It’s probably an apocryphal story, but in 1930, when Babe Ruth was negotiating his contract — he wanted $85,000 per season — Jacob Ruppert, then-owner of the New York Yankees, asked how could Ruth possibly justify wanting to make more money than Herbert Hoover, the president of the United States.
“I had a better year,” said Ruth.
In 1929, Babe Ruth hit .345 with 46 homers, 154 RBIs, and 121 runs scored in 135 games. Hoover presided over the stock-market crash and the beginning of the Great Depression.
Ruth wasn’t lying.
A few weeks back, I went with my high school son — stepson, actually, but I have been told if one uses a hyphen in referencing his or her child, stop — to his wrestling orientation. Gregory is not a standout wrestler, or even, from what I can tell, very good. He knows it, too, which may explain why he won’t invite his mother or me to his meets — not that we would care if he wins or not. The meeting was held in the school gym, which was empty and devoid of any wrestling championship banners. The team was there, as were some of the parents, as were the three coaches, including the new head coach. The program has been through much in the past year. Two students from the school, one a female wrestler, were found dead in a parked car outside of a local Dunkin’ in 2023. It was carbon-monoxide poisoning. Gregory didn’t talk much about it — he’s 18, so, like most teens, doesn’t talk much about anything — but he knew the girl. How teens process death — I have no idea.
In the gym that day, there was no mention of the dead.
The coach handed out a contract that he makes all the wrestlers sign, which states how the team will dress on days there are meets (suits, while encouraged, are not required), how wrestlers not chosen to compete will comport themselves when a match is going on, and how they will behave in the classroom. He spoke about how his father was a wrestler and how wrestling can open doors for wrestlers later in life.
“It’s a special club,” he said. “Our sport begins where other sports end,” which I’m still trying to figure out what that meant. “We’re competitive. We’re in this together. We need parents, we need the community.”
Nothing wrong with any of that, but I couldn’t help think something was missing.
He promised us parents he’d be accessible by email and texts, but then reminded us that due to a new school policy, he could no longer contact students directly. He didn’t seem to agree with the policy, but he wasn’t going to lose his job over it either. He then told us he would not tolerate abuse from parents to his team members.
“I’ll get in your face,” he said, “if I see some parent have a kid up against a wall — even if it’s your kid.”
I have no idea what the backstory is on that.
But something was missing.
After the meeting, as Gregory and I were leaving, I realized what it was.
The coach never told the team to have fun, to just enjoy themselves this season.
According to scholarshipstats.com, in America there are 238,924 high school boys wrestling. Of those, 12,318 will wrestle in college, or about 5% — and only 2,791 of those will wrestle for an NCAA Division I school (about 1.2%).
He didn’t mention that either.
The numbers for other sports are just as sobering. A high school basketball player in America has a 0.9% chance of playing for a Division I college program, and only 1.1% of that 0.9%, according to the NCAA, will play in the pros. According to sportster.com, once the 0.9% of the 1.1% get to the pros, their careers will last 4.5 years.
To put these numbers in perspective, of 538,446 high school football players in America last year, 46 will someday make the pros.
America is an odd place when it comes to competition. We have the strongest military, and win the most Olympic gold medals, but Luxembourg has better healthcare, and Iceland has paid maternity leave for six months … for both parents.
“Friday Night Lights” is not just the title of a book about football. In Oklahoma, those lights are our solar system. There are thousands of high school athletes in the state playing under billions of stars — and almost all of them anonymous.
Considering what’s going in college athletics these days, with the advent of NIL (name, image, and likeness), sports are now as impersonal as the oil and gas industry.
The SEC is OPEC.
We’re all bemused.
As University of Colorado head coach Deion Sanders recently said — and there is no one in collegiate sports these days quite as sanctimonious or as insufferable — to reporters after a game, “Why you being so hard on these kids? You were never like this. Is it because they’re all making more money than you?”
He’s right to be annoyed. But the media is right to treat his athletes like professionals (they are), and the players are right to want to be paid like professionals. We’ve changed our relationship with sports. Maybe there’s no room for fun anymore, be it pro, college, or even high school wrestling — or maybe we just quit reminding ourselves to look for it.
Barry Friedman is an essayist, political columnist, petroleum geology reporter — quit laughing — and comedian living in Tulsa, Okla. His latest book, “Jack Sh*t, Volume 2: Wait For The Movie. It’s In Color” is the follow-up to “Jack Sh*t: Volume One: Voluptuous Bagels and other Concerns of Jack Friedman.” He is also author of “Road Comic,” “Funny You Should Mention It,” “Four Days and a Year Later,” “The Joke Was On Me,” and a novel, “Jacob Fishman’s Marriages.” See barrysfriedman.com and friedmanoftheplains.com.
From The Progressive Populist, November 1, 2024
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