(I have recognized, by the way, that as I get older, I am no less opinionated, but my opinion is often somewhere along the lines of "I can see both sides.")
My opinion here? I can see both sides ... really.
I recognize the drama, the pure athletic competition (minus any taint of chemical controversy), and the joy that can be found watching Little League World Series.
I get it, I really do.
While each and every one of these kids probably dreams of making the big leagues (although the litany of "what I want to be when I grow up" answers Saturday night never mentioned that option and instead brought up things like doctor, fireman, and engineer), not one of them sees the Little League World Series as a direct route to the big leagues and the millions associated with making "the show."
For those who watch young men -- down to the high school ranks -- preening and posing and sticking their hand out, not with dreams of making the pros, but expectations of doing so, the Little League World Series provides a breath of fresh air.
But ....
They're kids. Kids who don't have their hands out and aren't simply using this as a springboard to something greater. Kids have been playing in the Little League World Series for decades without television coverage ... or more recently, with only coverage of the final game. These kids wouldn't be trying any less if no cameras (other than their parents' video camera) were pointed at them.
But we now not only stick cameras in their faces, but mics on their coaches, cameras on their parents and have commentators make note of every tear and childish outburst (from children ... how horrible).
It won't surprise anyone reading this to hear that I watched a bit of the LLWS Saturday night. To set the scene fully, you should understand that this was not the final game in Williamsport, PA. In fact, the game wasn't in Williamsport at all. This was the final for the western region held about as far from Williamsport as you can get without leaving the contiguous 48 states.
After giving up the majority of the seven runs in the fifth inning, a small boy, no more than 12, was approached by a micced coach, mouthed off, then was relegated to left field ... where he proceeded to fight back tears -- all while a national cable network focused a camera on his every lip quiver and tear falling down his face and while commentators pointed out each tear and quiver in case you hadn't seen it, or weren't quite sure what you were seeing.
High drama, yes, but what is going to happen to this kid come September, when his classmates -- who, surprisingly, will not be as sympathetic and understanding as an adult -- begin bringing up this moment? Something tells me their response, for the most part, isn't going to be "tough luck, kid, you played really hard."
You even have to wonder how his parents will respond to his "don't touch me" yelled at the coach. I don't condone kids talking back to adults, but this was the highest pressure situation this kid had ever faced in his life to this point (and will likely top anything for the next five or six years at least) and such a snap isn't unexpected. His coach has probably already forgotten it. If there were no mics on the coaches, the parents wouldn't even know it happened. Now, in addition to taunts from schoolmates, he could even face censure from his own parents.
On some level, every athlete is exploited. An athlete's talent is used to make a profit for some other entity -- be it an owner, a network, or a league. Most athletes, however, get something in return: a paycheck, a college education (or, for those who really only use college athletics as a calling card for the pros, said calling card), or exposure for his/her sport (think the Olympic athletes).
These kids aren't getting a paycheck, a college education or a calling card to the pros. Their sport already has exposure at a variety of levels.
So what do they get out of it?
A measure of celebrity, sure. But do you really believe that boy in left field really wants to be known right now?
Fortunately for everyone involved, there is a middle ground. Take away the mics, or shut them off at key times (such as when a manager is talking to one of his payers who is having a bad day). Focus on the celebrations, but ignore the kids in tears.
Let the game tell the story. Let the kids jumping for joy put a period on the plotline.
Show the game. Exploit the energy and the passion these kids have, but not the kids themselves.
The genie may already be out of the bottle -- the mics and reaction shots now beloved of the sports directors and producers.
But I wonder how many sports fans would notice, or if they did, would really care if those "innovations" were abandoned?
And how many might actually cheer the change?
powered by performancing firefox
No comments:
Post a Comment