Strength of Schedule
The coach of my daughter’s cross-country team began each season addressing the team: “I know the other coaches, I know the other schools, I know the other runners. I can make a schedule so that we will win every meet.” The athletes smiled. The coach continued. “Or I can make a schedule so that we will lose every meet.”
This would be a better and more interesting column if I could remember what the kids chose. But the point is that strength of schedule makes a difference, makes all the difference.
What parent wouldn’t be pleased to hear their child’s first grade teacher say, “Your child is the smartest, most motivated, most wonderful student in the entire class”? What parent wouldn’t be disappointed if the teacher continued, “of course, not one of your child’s classmates can find their backside with both hands and a compass. This is the dumbest bunch of six-year-olds I’ve ever taught.”
Strength of schedule.
A buddy of mine has a Ph.D. in math. You think that I know more math than you? That alleged gap between my understanding of math and yours is significantly less than how much better at math Dan is than me. Wake me up at 2:00 am and I can teach high school trigonometry. At that same hour, Dan can teach differential equations (the course that engineers and math majors take after their first three semesters of college calculus) with one dry erase marker tied behind his back. Yet Dan talks about his ability: I am not in the same league with the big dog mathematicians. They are playing big league ball; I am in the sandlot with a broom handle.
If Dan is a step below the big leagues, then I am John Cleese as the Dark Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail intoning “it’s only a flesh wound!” hopping around with no arms and legs.
It’s a steep pyramid. Dan’s better than me and there’s these other folks better than Dan and we can’t even see the top of the ladder.
Indulge me as I return to a running metaphor. Because something truly unbelievable happened a couple weekends ago. Josh Kerr crushed the world record in the mile, a record that had stood for 27 years. Josh ran four laps of a standard track in three minutes 42 seconds. Can you even begin to imagine how impossibly fast that is? For context, my running buddies and typically run two laps around in the same sub-four minute time. Josh ran twice as fast. And it was beautiful. His training partners went out as “rabbits” pacing Josh through two and then three laps before dropping out, having cleared the way for Josh’s assault on history. Tens of thousands of screaming fans watched these magnificent athletes accomplish the impossible.
But I digress.
The point is that your child is never—mortgage the farm—never going to break the world record for the mile. Nor is your child going to know more math than my buddy Dan. So how your child feels about their experience in the classroom and on the track matters significantly more than their actual grades on their report card or times on a stopwatch.
My advice thereby is simple: if you stop focusing on winning and losing, so will your kids. Shouting “break their heads!” and “kill the ref!” while watching your children compete does not show you in your best light nor do your kids benefit. Whereas applauding good sportspersonship and motivation allows our kids to try their best and enjoy their experience.
Over the course of our children’s lifetimes, there are going to be as many wins as losses. “You can’t wim ‘em all” is a cliche because it’s statistically true. So how our kids feel is more important than the W or L on a particular day.
I know, I know. There are only so many spots at “top” colleges and the world is competitive and it’s all “red of tooth and claw” and the natural world is all about cruel, violent, and ruthless struggle for survival.
I don’t know about you, but my family and I are pretty well insulated from the natural world. The air conditioner, the hot water heater, and the second refrigerator in the garage work well enough and, except for the odd camping trip, we are perfectly able to keep the natural world at bay. Even out in the woods, admittedly just down the valley from the odd black bear, the folks at the next campsite can invariably be counted on to share a Graham Cracker sandwich filled with melted chocolate and marshmallow so I’m not sure just how the red of tooth and claw paradigm applies to us in 2026.
Of course, if you feel strongly to the contrary, you are welcome to teach your kids that winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing. I wish your kids every success in learning more math than my buddy Dan, running faster than Josh Kerr, or avoiding the occasional L.
