The Michael Phelps story continues to build. Phelps is now talking about retiring from the game. This isn't the first time either. He also made some noises about throwing in the towel back in Dec. Of course now events have given him a further push in that direction. I say events though he really brought it on himself. In fact it seems like he almost wanted to screw up. That would be crazy, since what could make a world class elite athlete chuck it all, and turn his back on the pressure of world level competition?
See there, a son is born, and we pronounce him fit to fight
There are blackheads on his shoulders, and there he pees himself in the night
We'll make a man of him
For some reason I keep thinking of George Orwell's Such, Such Were the Joys. It was written in the last 2 years of his life. He was dying of TB at the time, and living in isolation on the Scottish seaside. Under such circumstances it was only natural for him to wax nostalgic about his school days. For the most part it was a grim tale of starvation, bullying, corporal punishment, and occasional bed wetting.
Motivation - there's a madness to the method
Orwell had come from a middle class back ground. He was a bright lad and so won a scholarship to a private boys' school. The school catered to the thick headed sons of the aristocracy, so getting a few prize winners in there would add to the school's academic credibility. The school was quite serious about getting results from their resident egg heads too. Orwell describes their teaching methods as being similar to force feeding grain to a goose. The lads were drilled for exams and competitions. The usual response to wrong answers was for the head master to take a lad out in the hall, administer a beating, then plop him down in the seat and continue with the drill. Though the result be Pâté de Foie Gras, you can't really expect the goose to be very enthusiastic about the outcome.
The operation was a success, but the patient died
The boys bought into it though. For one thing an irrational fear of failure was beaten into them. If you screwed up, you'd ruined your entire future. Orwell does write of one boy who did get expelled. Several months later while he was out and about with a few of his chums, he ran into the lad in the town square. The boy was now no longer an elite student. He was running around with a some of his pals from the local government school. Orwell noted that the kid seemed much happier. He was healthier and had put on weight too. However in their brain addled state all Orwell and his friends could think of was that the kid had ruined his entire future, as they made their way back to school for the evening meal of cold broth and stale bread. Cutting costs on meals increased the schools profits Orwell points out.
Second thoughts and last words
Orwell notes that he hadn't the sense then to see that the lad who got booted out was better off. He'd escaped the unreasonable pressure to achieve, which Orwell and his schoolmates continued to be subjected to. Of course it's hard to know that at the time. It's easier when you're living in solitude, and your days are not only numbered, but down to the double digits.
Now I'm not comparing the pressure of international athletic competition to the horrors of English public schools. That would be ridiculous. Athletes are very privileged members of society. Sports is practically our religion, and athletes play the game in a way we can't. We probably could, if we had their level of dedication, but as long as their dedicated to the game, we don't have to be. We pay our dues in the form of tickets, and cheers from the side lines. Also in the form of blame and recrimination when the heroes fail. There's no I in team, less so in game.
Child sacrifice and game martyrdom
Still you can't help noticing the burn out factor. Canadian minor hockey is plagued with it as youngsters throw away the possibility of future glory merely for a chance to catch their breath. Perhaps they were pressured too much by parents who wanted to live out their own failed dreams through their offspring. There's also the disturbing tendency of promising football careers getting cut short in the transition to college & pro leagues. This usually occurs through some minor career ending injury. Usually the athlete will blow out a knee or a hip. The injuries tend to be serious enough to prevent them from ever playing the game again - yet in no way interfere with the ex athlete's ability to lead a normal life: get a real job, marry, have kids, and relax!
Now I'm not accusing Phelps of deliberately screwing up. That would be nuts. Besides you can tell he really loves the sport by the way he winces and rolls his eyes during interviews, when talking about how much swimming means to him. References to spending the next 3 months hanging with friends, kidding around with his wife, and just relaxing are also a kind of give away. Besides, if Phelps really wanted to quit, then I'm sure that he'd have had the guts to look everyone square in the eye; family, coaches, colleagues who are expecting him to carry the team, sports reporters, armchair jocks, and tell them the pressure was unreasonable - just like this young man did when he wanted to
quit hockey:
Dear Mom and Dad:
Don’t get excited. I’m not running away or anything. I hope you won’t be mad that I left you guys this letter, but I don’t have the guts to say all this stuff in person.
It’s about our hockey team. I was really excited to make the traveling team this year. The uniforms and hockey bags are pretty neat and we get to travel all over the place. But I know you are disappointed in me.
It started when Dad called our coach after the second game to tell him he was taking me off the team. I know you used to like to tell the guys at work how many goals I scored last year in house league. I guess you haven’t got too much to tell them this year.
But after the coach talked you out of taking me off the team I was really nervous to go back. The coach told me he thought I was good enough to play on the traveling team and not to worry. He told the other players I got sick and they all kept asking me if I was feeling better.
I know you really like it when I score goals. I guess that’s why you said you’d give me five dollars for a goal and a dollar for an assist. But the coach says an assist is as good as a goal. The coach wasn’t too happy when I told him you gave me two dollars for a penalty though.
I try to be more aggressive, like you said, but the other guys skate pretty fast. You told me to carry the puck more, like Jimmy does, but I can’t seem to go fast enough to get away from the other guys.
You should see me play street hockey though. When they pick teams I always get picked nearly first and I score a lot of goals. The other day I hit one of the guys in the elbow with a tennis ball and we couldn’t stop laughing for about a year. But before our real hockey games I always get so nervous.
You know a lot about hockey, Dad, but I just can’t remember all the things you tell me in the car on the way to the game. By the time we get there, I always feel sick in my stomach.
I don’t mind you screaming at the games because all the parents scream. But don’t yell at John to pass the puck more. He’s the best player on our team and without him we’d be dead.
After our game yesterday, I felt bad when you yelled at the coach for not putting me on the ice in the third period. It was a close game and he wanted the best players out there. The coach is a pretty cool guy really, and he doesn’t get any money or anything for coaching us.
I know you were both pretty upset after we lost the game. You were surprised when I started crying in the car on the way home. It wasn’t because of when I got hurt in the second period, like I said. I just couldn’t help it.
I love you both a lot, so I think I better quit hockey. It’s costing you a lot of money, like you said, and you guys don’t seem to enjoy coming to my games any more anyway. I can’t go back to house league, because all of the guys would laugh. I hope you understand why I can’t play hockey anymore. I think it’ll be the best thing for you guys.
Signed
Your Son.
On the other hand it's very hard to twist your knee in a swimming pool. We really didn't leave the poor bugger many options, did we?
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