FOURTH PLACE IS NOT REALLY LIKE KISSING YOUR SISTER!
Moving the Finish Line
Winning isn’t everything
said one who’d never won.
I’ll get me up and get on there
as soon as sleep is done.
I’ll show you what I’m made of
for you to judge yourself.
Blue steel is hid inside me –
that’s my pride and wealth.
I run, I throw, I catch the ball
and every contest named
will shower blue ribbons on me
unless I’m fallen lame.
If up and then I run again
applaud my pluck, of course,
‘tho they move the finish line,
I’m bound for first or fourth.
– Charles Brady
Here is a quick test: The Los Angeles Dodgers and the Boston Red Sox are about to begin the World Series. Los Angeles defeated Milwaukee to represent the American League and The Red Sox defeated Houston. Now, Can you name the THIRD BEST and FOURTH BEST teams in either league?
Right! We do not often remember the losers, even when they ALMOST WON!
Through circumstances and certain failings, I have often been one of those who almost won! And I think I have dealt pretty well with those failings. After all, I have won in just about every thing of real importance to me.
Early on in life I discovered that life did not arrange for me to win, place OR show. Sometimes, in fact quite often, I found myself out of breath and chasing three real or symbolic runners across the finishing line.
With maturity, I came to realize there is no indignity in not winning the prize – at least a real prize and not one for simply showing up. My great grandson Connor got
his early lessons in his T-Ball experiences where no score is kept and the whole team bats around before going on the defense.
I was musing about this a few weeks ago after it became certain that our former world champion baseball team and both of our former championship Professional football teams were, or were going to be, pretty bad this year.
Back in the ancient world of the Summer of my sophomore year of high school, I moved to the town of Nahunta (Georgia) and found that basketball was what everyone between the ages of five and fifty did in his spare time. Although I had never played the game, I joined the gang of kids my age and quickly picked up the rudiments. By basketball time, I made the Junior Varsity and my team won about half its games. I was NOT the star.
Next year, I had moved to the Woodbine, GA. school district and made the varsity. That team was not very good, but there were only nine of us on the team. In the middle of the year, I moved again to Riceboro, GA and returned to a school I had attended twice before – Bradwell Institute in Hinesville.
When I went to register I was six feet two inches and weighed a about 140 lbs. The Principal, Mister W.C. Pafford, asked me one question, “Do you play basketball?”
I immediately found myself on another losing team, and although I was the best rebounder, I was not the star. We won about half our games, but in the regional tournament, we played beyond our wildest dreams…. and placed fourth.
Trophies were awarded for teams placing first , second an third.
Bradwell High School existed in the “Separate But Equal” years in a school district that could not really afford anything beyond the basics for ONE school system. The school had no gymnasium, no dining room, no library, no auditorium – you get the picture.
What really hurt most of the guys my age was that we had no sports team except basketball, and, even that was “team” in name only. We practiced on an outdoor court and played home games in the nearby old barn of a structure on the closed Camp Stewart Army Base.
To get around some of the failings of a sports programs, some of our teachers worked hard to “make do.” One teacher organized an “American Legion” baseball team for us, secured some uniforms, and arranged for us to play nearby teams. My high point was a high fly ball that hit the aluminum centerfield fence….but foul. We never placed higher than Fourth.
For upcoming track and field high school tournaments, our teachers would get interested boys together and ask in which sport we’d like to participate. I wound up
as the team’s discus and javelin specialist…. and I was usually, by default, our high- jump guy.
For my junior and senior years, I placed fourth in the javelin (don’t ask!) and high jump (the old “scissors kick”). First through Third Place winners received shiny medals!
(An aside – not about sports:) My hand writing was so bad that my English Teacher MADE ME take a year of typing (only boy in the class, of course) I was never fast but I was always accurate and would up as our school’s representative at the regional first year typing contest. I was slow but accurate and I placed fourth.)
That was my experience of never getting anything tangible – to bring home – from my high school endeavors.
And it didn’t end there! In Army Basic Training, I was quite comfortable on the rifle range. I had hunted and fished all my life and knew how to handle a weapon. On the rifle range, I was confident, firing “Expert”, but finding that there were three others in my Company with higher scores. I missed third place by ONE round out of the black.
Over the years, I have accepted fourth place – I have decided that in any endeavor, worth attempting, fourth place is just not that bad! A recent study that followed the careers of football players drafted the highest from year to year found that their performances did not always match their performances in college.
