Card's right

Ever since I started reading the Seventh Son series back in the eighties, I’ve suspected I would get on well with Orson Scott Card.

He’s American, I’m a Brit. He’s a Mormon, I’m CofE. He doesn't believe in global warming and he probably says ‘tomayto’. But still I suspected, and now I’ve read his recent essay on sport, I know.

“I keep hearing all kinds of wonderful things that playing sports are supposed to do for kids.

Teaching them teamwork, for instance. But doesn't playing an instrument in a band or orchestra teach the same thing? What about singing in a chorus? You can get a lot more than five or nine or eleven kids going at once, and nobody can hog the ball.”

Preach it, my Utah-bred brother, and never mind the extra volume of scripture.

From ages 8-18 I was the victim of compulsory sport for which I had absolutely no motivation. The rugby, I am convinced, gave me chiropractic problems that last to this day. If God intended the second row to exist, he would have made the human skull pointy and ten times stronger, and sweaty rugby shorts would smell a lot nicer. The football (8-13) and hockey (14-18) weren’t so bad as you could run around a lot in the mud, keep warm in the freezing drizzle and (forced) enthusiasm got you just as far as skill. And cricket ... oh dear Lord, don’t start me on cricket. If golf is a way of ruining a good walk, cricket is how to ruin a nice snooze in a field of a summer afternoon. If you ever want to avoid someone throwing a cricket ball at you for three hours, just ask me to stand next to you. I can guarantee no ball will ever come near.

A brief sidetrack: if you have never read Bill Bryson’s book Down Under, do so – now – just for its wonderful, wonderful description of cricket. For instance, with thanks to Wikiquote:

“After years of patient study (and with cricket there can be no other kind), I have decided that there is nothing wrong with the game that the introduction of golf carts wouldn't fix in a hurry.”

“It is not true that the English invented cricket as a way of making all other human endeavours look interesting and lively; that was merely an unintended side effect. I don't wish to denigrate a sport that is enjoyed by millions, some of them awake and facing the right way, but it is an odd game.”

Back to sport, and here’s the strange thing. No one ever sat me down and talked to me about it. Academically, I generally had good teachers. If they detected a latent skill in me that they thought could be developed, they would encourage it. If they saw I was having difficulty, they would talk me through it. Nothing like that ever happened for sport. I don’t think they would ever have snagged me for one of the team-based field sports, but it wouldn’t have been too hard to nudge me in the direction of rambling or orienteering or swimming or even just circuit training in the gym – all sociable activities that help you fitten up and enjoy yourself and hang out with your mates. But no. None of these were invited, they were simply decreed. Skill, enthusiasm and motivation were assumed, and I was the one at fault if none of them were apparent.

I did swim, both above and below the surface; I was in the CCF (solo gliding wings, marksman on .22s and SLR); I was in the junior and senior debating societies. I may not have excelled but I was never rubbish. But they were all extracurricular and therefore below the radar. Did any kind of kudos come with any of them?

Guess.

Back to Card:

“I'm glad that people who love sports have had a good time with them. But don't ever, ever say, "This is a life lesson that you just can't learn any other way." There are no life lessons that you can't learn any other way.

And a kid who's lousy at sports but good at music or theatre or writing or videogames should get as much encouragement and honor as any athlete.

But he won't.”

Indeed. Pah.