You will see that those who play ball with skill behave so. No one of them discusses whether the ball is good or bad, but only how to strike it and how to receive it.
Therefore, balanced play consists in this—skill, speed, good judgement consist in this—that while I cannot catch the ball, even if I spread my gown for it, the expert catches it if I throw it.
But if we catch or strike the ball with flurry or fear, what is the good of the game? How will anyone stick to the game and see how it works out?
One will say, “Strike”, and another, “Do not strike”, and another, “You have had one stroke.” This surely is fighting instead of playing.
Therefore, balanced play consists in this—skill, speed, good judgement consist in this—that while I cannot catch the ball, even if I spread my gown for it, the expert catches it if I throw it.
But if we catch or strike the ball with flurry or fear, what is the good of the game? How will anyone stick to the game and see how it works out?
One will say, “Strike”, and another, “Do not strike”, and another, “You have had one stroke.” This surely is fighting instead of playing.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.5
I unfortunately did not pay much attention to this section on a first reading, since any reference to ball games instinctively brings to mind the sort of cruelty I remember from the school playground. It did not occur to me how my painful experience was just as applicable to the lesson, for dealing with bad sportsmanship can be a powerful aid in aiming for good sportsmanship.
It was a reference to this passage by James Stockdale that encouraged me to reconsider the analogy, and I’m awfully glad I did, because players with a bad attitude shouldn’t have to ruin it for the rest of us. Many of us will surely recall the pack of thugs who used any sport as an opportunity to puff out their chests, and as an excuse for their rage.
Despite all the bickering and cursing that may take place on the field or the court, it is never about where the ball ends up, but rather about how we choose to go about playing the game. The ball itself is merely an instrument for the action, and it ceases to have any significance once the match is complete. It becomes the medium, so to speak, through which we exercise our own skills; there is no good or bad in it, only in the way the participants make good or bad use of it.
The skilled and thoughtful player also learns how to distinguish between what he is capable of for himself, and what, in turn, depends on the proficiency of either his teammates or his opponents. He knows his place, and he knows his limits, and he knows how to work with the other conditions on the field. He becomes an expert in observation and cooperation as he hones his own abilities.
And so it is with the circumstances of our lives, where a life of serenity demands the prudence to discern what is within our power from what is beyond our power. The balance of the good life only becomes possible when we realize what is our own, and what belongs to another; anything less leads to the sort of pointless conflict that characterizes the life of the bully or the bellyacher.
I think it no accident that the way a man plays a game is so often an indicator of how he manages his other affairs in the real world. Does he constantly argue, complain, and cast blame, or does he simply do his best, while never ceasing to give due respect to both his allies and his rivals? How a man defines winning and losing applies equally in the little things and in the big things.
I unfortunately did not pay much attention to this section on a first reading, since any reference to ball games instinctively brings to mind the sort of cruelty I remember from the school playground. It did not occur to me how my painful experience was just as applicable to the lesson, for dealing with bad sportsmanship can be a powerful aid in aiming for good sportsmanship.
It was a reference to this passage by James Stockdale that encouraged me to reconsider the analogy, and I’m awfully glad I did, because players with a bad attitude shouldn’t have to ruin it for the rest of us. Many of us will surely recall the pack of thugs who used any sport as an opportunity to puff out their chests, and as an excuse for their rage.
Despite all the bickering and cursing that may take place on the field or the court, it is never about where the ball ends up, but rather about how we choose to go about playing the game. The ball itself is merely an instrument for the action, and it ceases to have any significance once the match is complete. It becomes the medium, so to speak, through which we exercise our own skills; there is no good or bad in it, only in the way the participants make good or bad use of it.
The skilled and thoughtful player also learns how to distinguish between what he is capable of for himself, and what, in turn, depends on the proficiency of either his teammates or his opponents. He knows his place, and he knows his limits, and he knows how to work with the other conditions on the field. He becomes an expert in observation and cooperation as he hones his own abilities.
And so it is with the circumstances of our lives, where a life of serenity demands the prudence to discern what is within our power from what is beyond our power. The balance of the good life only becomes possible when we realize what is our own, and what belongs to another; anything less leads to the sort of pointless conflict that characterizes the life of the bully or the bellyacher.
I think it no accident that the way a man plays a game is so often an indicator of how he manages his other affairs in the real world. Does he constantly argue, complain, and cast blame, or does he simply do his best, while never ceasing to give due respect to both his allies and his rivals? How a man defines winning and losing applies equally in the little things and in the big things.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
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