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Where have all the children gone?
|  | | Youth sports programs are a boom industry. |
When I drive through the neighborhoods, how come I don't see kids playing stickball in the street? When I drive past the parks, why are the tennis courts empty? Are children across America still coming home with red faces and fat lips from a touch football game that got a little too touchy?
I don't see it. Sure, I see kids playing sports in large numbers and at early ages. The youth programs are a boom industry. All it takes is 40 bucks from a parent who's also willing to work at the concession stand twice a year so his or her kid can get an eighth place trophy and a T-shirt with the name of a local hardware store ironed on the back.
There's peewees and bantams and mites, oh my, playing hockey. There's Pop Warner football. There's "soccer-in-a-box" for 4-year-olds who have no idea why all the grownups are standing around a 60-foot square screaming at them to kick the ball.
And of course, there's tee ball -- the world's biggest waste of time. Each kid swings the bat once. The ball rolls into the infield, and six kids chase after it. The batter stops at first base. And they do this until every kid bats every inning. Nobody ever makes an out, or even knows what one is. Nobody learns to love the game because they don't know what the game is. It takes about an hour to play three innings, and then everyone goes home to watch TV.
"Kids today." I hate the phrase, too. But kids today don't seem to play sports unless the games are organized.
We think about overpaid athletes who are jaded and spoiled. We wonder what happened to their passion for the game. What about the kids? Where's their passion? Not to keep harping on tee ball, but why sign a kid up if he never touches the ball and glove when he's at home?
|  | | Do many kids younger than 8 really ask to join team sports? |
And don't try to sell me on the "social interaction" malarkey. The kids aren't making plans to meet later at the local tavern and shoot down a couple of juice boxes. They barely talk to each other. The parents get plenty of social interaction. But the kids just stand at third base wondering if they have time to do another summersault before the next batter comes up.
I think 5, 6 and 7 years old is too young for organized sports, but it's not too young for kids to begin developing a passion for the games. That starts when they choose to play, and when they choose to play at home -- often by themselves, if need be -- shooting a puck into an empty net, or throwing a rubber ball against the garage ... or begging you to let them stay up to watch a game. Now they're hooked. Now they'll play without the allure of a 4-inch tall, $6 trophy.
I began thinking about some of this after a conversation with "NHL 2Night" host John Buccigross. And now I'd like to talk about him right under his nose and behind his back -- which is no easy thing to do. Yes, I know the Mullet Man, and as far as I can tell, he's the greatest lover in the world. Of sports. I meant to say "of sports." He's the greatest lover of sports that I know.
Hockey fans are lucky to have him five nights a week. His passion for the games and the people who play them has got to be unparalleled. Every time I talk to Johnny B., his pure and infectious enthusiasm reminds of an 8-year-old kid who slept with his baseball glove. Or a 10-year-old kid who had to leave soccer practice early to get to a baseball game on time. Or a 12-year-old kid whose summertime diary would have included these submissions:
8-12: Went to baseball camp
12:30-3:30: Played tennis
3:30-3:32: Mom made me swim across the pool to cool off. She handed me my sneakers and glove when I got to the other side.
3:05-4:30: Played softball.
5-6: Got killed in water polo. Felt kind of tired.
6-7: Went home for dinner.
7:15-8:30: Watched the Mets game until Mom told me it was time for bed.
8:30-10: Watched more of the Mets game.
|  | | It's a challenge to stay enthusiastic about sports. |
I don't know what happened to that kid. Perhaps, over the years, he became desensitized by watching one too many meaningless Red Sox-Royals games. Maybe he was distracted by the responsibilities of life -- going to work, paying bills, avoiding incarceration. More likely, I just got old.
I remember the exact day I got old. It was 12 years ago -- which tells you I'm really old now. I walked into a shoe store to buy a pair of sneakers, something I'd done dozens of times before, but apparently not for quite some time. I was overwhelmed by an assortment and variety of sneakers I'd never seen before. There were running shoes and tennis shoes (I never knew there was a difference). There were indoor sneakers and outdoor sneakers -- so I'm guessing you have to change those at the door. They had dozens of styles of basketball sneakers, all with laces that could double as party streamers. They even had sneakers made especially for aerobics.
Yes, I was in the men's section. And the prices were such that I offered to buy the right sneaker and put the left one on layaway. The kid clerk who offered to help me didn't laugh. So I asked if the sneakers would come with a payment book. He still didn't laugh. So I asked him if he had anything under 50 bucks. He's probably still laughing.
Believe me when I tell you I'm still passionate about sports. Ask anyone who's been polite enough to sit through one of my long-winded dissertations about the sale of the Red Sox and lived to regret it. But I haven't kept that boyish enthusiasm that still burns inside of Johnny B. I'm not the same "kid" who hung banners of every National League team in my room, according to where they were in the standings. I'm not the same kid who leaped for joy when I got pack of baseball cards and right there on top was Jerry Koosman.
Ahh, the KOOS! Loved him! Needed him!
|  | | Some young New York baseball fans look to get a signature from the next Koos. |
It's kind of like I'm married to sports. It started out as a tremendous love affair. But it's hard to keep the fire burning that hot for so long. The flame still flickers, and frequently reaches a high intensity, but through many years of highs and lows, the love affair has been transformed into something else. Something comfortable.
So maybe the answer to "Where have the children gone?" lies inside people and parents like me. My parents are the ones who passed down the love of the game to me. Their passion was my foundation, and I had a natural inclination to build it higher and stronger. But owners and players have chipped away at that foundation by abusing the fans with contract holdouts, grotesque ticket prices, team disloyalty and crime blotters. So, if my passion has been compromised, what is it that I'm passing down to my children?
And when I die, and others like me die, and when we go to that dinosaur graveyard for old sports fans, who will replace us? The next Michael Jordan is out there somewhere. He's some kid dribbling a basketball on a playground right now. But is there a kid out there with a passion for the game equal to and as pure as previous generations? And will that kid be able to maintain his purity? Will his passion burn long enough and strong enough to pass it down to the next generation?
Is the next John Buccigross out there? If so, give me a call. I'm pretty sure you owe me 10 bucks.
Bob Halloran is an anchorman for ESPNEWS.
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PASSION PLEA |  |
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