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70 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2005
The current headmaster's name was Scott McLeod, and, he said, the school he'd taken charge of in 1993 was different from the school I'd graduated from in 1978. "The parents' willingness to intercede on the kids' behalf, to take the kids' side, to protect the kid, in a not-healthy way — there's more of that each year," he said. "It's true in sports, it's true in the classroom. And it's only going to get worse." Fitz sat at the top of the list of hardships that parents protected their kids from; indeed, the first angry call McLeod received after he became headmaster came from a father who was upset that Fitz wasn't giving his son more playing time.
"Fitz gave another one of his sermons. They were always a little different but they never strayed far from a general theme: What It Means To Be A Man. What it meant to be a man was that you struggled against your natural instinct to run away from adversity" (p.77).
We listened to the man because he had something to tell us, and us alone. Not how to play baseball, though he did that better than anyone. Not how to win, though winning was wonderful. Not even how to sacrifice. He was teaching us something far more important: how to cope with the two greatest enemies of a well-lived life, fear and failure. To make the lesson stick, he made sure we encountered enough of both. What he knew--and I'm not sure he'd ever consciously thought it, but he knew it all the same--was that we'd never conquer the weaknesses within ourselves. We'd never drive the worst of ourselves away for good. We'd never win. The only glory to be had would be in the quality of the struggle. (82)I wonder if the line that divides readers who sympathize with Fitz from those who don't is how they think about struggle as something that provides an almost existential meaning, even if it's "just" sports.
