We see great athletes every day. Amazing athletes who perform remarkable physical feats on a regular basis. Turn on SportsCenter any given night and what're you likely to see? Vince Carter slamming home a dunk from some impossible angle, or Ken Griffey, Jr. climbing a fence to rob a batter of a home run, or Tiger Woods pissing off every other golfer on the PGA tour by chipping in a birdie from the rough. For a country filled with men who grunt and groan with effort every time they haul their asses off the sofa, we can barely comprehend the phenomenal feats these men perform. And so we idolize them as our greatest athletes.
But they're not.
Now don't get me wrong, they're great athletes alright. Tremendous physical specimens. And one or two of them might even be good guys (though this is simply conjecture on my part). But when I think about truly great athletes those guys are all way down on my list.
Think about it a moment. What makes a great athlete? Physical skills, right? Sure, that's part of it. Strong character, too. There's also self-sacrifice, the ability to play through pain, and undying commitment to your teammates. Those are the qualities that I think make up a great competitor. Which is why I toss all these pampered pro athletes aside when I claim that the World's Greatest Athlete is...
... me.
Okay, maybe I better clarify. When I say 'me,' what I mean is 'you.' More clarification? Okay - I mean 'us.' And by 'us' I mean any regular guy who sits on his can at work all day, his mid-section growing thicker while his hairline gets thinner (if my hairline gets any thinner you'll be able to see my skull). The guy whose back kills him after mowing the lawn, whose feet kill him after walking down to the mailbox, and whose wife wants to kill him because he's always too tired to help around the house. So how is this guy the World's Greatest Athlete? Easy. Because he goes out every weekend, rain or shine, hurt or healthy, and plays ball with his friends.
Let's look at the list of characteristics I said make up a great athlete. First was physical skills. Now sure, the weekend warrior doesn't have the same physical skills that pro athletes have. But he doesn't have to. Because the weekend warrior isn't all that concerned with making the diving catch or the fade-away three-pointer or the long putt. Don't get me wrong, it's great when it happens (and can provide bragging material for years to come), but it's not the reason they play.
The weekend athlete plays for the love of the game, the camaraderie of his teammates, and the beer afterward. Not necessarily in that order. Those traits all fall under 'strong character'. (Alright, maybe not the beer part. When weekend athletes go out for beer afterward it's roughly equivalent to a pro athlete visiting the trainer's room. They have their medication, we have ours.) How many professional athletes do you get that 'love of the game' vibe from anymore? How often do you hear that some millionaire prima donna athlete can't get along with his coach or teammates? How often do you hear some jock whining about how tough his life is while being paid a king's ransom to play a GAME? You know what weekend athletes complain about? Not enough beer; Man it's hot out here; I was supposed to be home an hour ago my wife's gonna brain me.
Dave at bat. Notice how the right fielder moves in a few steps when Dave steps up to the plate. |
The weekend athlete is willing to play through pain. I've personally been on softball teams where the knee braces outnumbered the bats. I've seen guys go through knee surgeries, rotator cuff surgeries and back surgeries just so they can come back and play ball. With their friends. For no reward other than the sheer enjoyment that it gives them. How often have you heard pro athletes bitch and moan about some minor injury that keeps them from playing for half a season? I've seen guys finish games with broken ankles, broken wrists, broken noses. You may question their sanity, but you can't question their commitment.
How about self-sacrifice? In the pros, 'self-sacrifice' is when Ken Griffey, Jr. only takes $120-some million to play for the Cincinnati Reds. ONLY $120 million. The sacrifices he's willing to make for his team… excuse me a moment while I wipe the tears from my eyes. What does your typical weekend warrior sacrifice? Considering that 90% of them risk divorce every time they walk out the door with their sports bag slung over their shoulder, I'd say they're willing to sacrifice quite a bit. And divorce for a regular guy doesn't mean he's ONLY left with $60 million after his wife gets half of everything. It means he gets to live in an apartment complex surrounded by a bunch of 22-year-olds who think of him as "that old guy with the limp." So don't talk to me about self-sacrifice, Mr. Pro Athlete.
Then there's the undying commitment to your teammates. I spent a long time trying to think of an example of this in the pro ranks, but then I got a headache and had to lie down in a dark room for a couple hours. It seems like most pro athletes have an undying commitment to themselves, their paychecks, and their endorsement deals. Hell, actually playing the sport is just a stepping stone nowadays. It's almost an afterthought. But the weekend athlete is always there for his teammates. You need an extra guy or you won't have enough to play? The weekend warrior will be there - come rain, sleet, snow, domestic discord or hamstring pull. He knows that every other guy on that team is counting on him, and he's not about to let them down. Unless, y'know, some sort of family crisis occurs, like an injury or death... then he may be a few minutes late.
In fact, weekend amateur sports are all about camaraderie. They're all about the team. Winning is fun, but it's the sheer joy you get from being with your friends and playing a kid's game that keeps us coming back for more. And that's why, when I think of all the qualities that go into a truly great athlete, I think of that big fat guy with the huge beer gut and knee braces who can't bend down to field grounders anymore but still comes to play week in and week out. That's the guy with character. That's the guy who plays because he loves the game. That guy - with his hernia-protruding belly-button pressing against his shirt like a supermodel's nipples on a cold day - is the World's Greatest Athlete.
In fact, if I were choosing up teams for a softball game, and I had to pick between Mark McGwire and the fat guy with knee braces, do you know who I'd pick?
I'd pick McGwire. What, do you think I'm nuts?
But I'd respect the fat guy for still wanting to play. And I'd definitely buy him a beer afterward.
The World's Greatest Athlete 
