體育軼事:我爲何不想讓孩子踢足球

Way back in 1982, my brother signed up to play youth soccer.

很早以前的1982年，我哥哥註冊參加了青年足球隊。

It was my parents' idea. David was 12 at the time-painfully shy, socially awkward, owner of few friends. Mom and Dad thought joining a team might prove beneficial. So they enlisted him in the Mahopac Sports Association with hopes that the fresh air and the green grass and running and kicking and laughing would instill confidence and happiness.

那是我父母的主意。哥哥戴維(David)當時只有12歲──極度害羞、不善社交，沒有幾個朋友。媽媽和爸爸以爲參加球隊可能會有好處，因此他們到梅歐帕克體育協會(Mahopac Sports Association)給他報了名，希望新鮮的空氣、青青的綠茵以及奔跑、踢球、歡笑會給他注入信心和快樂。

I don't recall the name of David's team, but it featured red uniforms and was coached by a local dad who worked as a fireman. He was a loud, boisterous guy, not unlike many of the fathers I see alongside fields most weekends in my hometown of New Rochelle, N.Y.

我記不得戴維所在球隊的名字了，但它突出的特徵是其紅色的隊服，教練是本地一位做消防員的父親。他是一個嗓門高、脾氣躁的傢伙，與大多數週末我在家鄉紐約州新羅謝爾(New Rochelle)的運動場邊看到的很多父親沒什麼區別。

Before every game, the coach would have all his players form a circle, put their hands inside and yell out, 'Team!' Then, without fail, my brother walked to the bench, sat down and remained there-completely ignored-for three quarters. Immediately before the final period began, the coach would point to David and begrudgingly insert him at right fullback for the requisite minimum amount all kids must play. He made it painfully clear to the others that my brother was the weakest of weak links; that he was useless as a soccer player.

每場比賽開始前，教練會讓他的全體隊員站成一圈，面朝裏伸出手大喊一聲：“團隊合作！”然後，我哥哥無一例外地會走向長凳、坐下來、一直呆在那兒──完全不被理會──時間長達四分之三場比賽之久。就在最後一節比賽開始前，教練會指指戴維，心不甘情不願地把他塞到右後衛的位置，以達到所有孩子必須踢足的最低時間要求。他是在向別人明確表示，我哥哥是薄弱環節中最薄弱的一點，他是一名毫無用處的的足球運動員。

More than three decades removed, I detest that coach. I know his name, know his whereabouts, and often fantasize about running into him in a supermarket or coffee shop.

三十多年過去了，我仍然對那名教練感到厭惡。我知道他的名字，知道他的下落，經常幻想着在超市或咖啡店與他遭遇。

Me: 'You coached youth soccer back in the day, right?'

我：“你過去當過足球點教練，對不對？”

Him: 'Sure did.'

他：“的確當過。”

Me: 'Do you remember the score of the third game of the 1982 season?'

我：“你記得1982賽季第三場比賽的比分嗎？”

Him: 'What?'

他：“什麼？”

Me: 'How about the fifth game?'

我：“第五場比賽的比分呢？”

Him: 'Um ...'

他：“嗯……”

Me: 'The first game? The second?'

我：“第一場比賽的比分記得嗎？第二場呢？”

Him: 'Huh?'

他：“啊？”

Me: 'Right. Because in the name of winning a bunch of meaningless 12-year-old soccer games, you f-ing destroyed my older brother ...'

我：“是這樣，由於你假借打贏一堆毫無意義的12歲年齡組足球比賽的名義，你他媽毀掉了我的哥哥……”

That experience-and those memories-didn't merely slice up David. They sliced me up, too, in a most unusual way for a guy who not only loves athletics, but who has made a career out of chronicling them.

那樣的經歷──以及那些記憶──不僅僅毀掉了戴維，也揉碎了我的心，對於一個不僅熱愛體育運動，而且將記錄體育歷史作爲職業的人來說，這樣的事情實在不同尋常。

Namely, thanks in large part to Mahopac and soccer and 1982, I do not want my children playing organized team sports.

也就是說，很大程度上由於對梅歐帕克體育協會、足球和1982賽季的記憶，我不想讓我的孩子們從事有組織的集體運動項目。

I know ... I know. Team sports build character. Team sports teach youngsters how to win and lose. Team sports are all about camaraderie and togetherness and unity and ...

我懂……我懂。集體運動項目可以培養人的性格，教會年輕人如何去對待輸贏勝敗。集體運動項目教給人的都是隊友情誼、患難與共、團結一致以及……

No.

非也。

Perhaps, long ago, youth sports leagues offered universal positives. Nowadays, however, what I see are parents itching to land their kids far-off college scholarships; coaches thinking themselves the next Nick Saban and John Calipari; calls for year-round dedication; the hiring of private tutors to help 6-year-old Junior master the changeup. Rare are the times that I've attended a young sporting event without hearing at least one or two parents scream vulgarly at a pimply-faced teen referee, or mock the opposition, or demand more playing time for their tykes.

也許很久以前，青年體育聯盟普遍提供的都是積極的東西。而如今，我看到的是家長迫不及待地想讓他們的孩子獲得遠方大學的獎學金；教練們自視爲下一個尼克?薩班(Nick Saban)和約翰?卡利帕裏(John Calipari)；要求終年爲球隊效力；僱傭私人教練幫助六歲的小球員掌握變速球技術。我去看小孩子的體育賽事時，鮮有幾次沒聽到至少有一兩位家長要麼衝着臉上長滿疙瘩的少年裁判粗俗地大喊大叫，要麼嘲笑對方球隊，要麼要求給自己的孩子多一些上場的時間。

My son Emmett has actually participated in spring baseball the past three seasons. He's a solid hitter and an awful fielder, but he enjoys the game and digs the handshake line afterward. Late last summer, we received our first-ever a sign-up sheet for 'Fall Ball.'

我兒子埃米特(Emmett)在過去的三個賽季中參加過春季棒球賽。他是一名穩健的擊球手，也是一名糟糕的守場員，但是他很喜歡棒球比賽，後來他還喜歡上了列隊握手的儀式。去年夏末的時候，我第一次收到了“秋季棒球賽”的報名表。

'Fall Ball?' I asked another parent. 'Why?'

“秋季棒球賽？”我問另一名家長，“爲什麼？”

'Because,' he said, 'it's a chance to focus more on the game.'

“因爲，”他說，“這是一個讓人更多關注棒球比賽的機會。”

I asked Emmett whether he'd like to play baseball in the fall and spring. He paused for 1/1,000 of a second. 'Too much,' he replied.

我問埃米特他是否願意既在秋天又在春天打棒球。他停頓了1/1,000的時間，然後回答說：“太多了。”

'Too much what?' I asked.

“太多什麼了？”我問道。

'Too much baseball,' he said.

“太多棒球比賽了，”他說。

Now, come spring, Emmett will begin his inevitable decline. The 'Fall Ball' kids will be far superior. The coaches will hand them the prime positions. My son will be placed in right field. He'll hit eighth. Maybe ninth. He'll grow frustrated, feel inferior, lose interest. It won't be as bad as 1982, but it'll seem familiar.

現在，春天來了，埃米特的地位不可避免地會下降。那些參加了“秋季棒球賽”的孩子會優越得多。教練會把重要的位置交給他們。我兒子會被安排在右外場，他會被排在第八個擊球，或許是第九個。他會產生挫敗感、感覺低人一等、失去興趣。情況不會像1982年那樣糟糕，但看上去有幾分熟悉。

No, thank you. Not interested.

不，謝謝。我們不感興趣。

I want my kids to run track and cross country-where the ultimate goal is to accomplish your personal best. I want them to learn an instrument, to master a craft, to join the drama club. I want my son to be a 'science nerd.' I want my daughter to write poetry. I don't care if they win and I don't care if they lose, as long as they try and as long as they're happy. We place such an unhealthy emphasis in this country upon victory, without stopping to ponder the end game. Yes, medals are nice. Trophies, too. But, really, what's so important about being the best? Why are we so focused on the result, while forgetting the value of the journey? Why do we devote so much time turning our offspring into ... us?

我想讓我的孩子們參加田徑和越野──這些運動的最終目標是實現個人的最佳成績。我想讓他們學習一種樂器、掌握一門手藝、參加戲劇俱樂部。我想讓我兒子成爲一名“科技迷”。我想讓我女兒寫詩。我不在乎他們是輸還是贏，只要他們盡心盡力，只要他們開心就行。在這個國家，我們很不健康地看重勝利，從來沒有停下來思考一下游戲的終局。是的，獎牌是不錯的東西，獎盃也是。但是，說真的，做最強者有那麼重要嗎？爲什麼我們如此看重結果，而把過程的價值拋之腦後？我們爲何要花那麼多時間把我們的子女變成……我們自己？

Once, long ago, I was like the sports parents I now abhor. I needed to win-and anything short of that goal was a failure. I'd cry and mope and lock myself in my room. I'd promise myself the next time would be better-and, when it wasn't, I'd feel even worse. Then, one day more than a decade ago, I experienced an epiphany: While playing for Sports Illustrated's intramural basketball team in a competitive league, I scored two points, missed all my free throws and had an opposing forward repeatedly beat me to the rim. I felt like absolute crap-until I remembered that, when the game ended, we'd all go out to the neighborhood bar to talk and eat and drink the night away. It was what I loved most about sports-the unity and togetherness.

很久以前，我曾經就像我現在憎惡的那些體育家長一樣。我需要做贏家──未能實現這一目標的任何情形都是一種失敗。我會落淚、意志消沉，把自己鎖在房間裏。我會向自己保證下次會表現更好──而當下次的表現並不是那麼好時，我的感覺會更糟糕。後來，在十多年前的一天，我經歷了一次頓悟：在代表《體育畫報》(Sports Illustrated)的內部籃球隊參加競爭激烈的聯賽時，我得了兩分，所有的罰球都沒有投中，對方的一名前鋒三番五次搶了我的籃板球，我感覺自己完全是一個廢物──直到我想起一件事，比賽結束後，我們所有的人都要去社區的酒吧，整晚在那裏吃喝、聊天。這纔是我在體育中的最愛──團結一致、患難與共。

Inexplicably, from that point on I never again lived and died with my success in a sporting event. The thinking hasn't made me a better player (age damns us all), but it's allowed me to replace irrational competitiveness with contented bliss.

不可思議的是，從那時候起，我不再把自己的生死與一場體育賽事的成功與否相關聯。這種想法沒有讓我成爲更優秀的體育選手（歲月不饒人），但是它讓我用心安理得的喜悅之情取代了非理性的好勝之心。

It's also allowed me to see the truth: That my children don't need the hostilities of organized youth athletics to make them whole.

它也讓我參透了一個道理：我的孩子不需要用有組織的青年體育賽事中的那種對立來讓他們的人生變得完整。

If anything, they need to do without them.

如果說有什麼需要的話，他們需要在沒有那些對立的環境裏成長。