Fish and Chipps: Winning isn’t everything

As opening day approached, the 2005 Reds were talked about as the odds-on favorites to win the New Albany Little League World Series in Ohio. The team was stacked with young talent, and somehow the head coach put on his “Billy Bean hat” and drafted a multitude of kids who, on paper, could do a little bit of everything and hit the socks off the ball.

On their first day of practice, the Reds were turning double plays and hitting balls deep into the outfield like they had just beefed up on hormones (but don’t worry, they were just big boys).

When the first game finally rolled around, the Reds showed up ready to play and didn’t back down. Their opponent, the poor Marlins, had no idea what was in store. The Reds run-ruled them in four innings and won 11-1. It was a demolition. The Reds had no pity and, just maybe, a bit too much hubris.

The Reds were the real deal — or so they thought.

No one knows for sure what happened after the opening day victory. Some players blame it on lack of commitment. Others point to summer vacations. Some said they didn’t have enough pitching, and good pitching always stops good hitting. Looking back on it, a few kids thought there might have been too much candy in the dugout.

All they know for sure is this — after that opening day victory, the Reds would never be the same. Something just didn’t click, and everything that could go wrong went wrong.

The Reds wouldn’t win another game that season, and for the youngsters, it was a tough summer of baseball. There were no awards, no banners, no trophies and no World Series. Just the team, its record and a summer on the baseball diamond.

Losing sucks. How do I know? I was a member of that infamous Reds team, and I watched our firsthand turn into the laughingstock of the league that summer. I don’t know how it happened, but I know things really took a nosedive for the worst when our head coach asked if I was willing to go behind the plate.

“Isaac, we need you to play catcher,” he said to me.

“Sure, coach,” I replied. “But I’m left handed.”

I was probably the only 11 year old within in a 200-mile radius that knew lefties don’t play catcher, but the situation was dire and I stepped up to the plate. I don’t think I ever made an accurate throw to second base, but it sure was a hell of a time back there.

In my short-lived athletic career, I never won much of anything. I never won a World Series, a championship trophy or a first-place banner. I never had my teammates lift me above their shoulders (maybe it had something to do with my obesity back then). I didn’t get to kiss my trophy in front of the camera or have my name called out as one of the league champions.

In fact, arguably my greatest athletic accomplishment is when I swam 100 laps for charity, got a bunch of raffle tickets and won an Xbox at the end of the day with my last raffle ticket.

I never wanted to be a loser. I had the same aspirations as any other kid who watched ESPN every day and cared about sports. I desperately wanted to be a winner. I saw the look on Ohio State football players’ faces after they won the 2002 National Championship. I saw grown men cry on national television as they got to lift up their championship trophies.

I knew all of the quotes and the famous clichés.

“I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’”

That was Muhammad Ali.

“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

That was Yogi Berra.

“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing,”

That was Vince Lombardi.

Back then, that was the only thing I believed. Winning is everything.

But now as I look back on all the losing, with all due respect, Mr. Lombardi, I have to say you’re wrong.

Winning isn’t everything.

In fact, in the grand scheme of things, winning isn’t even that important.

Somewhere along the way, and somewhere between overbearing parenting and millennials’ value for instant gratification, it feels as though the sports world (particularly the youth one) has forgotten that winning nothing is equally as important as winning something.

There is a growing epidemic across the youth sports landscape wherein everyone has to be a winner. Everyone has to receive a trophy. Who cares that they finished in last place? Who cares if they only showed up to half the games?

If you go to youth soccer fields and baseball diamonds across the country, you’ll see trophies being handed out left and right like they’re packs of barbecue DAVID Sunflower Seeds (those were always my favorite flavor).

There are many different schools of thought on the “trophy epidemic” and the “everybody’s a winner” culture, but here is mine: I learned more from losing than I ever did from winning.

Losing tests your commitment and desire. Losing teaches you how to be a good teammate and how to get back up. Losing makes you hungry. Losing pushes you. Losing keeps you focused. Losing builds character. Losing helps you become a champion.

True champions have understood the pain of losing. Every champion we revere was a loser at one point in time — it’s why they made it. It’s why they kept fighting. It’s why they stayed in the gym after practice. It’s why they cried when they finally got to hold that trophy. Losing is good for the soul (well, that’s probably what your grandmother says).

I always wanted to be crowned a champion, have a medal placed around my neck and have that picture of my teammates and I raising our pointer fingers up in the air. I never got it, and I probably never will.

But all of the losing made me who I am today. The 2005 Reds may have been the worst team assembled in New Albany Little League history, but I learned more about sports and life that summer than I ever did on any other team.

A trophy might be a nice piece of plastic to hang on your wall, but it’ll never teach you how to be a champion. To understand what it takes to be a champion, sometimes you have to be a loser first.

That’s the Reds way.

Oh, and I forgot to mention one important fact: when the Reds beat the Marlins 11-1, it was the first night of Passover, so I didn’t even get to play in the game. So much for #winning, right?