18 years on Saturday’s fields
Jeff Nelligan • July 31, 2019
This autumn Saturday, more than 3,400 NCAA football, soccer and rugby teams will meet on fields throughout the nation. More than 846,000 high school soccer players will play this week, along with an even 1 million high school football players on approximately 13,800 teams.
Factor in 2.3 million youth soccer players and 1.2 million youth footballers – and then consider the tens of millions of total spectators.
These are staggering numbers of participation and competition – there is no voluntary endeavor like it in American society today.
I know these Saturdays well. Because for the past 18 years, I’ve spent every single one of them on a field. My three sons have played on various athletic teams - nearly three seasons every year - from the ages of 4 to 22. Indeed, many weekday afternoons I attended a practice or a game or drove to one or the other; then, there were the dozens of tournaments and college recruiting camps, from Maine to Florida. In this age of big data, I recently calculated that collectively, my kids played on approximately 147 teams, attended more than 8,700 practices, and played in more than 2,300 games.
But I’m hardly alone: Three out of four American families with school-aged children have at least one playing an organized sport — a total of about 45 million kids; 61 percent of boys’ ages 6 to 12 play a team sport. It’s even higher for females at 64 percent.
Certainly athletic participation occasions the usual tropes: discipline, personal satisfaction, alertness of mind. For example, as the Women’s Sports Foundation notes, female high school athletes are 92 percent less liked to get involved with drugs, 80 percent less likely to get pregnant, and 3 times more likely to graduate than non-athletes.
But there’s a deeper benefit. As a supercharged, 4th-grade lacrosse coach once lectured me and other parents sitting in bleachers on the eve of what he called “a make-or-break” season: “Folks, this field is the only place your Johnny puts himself out there to be judged by a bunch of strangers. And half of them want him to fail.” Coach Firebreather could have been talking about almost any young person on the fields today.
And amen to that. In an age of adolescent relativism and softness, on-field competition is where Johnny succeeds or fails, and he does so in direct relation to his preparation, resilience, and teamwork. No excuses. There’s no app for grinding.
Twenty-three hundred games later, what I recall most is the adversity: My kid in the soccer goal stopping 23 shots, but allowing another eight to get by; a kid fumbling near the goal line and losing a championship game. And oh yeah, a kid never leaving the bench, even in the fourth quarter of a blowout game. Kids choked up, parents dismayed, coaches in shock, the echoes of cheers from the winning team and crowd - all of it excruciating.
But I know that the recovery from disappointments made my boys much stronger than the elation of victories. And today, I bet few of the spectators today, except for parents, have even an idea of what it takes to play on an NCAA Division I team, even a Division III squad. As the NCAA notes, “Of the nearly 8 million students currently participating in high school athletics in the United States, only 480,000 of them will compete at NCAA schools.” What the NCAA left out was that maybe one fourth of those competing will get much playing time. I know. Firsthand.
Ultimately, rewarded by grinding, one son played four years of Division-III lacrosse on a team that twice had a Top 20 ranking in the ESPN/Nike College poll; another was cut from a Division I football team and played on a club lacrosse team that won a national championship. The third is the only one to break through to D-1, playing rugby, though he will be in that “three-fourth’s” participation category.
However, this Saturday will be the first time in 18 years in which I’m not on a field somewhere, enjoying the athleticism and sweat and rugged American competition. And, yes, the adversity. That’s because exactly one-half of the millions of young people on the fields today will be on the south side of the final score.
But that doesn’t really matter. They’re out there, being judged, even if it isn’t a make-or-break season.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Every Dad in America wants to raise a resilient kid.
Four Lessons from My Three Sons charts the course.
Written by a good-natured but unyielding father, this slim volume describes how his off-beat and yet powerful forms of encouragement helped his sons obtain the assurance, strength and integrity needed to achieve personal success and satisfaction. This book isn't 300 pages of pop child psychology or a fatherhood "journey" filled with jargon and equivocation. It's tough and hard and fast. It’s about how three boys made their way to the U.S. Naval Academy, Williams, and West Point – and beyond.
The most complex character in American cinematic history.
Douglas C. Neidermeyer, Membership Chairman, Omega Theta Pi
He discusses his inspiration for satire and the enduring appeal of “Animal House.”
We begin at the very beginning. Where else? It’s an early autumn evening and two excited freshmen saunter under the swaying elms lining the Faber College quad. It’s fraternity Pledge week and Larry Kroger and Kent Dorfman are on their way, theoretically, to meet new friends and share cheerful bonhomie, forge lifelong bonds and celebrate virtuous brotherhood all around. Nothing could be further from the truth. These two pilgrims are actually beginning a Homeric Odyssey of the Innocents through the Faber Greek system, at the end of which they will emerge…but hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Now, imagine holding to your eyes a kaleidoscope displaying an array of shifting scenes following our unwitting frosh duo, who serve as the chief catalysts of the film. Along with other chief catalysts. Who are they? Let’s find out. ______________________ “I, state your name…” Up the steps of a fashionable residence they stroll and a door opens into the Nietzschean hell of Omega Theta Pi. “Hi there, Doug Neidermeyer. Omega Membership Chairman.” This wonderfully patronizing voice foreshadows the rocky road ahead for our heroes. While sneering at Larry, Neidermeyer shuts the door on Kent’s head. Moments later, Omega Name Tag Hostesses Mandy Pepperidge and Babs Jansen cruelly take stock of the two, the latter voicing the endearing line that adorns this chapter. Forcefully guiding them away from the white Anglo-Saxon super-race of winners in the main room, our Membership Chairman delivers Larry and Kent to the nearby Third World sitting room where overt racism, antisemitism and ableism reach an instant and shocking peak. “Hi there fellas,” says Neidermeyer to the room’s hapless occupants, “I’d like you to meet Ken and Lonnie. Ken, Lonnie, let me introduce you to Mohammad, Jugdish, Sidney and Clayton.” Baleful stares emanate from the unfortunate trio on the couch and the inhabitant of the adjoining wheelchair. Then with his sphinxlike smile Neidermeyer adds, “Now, just grab yourselves a seat and make yourselves at home.” He forcefully pushes Lonnie onto the couch and then pats the corpulent Ken on the stomach while uttering one of the most vicious lines of the film: “And don’t be shy about helping yourself to the punch and cookies.” Spine-tingling action presaging the epic battles to come. Indeed, you can almost see the blind and crippled Clayton come to life. But hold on. Kent escapes this obvious trap to wander into the A-Listers piano lounge where Omega President Greg Marmalard, regency pipe in hand, holds forth to future shock trooper Chip Diller. Let’s listen in: “Now I’m not going to say Omega is the best house on campus. But a lot of outstanding guys figure they’ll pledge Omega or they won’t pledge at all. We do have more than our fair share of campus leaders. Something that never looks bad on your permanent record, Chip.” A pushy Chip Diller replies smarmily, “Well sure, everyone I talk to says Omega house is the best but…” Here Chip pauses and then continues, “I hate to seem you know, pushy…” Marmalard breaks in knowingly. “Let the unacceptable candidates worry about that because after tonight – “ Suddenly a sweaty Dorfman lurches into view next to Chip and Greg concludes “…there you are.” Oozing a mixture of insincerity and guile, Marmalard doesn’t miss a beat. He politely introduces Kent to Mandy Pepperidge and Chip, “…and over there is Terry Arbock, captain of the swim team, and that’s Carl Philips, editor of the Daily Faberian. And over here…” Marmalard skillfully steers him back to the land of the misfit toys “…is Clayton, Sidney, Jugless, Muhammad, Lonnie.” “We already met,” says Kent dolefully. “Ah, super! Then you’ll have plenty to talk about!” We have glimpsed our pure anti-heroes, Doug and Greg, and the percolating evil of Omega House in just 53 seconds. Are the battle lines drawn in this epic? Not quite yet, but the pencils are being sharpened. Shaking themselves free of the obvious Omega winners, Larry and Kent are outside again trudging onwards while the latter takes aim at his comrade’s pessimism. “I don’t think you’re trying very hard,” Dorfman says in exasperation. But he finds solace as they approach the known fraternity next door inasmuch as his brother was a Delta. “They gotta take me. It’s like their law. Don’t worry, Larry. I’ll put in a good word for you.” Moments later, in what some scholars call the most riveting scene in the film, Bluto urinates on their shoes. Another kaleidoscope of images bombards us from which there is no turning away. Because here we have another door opened - again that crafty symbolism! – and Delta Tau Chi is revealed to our nascent pledges. It’s a world of absolute mayhem (some use the word “symbolic” as a contrast to the hushed tones of the uptight Omega tea party). The squalid dwelling’s walls are covered in graffiti and cheesy posters and stolen road signs, loud music (a contrapuntal to the Liberace next door) and deafening conversation, beer bottles explode in every room and soon a motorcycle* breaks through the front door and is driven up the stairs to the second floor. Kent interrupts a high-stakes card game and Larry gazes at the breasts of a water-filled mermaid. ____________________ Author’s note: Carefully perceive here how the maudlin “coming of age” youth syndrome, normally years in the making in American life, is compressed into mere moments in this film. Striking. _____________________ Dorfman is soon introduced by Delta Tau Chi President Robert Hoover to Delta Rush Chairman Eric Stratton and his sidekick, Donald “Boon” Schoenstein. “Ken’s a legacy, Otter” says Hoover earnestly, “His brother Fred was a ’59.” Flounder helpfully interjects. “He says legacies usually get asked to pledge automatically.” Otter responds. “Oh well, usually. Unless the pledge in question turns out to be a real closet case. Like Fred.” Flounder gasps, “My brother!” Consider: Within five minutes the entire cast – minus one – is introduced. How do the screenwriters do it? Good question. Let’s fast forward because we can. At the official Delta Tau Chi Membership Meeting photos of Larry and Kent are projected by a slide projector on a beer-soaked bedsheet, provoking derisive cries of outrage and the heaving of empties. But as one savvy brother observes, Delta needs the dues. It is here we are witness to a unicorn moment which has escaped previous scholars and maybe even my esteemed readers. Dorfman’s pathos-ridden mugshot is shown, prompting Otter to rise to his feet to address his Delta brethren and defend Kent’s obvious unsuitability for any fraternity any where. This is the sole moment of kindly grace we see will see from Otter in the entire film. Noteworthy, but fleeting. In the seeming next moment, Hoover is wearing pajama bottoms, a Santa Claus jacket and a Viking horned helmet and initiating the pledges with the sacred Delta oath. In between belches, Sergeant-at-Arms Bluto majestically reveals their brotherhood identities, which is followed by the obligatory fraternity bonding scene: beer suds flying in the air and drunk young men dancing together and butchering the lyrics of culturally appropriated music....
Emile Faber, President of Faber College - 1904
It's 8:30 a.m. on a humid August Tuesday and I’m on the roof of the U.S. Capitol, the Dome rising 280 feet directly above. In my arms is a stack of thin boxes and I’m navigating a plywood gangplank leading to a rusted 15-foot flagpole. A colleague joins me carrying more boxes. She opens one and hands me a 2’ by 4’ American flag which I affix to the pole’s lanyard, raise and lower quickly, unfasten and hand to her as she hands me another. A third colleague brings out more boxes and retrieves the ones containing flown flags. This little dance continues for three straight hours. Afterwards, my colleagues and I carefully re-fold each flag and affix to it a “Certificate of Authenticity from the Architect of the Capitol” reading “This flag was flown over the U.S. Capitol in honor of____” and fill in the blank: “The Greater Bakersfield, California Chamber of Commerce”…the 80 th birthday of Wilbert Robinson of Bowie, Maryland, proud veteran of the Vietnam War…” We will perform this task for five days a week until Congress returns from recess. This is my very first job in Washington, D.C. and obviously, I have what it takes. *** Flag duty began my 32-year run in politics and government, which ended last week. It included four tours of duty on Capitol Hill working for three Members of Congress, two Presidential appointments serving Cabinet officers in the Departments of State and Health and Human Services, posts at two independent agencies, and a career position at FDA. The jobs were a mix of purely political positions where being on the south side of an election meant cleaning out your desk and getting good at catchy LinkedIn posts – twice that happened - and career federal government stints where the stakes were less exhilarating. *** I worked principally as press secretary and special assistant. The former job, a common D.C. occupation, was transformed in 2008 with the onset of social media, morphing from daily pronouncements of your boss’s wisdom on the issues of the day to rapid-fire postings on the obvious unreasonableness, even cruelties of your opponents. Sound familiar? As for the latter occupational specialty, special assistant, the terms ‘bagman’ or ‘fixer’ are more apt: A guy always two steps behind the principal but always ready to step up and fix whatever problem arose in daily political life. Need a special vegan lunch for Congressman Busybody, White House tour tickets for the Big Bad High volleyball team, or the personal phone number of the executive assistant to a heavy-duty lobbyist? I was your guy. Every leader needs a fixer. Like anyone else who works in D.C., I occasionally participated in a glam political moment – you know, that unique, epic event that would never ever be forgotten in D.C. history Until it was. *** The best part about government life was working for many men and women who were at the top of their game in the D.C. Swamp, one of the toughest arenas on the planet. Their success, from the vantage point of your humble correspondent, was attributable to four simple rules of life. “If you can’t measure it, it didn’t happen.” Every office I was in kept metrics on virtually every aspect of the principal’s week – how many meetings and events attended, X posts, interviews, committee votes, constituent letters, action items completed from memos?! Numbers, numbers, and always keeping score – and always the quest to improve. “Never lose it.” In a lifetime of political jobs, I may have heard a boss raise her or his voice half a dozen times, even during and after major-league setbacks. Self-control was their hallmark. One boss, a powerful House Committee chairman once confided to me, “I’m fine that 80 precent of my job is humoring these guys, no matter how crazy they get.” An equally valuable corollary skill: Humility. The ability of these individuals to admit to colleagues and staff when wrong on a particular issue. Which counterintuitively only upped their long-term credibility. “Something’s always gonna go south.” Always the need for a plan C. Every initiative during an upcoming day was scoured for what elements would interfere and how, if they occurred, they could be ameliorated. Hence, in the rare times when things did go south, there was always preparation in advance for getting to 80 percent of what was needed. “Good is not good enough.” Successful politicians and government leaders – and their staffs – never get complacent. If they do, they’re not long for the Swamp. Everyone is always hustling for the edge. A useful corollary learned from an NCO when I was in the Army: Always have your hand up. Volunteering is at the heart of the hustle, the cheerful willingness to take on the new and unknown and do whatever it takes. *** And that’s how it all started. On the second day of my first congressional tour the Member solicited volunteers “for a fun recess job that’ll get you out of the office.” It was flag duty and from that day onwards my government career could only go up. *****
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