him. This happened for a variety of reasons, none of which have to do with him probably being a better runner than me. The most critical reason why I often found myself in the middle or close to the end of the pack of meet competitors is the fact that at some point during the races, I just stopped caring. I mentally shut down. Gave up. Waved a white flag. Why the hell am I even here?, I'd ask myself. Literally hundreds of runners have passed me already, and I'm barely halfway through. There may have been a race or two where I actually stopped running once we got into the woods and knew there was no chance of anyone seeing me. I'd walk a couple steps, catch my breath, and wonder just where exactly I'd end up among the hordes of racers. One thing was certain - there was no chance in hell I was winning, or even finishing in the top ten for that matter.
But that doesn't mean I didn't get jack squat. They often gave out these to just about every runner at cross-country meets -
Hooray?
Recently, the National Football League briefly discussed, then tabled the idea of expanding their playoffs from twelve to fourteen teams. The league has thirty-two teams. However, both the National Hockey League and the National Basketball Association feature playoffs with sixteen teams apiece, or a little over 53% of their respective league making the postseason. Consider that a bit more closely - in both the NHL and NBA, over half the teams get into the playoffs. In many instances, some of these playoff teams do not even have winning records - the NBA has featured two such teams the last two postseasons, as well as a handful of others barely hovering over a .500 winning percentage.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand why most of the major North American pro sport leagues are looking to expand their post seasons - $$$$. It has always been about that bottom line. But the underlying message these sport leagues seem to be ignoring have been trickling down to the general public for quite a few years.
A Rhode Island school recently reversed its decision to cancel an awards ceremony for honors students after some thought it might be too "exclusive." The fact they considered canceling the ceremony in the first place is a bit baffling. These particular students worked hard for their recognition, and should be lauded for such merits. Evidently this idea had been seen as demoralizing for those students who were unable to attain honors status. It was a briefly failed attempt by a school to align all their students as one. In trying to create some imaginary level playing field, the media firestorm over their decision is what likely led to its reversal.
The relationship I'm trying to draw with this school, my crap running career, and a business like the NFL is a simple one - we are becoming increasingly oblivious to the concept of rewarding success. In fact it might be safe to suggest we mostly reward anything that even remotely tries nowadays. Why push yourself when you're just going to be appreciated for it somehow anyway? What does it teach when a student who busts her ass to get straight A's is considered right on par with that C- kid who struggles? What does it mean when a team with a 37-45 mark gets to vie for a championship with one that went 66-16? What does it mean when I stink it up on an athletic course, yet still leave with another trinket for my trophy case?
It means you get a trophy! YOU get a trophy! EVERYONE GETS A TROPHY!
