Losing big only delays gratification

By David Goldenberg

The Calhoun contingent had slowly disappeared from the Yale Bowl, leaving me with only a few compatriots in the student section. Those that remained could be classified into two groups: diehard fans and those who were too disoriented to find their way back to the tailgates. As Connecticut forced its way down the field for its ninth touchdown of the day, my mind began to wander back a few years...

I tried to avoid looking at them. I was ashamed of myself and my team. I didn't want to see the Sharks' reaction as our goalie dribbled down the field, humiliating their exhausted defenders. I didn't want to see them watch my teammates giving each other high-fives. I just wanted the referee to blow the whistle so I could shake their hands and give the obligatory "good game." And then leave.

At final count, my team, the Magic, had tallied 13 goals in perhaps the most dominating performance of under-12 soccer ever before seen in Alabama. We had controlled the ball from start to finish and held the Sharks to only one shot (which was really no more than a desperate clear by their center fullback that had traveled farther than usual). But at the end of the match, I wasn't marvelling over our comprehensive dismantling of a team that simply wasn't that good.

I was frustrated by the actions of my teammates and angered by the decisions of my coach. It seemed ridiculous to me that our starting team should have played most of the second half even though we led 6-0 at halftime. Moreover, the coach ordered us not to back down, leading many of my teammates to try to score in the most glamorous ways possible. The Sharks left the field looking like someone had just told the world their deepest, darkest secrets. I always wondered what it would be like to be in their shoes.

You probably think that I'm now going to tell you about a game in which the tables were turned and we got crushed and learned our lesson--but I'm not. Our team was so good we won the state title that year. We never had to experience the humiliation of being outplayed in every aspect of a game we had devoted part of our lives to playing.

The next year, we again faced the team we had beaten by a baker's dozen. Being pre-teens, we were all very confident in our ablility to win, thinking nothing of the motivation of the other team. And once again, we prevailed. But the Sharks played well, and this time, they were the ones who walked off the field smiling. The reason? Delayed gratification. By staying competitive, they gained satisfaction. They were motivated by embarassment to play better and harder this time around.

I had yet to understand that satisfaction when I started playing rugby in college. Only half a semester into my first season, the team traveled to England to face a number of native university squads. We were soundly thrashed by Oxford, and even though they put in their reserves by the end of the game, I don't recall them hitting any softer. Although defeat was certainly bitter, we learned how to play better, and in our embarassment (if you can call losing by 60 points to a bunch of guys that were weaned on mouth guards embarassment), we were inspired to play harder. We continued to improve our play throughout the rest of the tour, and even though we returned to New Haven winless, we returned confident.

This was apparent as we proceeded to trounce our next two American opponents by a combined score 190-3. Using moves picked up from British players and determination gained from a spring break chock full of humiliating defeats, we picked apart unprepared defenses and continued to execute solid play after solid play. We never let up in intensity, and it was only after time ran out that we realized how badly we had beaten our opponents. I wasn't ashamed of our performance in the least, and I certainly didn't fault my teammates or coach for our decisive victories.

None of the players from those teams that we slaughtered stayed around long enough to have a beer and chat. But I'm sure that somewhere, hidden under their bruised exteriors, they were preparing for the gratification of next year's game.

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