Sportsmanship

    The play was close and intense.  Spectators and players yelled encouragement from the sidelines.  The father stood alone, watching as players in constant motion moved with speed and grace.  A hard tackle was made and forwards from the University of Oregon and the University of Southern California came to the developing ruck.  The shrill warble of the official's whistle was heard.  It was Oregon’s third match of the day and the team was showing signs of frustration.

*****

    Oregon’s first match of the tournament had been against the University of California Berkley, one of the topped ranked teams in the nation.  The average point spread in their games was 87.  Ten minutes into the match the man’s son made a hard open field tackle, catching an opponent’s knee to his face.  A dull thud could be heard across the field, emerging from the pile the man’s son had blood and mucus flowing freely down his face, and a disgusted expression.  The official sent him off to stop the bleeding.

    The player ran to the sidelines as the man cut a piece of towel and together, laughing the father and son tightly rolled it and pushed it into the bleeding nostril.  His mother quickly wiped the blood from his face, and he ran onto the field to rejoin the match.

*****

    The official signaled diving into the pile against Oregon.  Oregon’s captain approached the official and asked a question, then turned his back on the official and walked away.  This earned him a card and trip to the sin-bin, for something he knew better than to do.  Oregon would now play a man short for seven minutes.  Halves had been reduced to twenty minutes for tournament play, so he had put his team at a disadvantage for a substantial portion of the match.
         
    Forty-five seconds later he was joined in the sin-bin by another Oregon player for the same infraction, then giving the official lip.  Rugby is a sport where the official is given respect.  No one is to speak with the official except the designated captain, even the coach.  Oregon was now up by a try, five points as the conversion had been missed, down by two players and the match wasn’t ten minutes old.

    The man watched as his son yelled out, “Damn-it! not another word, anybody.” It was in a tone of voice the father hadn’t heard from him before.  The son stepped between the official and his team mates.  With the sheer force of his presence he turned Oregon away from the official to avoid any more trips to the sin-bin.  He wasn’t the team captain; he didn’t lead the team in stretching or drills.  His playing skill and knowledge of the game had earned him the respect of the players and coaches.  He was an excellent player, but they respected and responded to the man, not the player.


    The father watched as Oregon turned from the official and formed-up for the coming scrum.  The player’s morale was low and tempers short.  The second match of the day had been against Washington State University.  Oregon should have won but a combination of playing some of the younger players and bickering among the team had led to a 12 point loss.

    Now in their final match of the day, the official was calling it tightly.  Tempers flared as Oregon felt the game was being called against them.  Shortly before half-time, an Oregon player mouthed off to the official and was ejected from the game.  Oregon would play a man short for the remainder of the match.  Parents and spectators on the Oregon sideline were livid; they felt the official was biased.  The man, his wife, the coach, and another parent were the only individuals not vocalizing their opinions.

    As half-time was signaled both captains were called to the center of the field for discussion.  Oregon’s captain returned and relayed the lecture; the official stated there would be no more leeway.  The official was going to call a very tight game in the second half, additionally; he would not tolerate remarks from any player. Neither captain had been given the opportunity to speak.

    The second half began and within a minute an Oregon player was in the sin bin, the team would play two men short for seven minutes. 

    Three or four minutes later the man’s son made what looked like a hard clean tackle on the opposite side of the field.  He was at the bottom of a pile, the man could see his son’s arms raised, signaling that he knew he was offside, it was apparent that he could not move until several players got off him.  As the players untangled themselves the official signaled that man’s son was to go to the sin-bin.  The line judge and player looked up in surprise.  He trotted down to wait behind the goal Oregon was defending.  The only words he spoke were to call for water; a younger player immediately took a water bottle to the sin-bin.  Oregon now played three men short.

    Two minutes later USC scored a try, after missing the conversion the score was tied.  There was much grumbling and complaining from Oregon’s sideline about the quality of officiating.

    The sin-bin eventually emptied and Oregon was back to a man down.  Each team drove the ball down to their opponent’s goal.  Then the defending team would make an exceptional stand and drive the ball down the field only to be stopped by another strong defensive stance.  For emotion, strength, and a battle of wills it was an exceptionally good match.

    The official’s shrill whistle was heard and the match was over.  The Oregon coach made sure that the ‘B’-side joined the players on the field for the short, tense congratulatory ‘handshake’ with their opponent.  It was clear from the sidelines that most players barely had their emotions in check.

    The man watched each player drag their hand across the opposing players, very little was said, positive or negative.  As his son passed the last player he started towards the sideline before quickly turning and jogging towards the official.  He approached the official and held his hand out, thanking the official for umpiring the match.  The two shared a firm handshake and exchanged a few words, which ended in both men smiling and laughing.  The man was stunned; he could tell his son was pent with controlled anger.

    The Oregon coach gathered his players around, talking about the game and the need to recognize that only the captain may talk to the official, and that when an official is speaking to you, you do not, ever, turn your back.  The captain talked shortly about the game and the need to learn from it.  The coach then asked, as he always did, if anyone else had something to say.  The man’s son, who had been on the periphery of the circle replied that he did, and took a step into the circle of players, there was some indistinct conversation among a few of the players, the parents, and girlfriends standing around.

    In low tones, the son said, “Fuckin’ quiet everybody I have something to say.”  The players became quiet.  The surrounding spectators became quiet, his anger now quietly evident.  “We tied.  We should have won.  I can live with that.  There was a lot of fighting and bitching among ourselves today.  I can’t live with that.  And I won’t be a part of it.  So it’s going to stop,” he stepped back.

    “Well said,” the coach voiced.

    The father was taken aback; his son was the ‘old man’ of the team at twenty-five, but in many respects he still thought of his son as a young man.  The father wandered towards the official’s tent, thinking he wanted to ask the official a question; he wanted to ask him what his son had said. 

    It was apparent when he approached the official’s tent that it had been a draining match for him also.  The father asked the official what the tall blonde kid had asked him after the match.  He knew what his son had said, and he knew the question sounded lame as it came out his mouth.

    The official said, “He just wanted to thank me for the match.  He’s a class act.”

    Suddenly, the father realized why he was there; he was proud of his son, he was proud and pleased with the man he had become.  He wanted the official to know that he was the father of the tall blonde man.

*****

    That evening the father and his wife had dinner with their son.  He was sore, his eyes were turning black, his nose was swollen and it was apparent he was not feeling too good.  They ate at a small, wooden paneled, English Pub near where the team and they were staying.  They shared a meal and conversation.  It was an evening the father would always remember.

*****

    As the man and his wife lay in bed that evening he said, “You know, he’s a man now - not a young man - he is a man.  He’s a good man, I am proud of him.”

    The man’s wife turned to look at him, “Yes he is a good man.  You did a good job.”

    “No, I don’t think it was me, it was you.”

    “Both of us, together, but you taught him to be a man.”  She softly stroked his cheek.

    “I don’t know.  He thanked the official after the match.”

    “Yes, I know.  Where do you think he learned that?  He learned that from you.”

    “From me?”

    “You don’t remember do you?  Remember how you always had all your teams thank the referee after a match?  Every single player, on every single team you ever coached you had each player thank the official every game.  He learned that from you.  You set a good example.”  Again, she softly touched him.