The Day I Learned the Value of Sportsmanship

The year was 1988. I was a 6-year-old Tiger Cub Scout. (Boy Scouts earn things like Eagle Scout Awards and merit badges. Before you become a Boy Scout, you are a Cub Scout and earn little arrow points that are sewn on to your scout shirt. Before become a Cub Scout, you are a Tiger Cub and earn iron-on tiger paws.)

I lived in an area with a strong Scouting program. It seemed like nearly all the boys my age were involved. On Wednesday evenings, about 8-12 boys of approximately the same age would meet together as a Cub Scout Den. We would do things like review basic first aid procedures, learn to tie knots, and identify local vegetation. On special occasions, all the local Cub Scout Dens would united as a Cub Scout Pack.

Pack meetings were reserved for award ceremonies and special activities. It was during these meetings that boys were with the various awards earned since the previous Pack Meeting. After these boys were recognized, we would occasionally hold prestigious competitions of skill and honor: The Pinewood Derby, The Space Derby, and the Raingutter Regatta. (See the end of the post for more details.*)

For one such regatta, I constructed the perfect vessel to navigate the 10' long rain gutters of glory. It was my first Boy Scout competition and I was excited! I spent hours upon hours sanding down the ship's balsa wood frame after school in the days proceeding the big event. Surly, my sail boat would come off conqueror.

The night of the race arrived. The officials measured and weighed my ship and found it worthy to sail. My heart raced as my ship waited in the queue. I carefully examined the various techniques applied by the other scouts: what angle to stand behind the ship, where to blow on the sail, and how to stagger your breathing to achieve the greatest velocity.

"Bryan Tanner vs. Michael Carpenter!" The moment of truth had finally come. My fingertips felt a chill as I lowered my vessel into the water. We adjusted our ships so that they were perfectly aligned behind their respective starting lines. I filled my lungs with air. . .

"GO!" A roar erupted from the crowd of proud parents and fellow scouters. I blew furiously into the tiny, plastic sail. Ricocheting off the sides of the gutter like a lopsided bowling ball, my obviously defective blue boat limped its way toward the finish line. A football field away from the end, I felt helpless in my attempts to correct whatever problem plagued my boat. Some unearthly power had hexed my sail; no matter how much I blew, the ship would managed to find itself on the opposite course.

Like an injured Olympian who still finished the race, crossed the finish line, disgraced. As is common for little kids, my self-image was tied up in that race. I was my ship. I had spent weeks in mental preparation for that moment, and now, my hopes and dreams were drowned. I didn't know how to feel, how to react . . . Then something life-changing happened.

My opponent, Michael Carpenter, the one who just kicked my trash, reached his hand out to me. "Good race, Bryan. You did an excellent job." That was all it was. He probably didn't think twice about his gesture of friendship, but that handshake marked my first exposure to true sportsmanship. My heart was flooded with peace. I can still visualize him hunkering down and extending his arm just a little bit farther than normal. It was the earnestness about the way his spoke those words and the firmness in this handshake that affected me. I felt that he truly meant what he was saying.

"Where did he learn how to do that?!" I thought to myself. In a moment, Mike was able to replace all the shame and dismay that I felt with a degree of honor and pride. I had built my own ship and I had finished the race. It was a magical feeling.

My next thought was, "Mike didn't have to do that; he beat me fair and square. What a gentlemen! Why didn't anyone teach me to do that? Is it customary to shake hands after competitions? That is classy! I'd like to share that same feeling with others, given the opportunity."

And that is exactly what I did. For the next 12 years, I played a different sport every four months. During that time, I tried to develop empathy for other athletes. Sometimes I learned how to be a good loser, but most of the time, I was able to practice being a good winner. At times, however, my empathy overwhelmed me and became a fault. When I sensed that an opponent didn't know how to lose with grace, I would let them win (or at least score a lot) so that they would be spared the agonies of defeat.

I've come a long way since then. These days, when I compete in an intramural tennis match or ultimate frisbee competition, I always compete to the best of my ability. And afterwards, I'd like to be able to say that I always feel good about having "left it all on the field"--but sometimes, I still feel remorse. But in those times of struggle, my mind always wanders back to my days as a Tiger Cub and when Mike Carpenter taught me that even in defeat, I can still have honor.

So Michael, 20 years after the fact, I thank you from the deepest, most tender parts of my heart. (We just reconnected on facebook this week. He's got a really cool haircut.) And Mike, if you ever need a reference for a professional coaching position, I'd be more than happy to accommodate you.


*The Traditional Boy Scout Competitions

Pinewood Derby:
The pinewood derby is a racing event for Cub Scouts in the Boy Scouts of America. Cub Scouts, with the help of parents, build their own cars from wood, usually from kits containing a block of pine, plastic wheels and metal axles.


Space Derby:
The space derby is a Cub Scouting event in the United States of America that is similar to the pinewood derby car race. Cub scouts race miniature balsa wood rockets that are propelled by a rubber band and propeller. (This is the least fun of the three because it depends less on skill and preparation, and more on luck.)


Raingutter Regatta:
The raingutter regatta is a Cub Scouting annual event in the United States of America that is the sailboat equivalent of the pinewood derby. The sailboat kit consists of a seven-inch (178 mm) long balsa wood hull, a 6-1/2 inch mast, plastic sail, plastic rudder, and metal keel. Within the basic design rules, Scouts are free to paint and decorate their sailboats as they choose. Modifications for speed include the placement of the keel and rudder and the size, shape and location of the sail. A catamaran is an exceptionally fast design, although this modification is not allowed in all races.

The boats are raced in a standard rain gutter that is ten feet long, placed on a table or saw horses, and filled to the top with water. The boats are propelled by blowing on the sail, either directly or through a drinking straw; the boat cannot be touched with hands or the straw. The first boat to reach the end of the gutter is the winner. The overall winner is determined by an elimination system.



p.s. If anyone has any pictures of my in Tiger Cubs, please send them to me so I can post them on with this story. Thanks.