Sports, violence, and the good of the game

From time to time I like to check in on American sports to see what is going on. They are after all, as with many other American industries, the most extraordinary apex of possible competitiveness, combined with greed and commercialisation. The recent scandal about ‘bounty prizes’ for injuring other players in American Football has made me think quite a bit (see bottom for links to good coverage of this issue).

Sports spectating is such a popular escape hatch for many ordinary Americans otherwise trapped in the intensity of their country’s work-ethic and material consumption, which may be why professional sports there are subject to such intense scrutiny, and at times, false moralising. Sports stars are often held to a far higher level of accountability than ordinary citizens – whether it be in their conduct (drunk-driving, gambling, womanising), or their beliefs (racism, religious intolerance, chauvinism) – despite the fact that all of these sins are unfortunately widely shared within society at large. So when I first read that there is a bounty hunting scandal, I was thinking that this would be more sanctimonious hand-wringing from morally upstanding citizens who somehow nevertheless enjoy the violence of American football.

However, looking more closely at the issue, I can immediately see that there is a huge gap between giving a team-mate a prize or winnings of a betting pool for making the best tackle or defensive play in a game, as compared with intentionally setting out to hurt people. The morality play around gambling is out of place here as long as players are only gambling on positive outcomes (i.e. betting on themselves to win, not fixing games to lose), we all know that millions of people love Las Vegas and Native American reservations because they too like to gamble. However, it raises questions about whether there is such a thing as the spirit of sportsmanship. Is it naive to imagine that sportsmen participate, even at the highest levels, not only for money and power, but also because the game is a source of stimulation and drive in their lives? And if so, surely they treasure the game for its roots in personal satisfaction and enjoyment, even if the pressures they face are much higher?

We will always have situations where people lose sight of what is really important to them – sports history is littered with stories of those who fell by the wayside as they lost what connected them to that life. And to my mind, setting out to deliberately hurt a fellow competitor in ways not officially prescribed within the sport (it’s ok to aim to concuss someone in boxing, that is after all the definition of a knockout and it is agreed by both competitors, while it’s not ok to bite your opponent’s ear out of frustration), is a definite example of this. However, sports is hardly unique in this loss of principles – there are perhaps even more stories of this in business life and politics – other men under pressure are no less fallible or less likely to make decisions which betray their original motivations.  

At a higher level however, there is a real question about what the role of those entrusted with the overall direction of a sport are motivated by? In Peter King’s article (linked below) he mentions that Roger Goodell, the head honcho of the NFL, is a hard man when he needs to be. But I think one could take that a step further – he may also be quite a cynical one: having to walk a fine line between public outcry over the deliberate fostering of violence in the sport, and knowing that fans watch in part because of this violence, and that fans watching is what pays the bills. As is so often the case in America’s litigious culture – one wonders whether Goodell is more concerned about player welfare, or the threat of lawsuits as it emerges that the extent of injuries to players during their careers is often life-defining in their retirement. The NCAA, the governing body for collegiate amateur sports in America, is very similarly in contradiction with itself – purportedly protecting proud amateur traditions through a myriad of rules and regulations which can be incredibly punitive against players accepting any sort of reward for their efforts beyond their college scholarships, while also presiding over negotiations for ever-increasing television rights money which is raised as a direct result of the performances of these young sportspeople. This sort of hypocrisy has reached a point in basketball where young players are now no longer permitted to leave high school and directly enter the NBA – despite ample evidence that many of them barely acquire the rudiments of a decent college education in their lone year there, given the incredibly intense (and near-professional) training regimens they are subjected to as college players.

Even my own beloved Rugby is slowly sliding in the wrong direction. And unfortunately it seems to be a trend which those who are empowered to change, are least likely to act upon. The International Rugby Board and similar regional bodies such as SANZAR, continue to add to the total number of teams and fixtures being played at the highest levels. With the result being that Super Rugby and French Top 14 are both too long to allow for sustained excellence throughout the competition. And worse, the surfeit of fixtures throughout the year has reduced the public’s enthusiasm for attending games, resulting in disappointing atmosphere and a lower quality experience for fans. If the welfare of a game is at stake, and money is not the only objective, then we should be looking to shorten the season and increase the intensity of the games rather than watering down the product (the length of the season in several major league sports in America renders many of the games meaningless, and American Football is threatening to also extend their season, when in fact one of the great advantages of the sport is that every game matters and spectators rush to buy tickets knowing that the season is only four months long).

Yes, we know that the revenues raised at the highest levels of rugby are said to be paying for the development of the game in new countries and at lower levels. However it is very unclear to what extent that money is actually filtering through the levels of bureaucracy attached to the game, and reaching the grass-roots. It seems that too many other office-holders stand between the top and those most in need of better playing fields, better coaching, and greater access to support and long-term planning.

Like so many things, it appears that decisions in professional sports are being made in reaction to pressure from the media, and legal threats. Those who are empowered to make decisions which can effect real change, are largely judging matters based on commercial reward rather than necessarily in the best interests of the game...

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2012/writers/peter_king/03/05/offseason/index.html

http://joeposnanski.si.com/2012/03/05/bounty-hunters/?sct=hp_t13_a5&eref=sihp

In early December I travelled to the UK to be at Carl and Kristine’s wedding. Carl and I were two people from Sweden who both found ourselves at the American Community School in Hillingdon many years ago. However it was only in the last few years in London that we really got to know each other, and I was humbled to be asked by him to be the best man at his wedding before I left the UK for South Africa. It was a superbly well organised day, and a tribute to what a lovely couple they are. Everyone enjoyed themselves, and in my own case that was no doubt helped by the fact that Carl decided to calm any pre-wedding jitters by ordering a bottle of champagne at 11:45 in the morning! Kristine’s father mentioned in his speech that the Danish tradition for a wedding reception is that when the groom leaves the room, all the men rush over and give the bride a kiss (one can only presume that it is a peck on the cheek, for the sake of decency). Apparently Kristine didn’t mind this idea, but then decided to scrap such traditions when she heard that if she left the room, then all the ladies would rush over to kiss her newlywed groom.

After a lovely brunch the following morning at my parents’ house in Harrow, attended by several good friends, I flew directly on to Nairobi, where I spent a week working to understand more about local offices, and the regionalised structure of management within ActionAid and its issues and priorities. In all honesty, Nairobi wasn’t a place I would write home about, and I worked some pretty long days and then went to the gym, ate dinner, and went to bed. A pity perhaps not to have seen more, but as is so often the case, travelling for business alone meant that it was simpler that way.

For Christmas, I spent a week at Ingwelala, a game farm bordering on the Kruger National Park, with Helen’s family (the lodge we stayed in is owned by her brother-in-law’s family) including both her siblings and their significant others, and her parents. It was a lovely opportunity to get to know them all a little bit better, and we had good fun going on game drives every morning and evening, with time spent by the pool in-between, spotting various forms of wildlife and enjoying the contents of the booze chest on our evening expeditions. We were fortunate that while it was extremely hot during the first few days of our stay, it later cooled down as we saw more overcast and even slightly rainy conditions. On our last day, the 26^th of December, as we set out to return to Joburg, we encountered an unpredicted problem: about halfway back to the main road, we discovered that the rains had produced flooding which left one of the river passes submerged in a torrent of water. Helen’s brother-in-law Nick is also known as Camel Man despite the fact that he doesn’t smoke at all, because he’s a rugged outdoorsy cowboy type who can get pretty much anything done. In pouring rain, Nick and I got out of our cars (Helen and I were at this stage travelling with her folks in their sedan) and went to have a look at the water. I waded out into this fast-flowing river until I was about at the middle of it, where I found that it came up to just above my knees. The water flow was quite strong, and I have to admit I was pumping adrenaline by the time I’d very slowly toe-shuffled to turn around and head back to our side of the river. Nick figured that if I could stand up in it, then his 3.5tonne Land Cruiser wouldn’t have much trouble with the water, so we duly chugged across the river (with the empty trailer dragging behind us at a 45 degree angle!) Helen’s poor parents were forced to turn back and wait several hours before they later made the crossing and caught us up back in Joburg.

From there Helen and I flew down to Port Elizabeth on the same day (Camel-man Nick and Kylie had an earlier flight, no doubt a small part of their motivation for getting back to Joburg come hell or high water!) and then drove out to St Francis Bay, where Helen and I enjoyed a fantastic seaside holiday with my parents until the 2^nd of January. We were blessed with remarkably little wind, usually a prevalent feature in the area at that time of the year, and enjoyed lots of bodysurfing, surfing (Helen stood up on the board on her 2^nd wave!), squash almost every day, jogging, and also some welcome relaxation time watching episodes of Downton Abbey and catching up on light reading.

In January I gave up drinking alcohol for the month, in part because the Christmas season had been a little bit heavy, but also to get fitter for my refereeing fitness test (luckily that objective carried through and I managed to achieve at least one of my New Year’s ambitions by getting a 13.5 on the bleep test). Joburg has been awash with thunderstorms for many evenings during the early part of the year, so my tennis hasn’t been in evidence, but I have enjoyed a fair few squash games with my mate Willem. In addition, Helen somehow convinced me to join the Midmar Mile, one of the largest open-water swims in the world, so we trained in the pool at least once a week. The first session we did had me gasping like a fish after a few lengths, and worried I was going to drown! However, as these things tend to, it quickly got better and despite a minor altercation with a gym attendant over the necessity of wearing a swim cap (note to self: turning around to swim another length and ‘accidentally’ kicking water over gym flunky in suit with designer take-away coffee is probably not an effective bargaining mechanism; note to gym flunky: wearing a suit and marching up and down the pool next to someone to force them to give you attention, and then haranguing them about wearing a swim cap in a less-than-helpful way is not likely to keep your shoes dry...)

We did however have some lovely events in January nonetheless: an outdoor braai in the gardens of the complex where my flat is located was a great success, despite threatening clouds, and I think everyone enjoyed a good afternoon of eating, chatting and swimming in the pool. I was also very fortunate to be invited by Helen’s brother to a Poker-Whisky club evening. Being pretty Neanderthal about both matters, I was a little surprised to receive the invitation, but once I learned that each member of the club only gets to invite a guest once a year, I made an exception to my dry January and joined them for a fun evening of tasting distilled Scottish waters and getting away with a few very lucky hands of cards!

Towards the end of January an old friend of mine Bruce Young and his lovely girlfriend Lexi joined Helen and I for a fun night out in Paris, er.., Parys, which is a quaint little town in the northern part of the Free State which is about an hour by car from Joburg and has lots of lovely coffee shops and also antiques shops which we perused with some amusement and interest. We had a fun night out with some delicious food, and an expedition to the only night-club in Parys (our one other exception to the dry January) where classics such as AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” helped us all to let our hair down. In Helen’s case this extended to responding to the provocative dancing of one of the locals (a young man dressed only in rubber boots and a leopard-skin print pair of briefs, who we presume was the groom-to-be from the stag party also at the nightclub) by taking a big swinging wind-up and smacking him so hard on the backside that his leopard-skin pants nearly came off and he was left with a glowing hand-print on his buttock. I fear the poor fellow may find married life a bit of disappointment after all that excitement... Anyhow, the reason for being in Parys, slapping aside, was in fact to white water raft down the Vaal river, which we did with several other friends who joined us on the Sunday morning. It was a lovely sunny day out, even if the rapids were a little bit tame.

The following weekend Friday 3^rd was Helen and my 3 month anniversary since we started going out (officially at least, we’ve known each other for longer and it doesn’t feel like 3 and a bit months). In a bid to show her a smattering of my appreciation I set out to cook us dinner that night, using two of the recipes from a Springbok Rugby Cookbook which Helen had given me for Christmas. The result was John Smit’s butternut soup, and Schalk Burger’s slow-roast leg of lamb (in the oven for 8 hours, with bits of garlic and bacon stuffed into the surface of the lamb) with veggies. Although I remain a rather crude cook at best, it turned out pretty well, and the enormous leg of lamb that I was given by the butcher did well to provide for several more meals including a lamb pie and lamb stew!

Travelling to the Natal midlands for our epic swim a week later was far more eventful than we might have predicted. Craig Drabble, a new friend here in Joburg very kindly drove Helen and I with him in his rather nice new car. It was a fun drive and Craig’s many years of working in Los Angeles have left him with many amusing stories to tell. We picked up our fourth team-mate Lauren from some friends of hers about 50km from the farm cottages where we were staying, and then started to make our way home. The midlands seems to be a region of endemic fog, and on this night it was particularly heavy. Unfortunately, not more than a few minutes after rejoining the highway, as we were driving along an object suddenly appeared only a very few metres in front of us on the road (my first thought was that it was a dead cow), and before we could avoid it, we had hit it, and it became lodged under the front  of our car. Craig did incredibly well to steer us onto the hard shoulder despite having to look past the airbags which had deployed, and we then got out to find a large truck tire, wheel-rim and all, lodged firmly under the front of the vehicle, with bits of the radiator system and all sorts of other engine innards hanging out at unnatural angles underneath the car. Luckily no-one was hurt, and perhaps the most scary part of the whole evening was the very kind crew of paramedics who arrived within minutes (and upon seeing no-one was hurt began cracking jokes about how to turn the truck tire into a good cooking surface) who took us to nearby Pietermaritzburg in their ambulance at break-neck speed and seemingly with little care for either fog or other traffic. Perhaps it is the nature of such professions that they have all become a little de-sensitised to danger!

Anyhow, we managed to hitch a lift with our hosts at the farm the next morning to the dam, and despite somewhat cold and overcast conditions which made the water quite choppy, we all enjoyed the swim. And we had fun celebrating our feat that evening, dressed in team colours (coral pink I’m told is the name for our shade of lumo t-shirts) in a small town nearby. Although perhaps our age is starting to show, as we found our last stop on the night was a bridge too far for us, each being perhaps slightly merry, while at least half of the patrons there had clearly been drinking since the race ended at mid-day and were now in desperate need of furniture and mantelpiece shelves to help them remain standing. We also had a lovely warm day in Durban on the Sunday, and I realised that the city really has been revitalised by the changes made there for the soccer world cup – it is somewhere Helen and I have decided we will have to visit again, perhaps when the Sharks are playing a good rugby game!

The following weekend I had booked several weeks in advance to take Helen somewhere, but had not told her where we were going. She very much enjoyed the surprise of finding out at the airport that we were returning to St Francis Bay for a relaxing weekend, and I was very grateful to my parents for vacating the house there so that we could enjoy a getaway for two. Unfortunately the wind was not as co-operative this time blowing heavy onshore and bringing with it many bluebottles, however we still thoroughly enjoyed being by the sea, having some lovely walks and jogs around the area, and a very tasty dinner of the local calamari. It turned out to be a fitting escape from reality just before Helen started her new job last week Tuesday. She has now been there almost a week, and is very happy to be back mingling and getting to know new people and new things. She has been hired as the account director for a company who specialise in using company / organisation emails as a platform for direct marketing and targeted advertising, and although there’s quite a steep learning curve for Helen on the technological side, she is excited and it seems like the organisation are a good bunch with some major blue-chip clients.

As for me, my work continues to roll along. I have to admit that it doesn’t fill all of my time (perhaps I need to learn to write emails slower) but I am enjoying basically managing my own project and working in direct communication with quite a diverse range of people, many of whom are spread across the world. I have managed to keep the project on track, including being the host of a day-long series of discussions among the most senior finance people from across the organisation, where we resolved a number of pressing issues that had come up in initial reviews of the now outdated financial policies document which I am spear-heading the review of. It took us almost 10 hours of non-stop meetings, and in fact we had to reconvene for another two hours two days later (with me itching to leave early for our long drive down to Midmar as I’d agreed I would with my boss) but I got them all through it and we made the decisions that were needed. Now I am waiting on those senior finance figures, who only have until the end of this week to finish their reviews and edits of various chapters which have been assigned to them. It certainly will be interesting to see how many of them submit things on time: despite my exhortations, reminders, and clear explanation of the time pressures involved, keeping to deadlines has not turned out to be a strong point among staff here! My thought is that at some stage I’ll want to move on to something more entrepreneurial – despite being a non-profit organisation this is a very corporate set-up: with discussion documents being drafted to give feedback on proposals which eventually require consideration and deliberation by several groups of people before an informed and consultative decision can be made... sigh... Occasionally I am tempted to tell ‘leaders’ to grow a pair of cojones and speed up progress, but I’ve bitten my tongue so far! The money is good, and this is an opportunity for me to give full consideration to what I might next like to turn myself to, while still being kept busy driving a project and working in a friendly, supportive environment.

To keep things ticking over, I have also been involved once again in mentoring MBA students from Madrid’s Business School in a programme where they were working as strategic advisors to a Soweto-based non-profit organisation. This particular round of mentoring wasn’t as satisfying for me as the students didn’t seem to utilise me as fully as they might have been able to do, but I still learned more about small NGO’s in SA, and their various challenges (from fraud to lack of staff capacity and workers’ sense of entitlement to a portion of any increases in funds raised). In addition I have started to work with the organisers of the programme, on potentially getting some of the future tranches of MBA students as interns at ActionAid, to work on and support some more significant policy revisions which others don’t necessarily have time to get to at the moment. Hopefully that discussion will keep moving forward and may be my most unique legacy to the organisation if it works and becomes a regular arrangement.

My parents were here in Johannesburg this weekend on their way back to London, and I was glad to be able to invite them to join a large group of friends and their friends (24 of us in all) with whom I organised an expedition to Johannesburg’s Ellis Park, where we watched the Lions play their opening game of the 2012 Super Rugby season against the visiting Free State Cheetahs (this is my second year in a row of doing this, I don’t think I’ll mind if I do it again next year, although I do hope that the multiplication of numbers from 13 last year to 24 this year is not to be a mathematical trend in future!). Despite enduring a torrential downpour as we gathered to depart for the game, all turned out well in the end and I think it was a fun opportunity for many friends to get to know each other and even have a few drinks in the referees bar afterwards (definitely one of Johannesburg’s most reasonably priced watering holes). It was a pity that I only got to see my folks for a very short time, and one of the down-sides of being so far apart is that it will likely be many months before I see my family again, or any of my friends overseas. However, I have many good friends here in Joburg now, and Helen and her family are incredibly good to me, so my life is a very happy one and I look forward to continuing to enjoy all that is on offer here. And of course, any time any of you who are not here would like to visit, you will be most welcome!