体育轶事:我为何不想让孩子踢足球

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

很早以前的1982年，我哥哥注册参加了青年足球队。

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。哥哥戴维(David)当时只有12岁──极度害羞、不善社交，没有几个朋友。妈妈和爸爸以为参加球队可能会有好处，因此他们到梅欧帕克体育协会(Mahopac Sports Association)给他报了名，希望新鲜的空气、青青的绿茵以及奔跑、踢球、欢笑会给他注入信心和快乐。

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.

我记不得戴维所在球队的名字了，但它突出的特征是其红色的队服，教练是本地一位做消防员的父亲。他是一个嗓门高、脾气躁的家伙，与大多数周末我在家乡纽约州新罗谢尔(New Rochelle)的运动场边看到的很多父亲没什么区别。

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.

每场比赛开始前，教练会让他的全体队员站成一圈，面朝里伸出手大喊一声：“团队合作！”然后，我哥哥无一例外地会走向长凳、坐下来、一直呆在那儿──完全不被理会──时间长达四分之三场比赛之久。就在最后一节比赛开始前，教练会指指戴维，心不甘情不愿地把他塞到右后卫的位置，以达到所有孩子必须踢足的最低时间要求。他是在向别人明确表示，我哥哥是薄弱环节中最薄弱的一点，他是一名毫无用处的的足球运动员。

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.

三十多年过去了，我仍然对那名教练感到厌恶。我知道他的名字，知道他的下落，经常幻想着在超市或咖啡店与他遭遇。

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

我：“你过去当过足球点教练，对不对？”

Him: 'Sure did.'

他：“的确当过。”

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

我：“你记得1982赛季第三场比赛的比分吗？”

Him: 'What?'

他：“什么？”

Me: 'How about the fifth game?'

我：“第五场比赛的比分呢？”

Him: 'Um ...'

他：“嗯……”

Me: 'The first game? The second?'

我：“第一场比赛的比分记得吗？第二场呢？”

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：“是这样，由于你假借打赢一堆毫无意义的12岁年龄组足球比赛的名义，你他妈毁掉了我的哥哥……”

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.

那样的经历──以及那些记忆──不仅仅毁掉了戴维，也揉碎了我的心，对于一个不仅热爱体育运动，而且将记录体育历史作为职业的人来说，这样的事情实在不同寻常。

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

也就是说，很大程度上由于对梅欧帕克体育协会、足球和1982赛季的记忆，我不想让我的孩子们从事有组织的集体运动项目。

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。集体运动项目可以培养人的性格，教会年轻人如何去对待输赢胜败。集体运动项目教给人的都是队友情谊、患难与共、团结一致以及……

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.

也许很久以前，青年体育联盟普遍提供的都是积极的东西。而如今，我看到的是家长迫不及待地想让他们的孩子获得远方大学的奖学金；教练们自视为下一个尼克?萨班(Nick Saban)和约翰?卡利帕里(John Calipari)；要求终年为球队效力；雇佣私人教练帮助六岁的小球员掌握变速球技术。我去看小孩子的体育赛事时，鲜有几次没听到至少有一两位家长要么冲着脸上长满疙瘩的少年裁判粗俗地大喊大叫，要么嘲笑对方球队，要么要求给自己的孩子多一些上场的时间。

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.'

我儿子埃米特(Emmett)在过去的三个赛季中参加过春季棒球赛。他是一名稳健的击球手，也是一名糟糕的守场员，但是他很喜欢棒球比赛，后来他还喜欢上了列队握手的仪式。去年夏末的时候，我第一次收到了“秋季棒球赛”的报名表。

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

“秋季棒球赛？”我问另一名家长，“为什么？”

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

“因为，”他说，“这是一个让人更多关注棒球比赛的机会。”

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.

我问埃米特他是否愿意既在秋天又在春天打棒球。他停顿了1/1,000的时间，然后回答说：“太多了。”

'Too much what?' I asked.

“太多什么了？”我问道。

'Too much baseball,' he said.

“太多棒球比赛了，”他说。

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.

现在，春天来了，埃米特的地位不可避免地会下降。那些参加了“秋季棒球赛”的孩子会优越得多。教练会把重要的位置交给他们。我儿子会被安排在右外场，他会被排在第八个击球，或许是第九个。他会产生挫败感、感觉低人一等、失去兴趣。情况不会像1982年那样糟糕，但看上去有几分熟悉。

No, thank you. Not interested.

不，谢谢。我们不感兴趣。

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?

我想让我的孩子们参加田径和越野──这些运动的最终目标是实现个人的最佳成绩。我想让他们学习一种乐器、掌握一门手艺、参加戏剧俱乐部。我想让我儿子成为一名“科技迷”。我想让我女儿写诗。我不在乎他们是输还是赢，只要他们尽心尽力，只要他们开心就行。在这个国家，我们很不健康地看重胜利，从来没有停下来思考一下游戏的终局。是的，奖牌是不错的东西，奖杯也是。但是，说真的，做最强者有那么重要吗？为什么我们如此看重结果，而把过程的价值抛之脑后？我们为何要花那么多时间把我们的子女变成……我们自己？

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，我曾经就像我现在憎恶的那些体育家长一样。我需要做赢家──未能实现这一目标的任何情形都是一种失败。我会落泪、意志消沉，把自己锁在房间里。我会向自己保证下次会表现更好──而当下次的表现并不是那么好时，我的感觉会更糟糕。后来，在十多年前的一天，我经历了一次顿悟：在代表《体育画报》(Sports Illustrated)的内部篮球队参加竞争激烈的联赛时，我得了两分，所有的罚球都没有投中，对方的一名前锋三番五次抢了我的篮板球，我感觉自己完全是一个废物──直到我想起一件事，比赛结束后，我们所有的人都要去社区的酒吧，整晚在那里吃喝、聊天。这才是我在体育中的最爱──团结一致、患难与共。

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.

不可思议的是，从那时候起，我不再把自己的生死与一场体育赛事的成功与否相关联。这种想法没有让我成为更优秀的体育选手（岁月不饶人），但是它让我用心安理得的喜悦之情取代了非理性的好胜之心。

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.

它也让我参透了一个道理：我的孩子不需要用有组织的青年体育赛事中的那种对立来让他们的人生变得完整。

If anything, they need to do without them.

如果说有什么需要的话，他们需要在没有那些对立的环境里成长。