Green: Taking the good with the bad
Two diamond stories collided early this week. One, about softball. The other, hardball. The first is one I hope you’re already familiar with: Sara Tucholsky, a senior at Western Oregon University, hit a three-run homer in a game with playoff implications. It was her first home run — ever. But she tore her ACL rounding the bases, and as she lay in agony by first base, the umpire said if her teammates tried to help her up, she’d be out. So two players on the opposing team, Central Washington, decided to carry her. Liz Wallace and Mallory Holtman made sure to gently tap Sara’s left foot on every bag as they rounded the basepaths. The story was picked up by ESPN, the AP, CBS, The New York Times and countless blogs, cutting through the latest crop of stories about athletes misbehaving.
But even softball’s feel-good story couldn’t top baseball’s feel-bad story — the latest episode of The Roger Clemens Lifetime Original Movie.
In the hardball story, Clemens released a formal statement. It was called an apology, though he did very little apologizing in it. “Like everyone, I have flaws,” he wrote. “I have sometimes made choices which have not been right.” What those flaws and choices were, he did not say, though the statement comes after a week of revelations about his alleged extra marital affairs and the nature of his relationship with a 15-year-old girl. “I believe my personal life has nothing to do with the accusations of steroid and HGH use,” Clemens continued, although despite what Roger Clemens believes, when you sue someone for defamation, your personal life has a tendency to stop being private. “I have already made clear that I did not use them,” he said, as if anything in this case has been clear.
Finally, he concluded, “having offered this apology to the public, I would ask that you let me and my family deal with these matters in private.” As if telling people to go away is any kind of apology. As if simply asserting something makes it so.
Too many pro athletes look at all they have — the talent, the money, the fame — and feel entitled when they ought to feel blessed. Too many pros rely on full-throated denials and half-hearted apologies to get them out of trouble, when they ought to know better than anyone that it’s your actions that define you, not your press releases.
“It kept everything in perspective,” said Pam Knox, Western’s coach, of Liz and Mallory’s quick compassion, “and the fact that we’re never bigger than the game. It was such a lesson that we learned — that it’s not all about winning.”
One lesson that’s all too easy to forget. Two very different stories from the diamond.
