Remember playing "King of the Mountain" as a kid?  If you never did, here's how it works:  one person stands at the top of a large hill to defend it while other kids try to climb it and knock the kid at the top down the hill.  Then, whoever knocks the kid down stands at the top and defends the territory like the original kid did.  Frankly, it wouldn't be allowed today because it can get too physical, but you know there are kids playing it somewhere...

Competition is no different.  When we reach the pinnacle of the mountain, there is always a target on our back.  For teams that win championships, that target is known as "next year."  The defending champions have a very small amount of time to enjoy their championship before they have to defend it.  So our self-esteem might go up when we win, but it doesn't last long because we have to validate it again through the next competition.

Why, then, do we attach self-esteem to competition if we know that there will be a dip in it when the next season starts?  Why do we allow our self-esteem to go up when we win if we know we have to defend it from going down again?

There was a large chunk of my early high school years spent in front of a television with my Nintendo 64 powered up for too many consecutive hours while my friends and I became almost numb to what it took to play each game, regardless of what it was.  Eyes were glazed over; thumbs and other fingers were calloused; and bodies were thankfully still young enough not to feel the effects of being in the same position for too long, so long as the stimulation in our brains was at maximum speed.

Out of all the games we played, the one that dominated the first two years of high school for us was GoldenEye 007.

This game was revolutionary for the industry.  I'm not sure I would say it was ahead of its time, but the impact it had on how future games were developed and produced was outmatched only by the staying power it had to capture people and bring them back to the game years later, regardless that graphics had advanced significantly beyond mere polygons.

Beyond the ability to bring friends together for hours of entertainment, the single-player mode was equally as enthralling, and not just for the regular game-play.  There was something else that fueled our fire:  cheats.

Cheats were not negative in this sense.  Normally, in dealing with sportsmanship, we hear the word "cheat" and we renounce it.  However, in this case, cheats were unlockable modes that altered the coding in the game purely for entertainment purposes.  They included Paintball Mode (where every gunshot produced a paintball splatter), Fast/Slow Animation (where the non-playable characters would move at different speeds), and All Guns (which unlocked all the guns for you to use in each level).

Cheats were unlocked via a time trial.  So if you finished a level on a certain difficulty setting under a specific time, you would unlock that cheat.  And there were two cheats that probably drove most players crazy in trying to unlock them:  Invisibility and Invincibility.

Invisibility required you to complete the Archives level on the hardest difficulty level in under 1 minute 20 seconds, whereas Invincibility required you to complete the Facility level on the hardest difficulty level in under 2 minutes 5 seconds.  To say my friends and I discussed and debated and tested everything under the sun regarding how to achieve these feats is an understatement.  In fact, I'm quite surprised we didn't have laboratories set up with white boards and corresponding diagrams to help show the amount of brain power we used for this.  However, in hindsight, it definitely makes me wish we had done this and provided significant evidence of doing this in order to earn some sort of advanced college credit while still in high school...seriously, we should have written multiple dissertations.

So much of my free time would be spent trying to beat each level under the required times.  I'd restart levels immediately if I screwed up.  I'd yell at the television if I missed it by one second.  I would cripple with anxiety in my gut as I waited to see if I had finally achieved my goal, only to crumple in disappointment each time I would be significantly short.  I imagine many of my teachers would have wished I spent more time doing other things...seriously, can you imagine where I would be if I used all those hours practicing music or taking extra swings in the batting cage?

The point here, however, is that this leisurely recreational activity that took so many hours proved a very important point:  there was no need for significant competition with another person to ensure entertainment.

In Alfie Kohn's book "No Contest," which presents various arguments against competition, one section is dedicated to the idea that competition is needed to ensure entertainment.  In other words, how can we have fun without competing?  And is fun only had if we win?  When I read this section, my experiences with GoldenEye came to mind immediately because it checked every box:

• I wasn't competing with anyone (outside perhaps of myself).
• I was clearly having fun since I came back to it constantly.
  
• And even though I kept not meeting my goal, I continued to pursue it, further reinforcing the idea of having fun.
  

Perhaps it wasn't necessary to yell at the television, but when you're in your early teenage years and filled with hormones, a bit of empathy begins to allow for a small exception while in the privacy of my own home.

Ultimately, although Kohn's book is clearly to the extreme side against competition, one wonders if the objective is more so to get the reader to meet the extremist in the middle and compromise on some of the ideas regarding competition.  That's where I find myself:  understanding that competition needs to be viewed in an almost omniscient point of view, rather than being so invested in it that it is easy to lose sight of reality.

Oh, how easy it is to forget this while so invested in GoldenEye!  But the lesson is easily learned:  there are infinite ways to find entertainment without the vicious requirement of cutthroat competition.

A media piece earlier this year submitted by Today/The Today Show finally provided some statistical data we suspected all along:  we're losing a significant amount of youth sports officials at a rapid rate.

According to the National Federation of High Schools (NFHS, the governing board overseeing high school athletics), 80% of high school sports officials quit before their third year.  The most common reasons are always the verbal and physical abuse from coaches and parents.  In fact, many states are facing the crisis of having to postpone athletic events due to a lack of officials.

Fanning these flames are the threats of social media, where one call can go viral very quickly thanks to the recording capabilities on phones and other devices.  Verbal abuse doesn't just occur on the field anymore:  it's online.

The obvious solution is for people (players, coaches, parents, fans) to behave better.  High school sports are an extension of the classroom.  If you wouldn't act a certain way inside a school, don't act that way while at the field.

But another solution?  If you think you could do better as an official, there is a class waiting for you!  There are cadet courses always looking for more officials.  Why don't you sign up and show everyone your skills?

The snow in New Jersey throughout March kept me from most of my baseball scrimmages, leaving me all of two games (only one behind the plate) to be ready for the regular season.  However, one play during my final game proved a very important point.

With a runner on first base, the pitcher, while in the stretch, did not come to a complete stop.  My partner correctly ruled it a balk as the pitch was delivered.  The batter, however, swung and lined a base hit through the left side of the infield.  Immediately, I came out from behind the plate and yelled, "TIME!  DEAD BALL!"  The first base coach, however, was already disagreeing with me.  "You have to play that out!  A balk is not a dead ball!"

"Yes it is, coach," I said.  "In NFHS (high school) baseball, a balk is an immediate dead ball."

He immediately dropped his argument, which was amazing, in my opinion.  But my partner took the time to explain it to him.  The runner from first base was advanced to second, and the batter resumed his at-bat.

The conflict that arose is that, in OBR (official baseball rules, which is what MLB uses, as do many other forms of baseball), a balk is a delayed dead ball.  That is, you wait for the play to be over before deciding to enforce the balk.  In the case above, we would have let the play go, then given the offense the option of taking the balk penalty or the result of the play.  However, high school rules do not allow this:  they clearly state that the ball is dead immediately and the balk is enforced.  It's an odd shame when something good happens, though...what if the batter hit a home run?  You guessed it:  I become the bad guy and have to nullify the home run to award the balk penalty.

Sometimes these rules don't make sense.  But it's not my job, as the umpire, to debate the rules.  I just have to enforce them.  Further, the coaches should probably take the time to understand these rules as well.  When offered a high school coaching job, it's not as simple as just teaching the game and leading the team.  You have to understand that there are MAJOR DIFFERENCES between high school sports and other levels of those same sports.

As much as officials do their homework to know these odd rules, coaches need to do the same.  After all, high school athletics are an extension of the classroom.  They are another opportunity to educate student athletes on valuable life lessons.  We, as coaches and officials, owe it to the kids to get it right.

If you look at the coaching tree that sprouts from Bill Walsh and Mike Holmgren within the confines of the NFL, you'll see a lot of recognizable names.

One thing you may not know, however, is a pretty interesting thought passed from Walsh to Holmgren regarding how to properly coach your team.

Walsh made it a point to tell Holmgren about the importance of moral as it flows from the coach to the player(s).  You can spend all of practice yelling at your team, but when practice is over, the most important thing a coach can do is to make sure you tell each player something good about them.  The players need to walk off the field with a good feeling, knowing that their coaches support them and that all the work from practice will be worth it.

The sad part is that this type of love is not always remembered by a large chunk of coaches, especially at younger or lesser levels.  How many high school coaches berate their kids in order to try to guarantee that championship?  How many college coaches run their kids into the ground because they think the sport is more important than the studies?  How many minor league coaches use it as a way to weed out the pure professionals?

This is just another testament to the importance of psychology in sports.  This isn't to say that practice shouldn't be tough or demanding, but players (especially younger players) need to know that their superiors recognize their hard work.  If more players felt this kind of love, imagine how positive the results could be on game day!

We've all been there.  We've all reacted the same way.  And that's perfectly okay.

I'm talking about when you become a bench player...a reserve player...a role player...a member of the ensemble cast/chorus...

Okay, you get the point.  But one of the toughest things with which we each must deal at some point in our lives is playing a part of the supporting cast in some operation, especially when we feel we have the talent to be the lead.

In sports, it happens all too frequently.  You can only have so many starting players, so a platoon of reserves are kept on the sidelines in case of injury or a specific circumstance that requires a different player.

But it can happen in many other areas of life, too.  Perhaps you were picked to play 3rd trumpet instead of 1st.  Maybe you were cast as a supporting character with few lines in the play.  Or maybe you were just glanced over for that promotion you deserved at your company.

If you heard our earlier episode on our podcast "How You Play The Game," you know exactly what I mean.

The first thing to note in these situations is that it is completely natural to feel all the emotions associated with loss.  If you're disappointed, angry, frustrated, or feeling any sort of grief, don't fight it!  When you suppress those emotions, they come back later in an even bigger (and more detrimental) way.

(Side note:  if you know someone who is going through this, sympathy and empathy are key.  Don't try to offer an explanation.  Just be there for your grieving friend.)

The next thing to examine (when you're ready) is how you can still play an important part in your team's success.  You may have to "mute" the micro to look at the macro, i.e. put your current feelings on hold to look at the big picture.  Sometimes, you have to suffer through something unfair to be rewarded later.

The final thing to remember is that all of these situations have open endings.  There's no magic word to solve them.  They can go in any direction, and you have to be ready for the challenges that lie ahead.  Maybe the starting quarterback gets injured in the first game and it's up to you to carry the team for the rest of the year.  Maybe the lead in the play becomes sick and you have to step in.

If you can, try to remember that all of these experiences can teach us the greater lesson of how a team succeeds together.  The last guy to make the team can play an equal part in the team's success with encouragement, assistance, and some truncated playing time.  Just because you're a small cog in the machine doesn't mean you don't help the machine work.

If you get a chance, check out the web page of Janis Meredith at www.jbmthinks.com; she writes a sports blog for parents, and the content is quite applicable to the message we try to portray in our mission.

Meredith wrote an article last year about how to tell if you're taking youth sports too seriously.  Her checklist included 13 great points:

1. You're deeply concerned about your child’s playing time.
2. You insist that he or she absolutely must play a certain position.
3. You feel the need to constantly push your child to practice and try harder.
4. You feel terribly guilty if you have to miss one game.
5. You feel it’s your job to confront the coach on behalf of your child about playing time or position issues.
6. You'll pay whatever it takes for your child to be on the best teams, have the best private coaches, and go to the best camps, even if you really can’t afford it.
7. You coach your child in the car on the way to the game.
8. You coach your child during the game from the sidelines.
9. You critique your child in the car after the game on the way home.
10. You worry a lot about your child’s performance and get so nervous that you can’t enjoy the experience.
11. You yell at the coach or officials during the game because you don’t agree with their calls.
12. You're constantly bragging to family and friends about what a stud/studette your child is.
13. You get angry at your child for making a mistake in the game.
    

Consider these points seriously, and if any apply to you, don't be ashamed that you fell into the trap!  Use positive energy to determine to escape these traits, rather than look back and examine your mistake.

The worst thing you can do is be in denial that any of these apply to you, and unfortunately, that's what happens more often than not.  The people who need these words of wisdom (whether they be from Janis or from OSIP) are the ones who will never listen.  It's an unfortunate paradox, but rather than focus on the bad, let's empower the good.

Thanks, Janis!

When discussing youth sports, specifically the Little League World Series, I've gone on record with my hesitations to endorse such events at their high levels.  No matter how we slice it, the particular discussions to be had in this area of youth sports are plenty.

So for a moment, let's put some of it aside and just recognize a good moment...

During the 2017 Little League World Series, Venezuela walked off on the Dominican Republic, causing the losing pitcher to break down in tears.  So what did Venezuela do when they realized what was happening?  They rushed to the crying pitcher (from the opposing team) to comfort him.

That's right:  a team of 12-year-olds realized it was more important to hug it out with a crying pitcher than to celebrate their victory.

Look, we can dissect this a million ways from yesterday.  There may be some people making the argument that breaking down into tears after giving up a winning hit seems like an overreaction.  I'm not about to begin to make assumptions about the backgrounds of these kids that might shed light onto those suggestions.  Let's just take this for face value.  After all, these are kids.  And we all know that kids can be quite unpredictable.

It was a nice moment captured during the tournament, and we can only hope that others see it and learn by example.

Back in May/June in the state of Texas, a youth coach was fired for being caught on video instructing his kids to intentionally hit the umpire with a pitch.

It gets worse...

This coach had already been banned and shouldn't have even been near these kids or this field.

Jeremy Knox is the coach in question.  He has a history that mirrors these types of incidents.  In fact, according to his LinkedIn profile, he worked as a scout for the San Diego Padres at one point.  I can only imagine they fired him when they realized who he was or what he was doing.

The articles that discuss this incident do enough of a job shaming Knox and calling him out for such behavior, so to dig deep into the obvious poor sportsmanship is almost redundant.  But there is one thing we should examine.

How did this get out?

Interestingly enough, a player on Knox's team caught the whole conversation where Knox told his kids to hit the umpire on his cell phone, and the kid proceeded to post it to Snapchat so the coach of the opposing team could see it.  He even included a note to the coach to explain what he was watching and hearing.  The coach then posted it to Facebook to make sure it got out.

Kudos to the kid for getting the word out.  That kid is wise beyond his years.  He deserves a medal.

In my opinion, it's pretty annoying when players, fans, and anyone else have to say or do something to "psyche" themselves up for what might be considered a big game.  What's worse is when it backfires.

At the beginning of May, the Texas Rangers and Houston Astros met for the first time in the baseball season.  The Rangers and Astros are both inter-state and inter-division rivals, playing in the American League West.  So there is already a bit of juice to the series.

So why did Astros third baseman Alex Bregman decide to fire off a Tweet to fire people up and tick off the Rangers?  Your guess is as good as mine.

Bregman has been in the big leagues for all of five minutes.  He played for Team USA in the World Baseball Classic, only to ride the bench in favor of other established stars.  He is certainly not the established leader of the team.  When he Tweeted an obscene (but coded) battle cry to intimidate and beat Texas, the Rangers decided to print copies of it and put them up all over their clubhouse as motivation.

So what did Texas do?  Pitcher Andrew Cashner hit two batters, including Jose Altuve to start off the bottom of the first inning.  So Houston's pitcher, Lance McCullers, then threw behind the back of the Rangers' Mike Napoli.  That's when the benches cleared and everyone congregated in a pushing and shoving match.

These attempts to "fire up your squad" are nothing more than pep rallies, which are pointless from the get-go; if you need to motivate people with some "pep," rather than assume they will find the motivation themselves, then there is a bigger concern at hand.

Is it done to try to scare or intimidate the opponent?  Do you honestly think that this type of behavior will psychologically affect other competitors?

But consider the outcomes of these attempts to intimidate opponents as if they were categorized like Descartes' Wager:

-If your opponent cowers in fear from the intimidation attempts and you beat them, did you really beat them fair and square?  Did you really need to give your all to win over a compromised opponent?  It doesn't seem very satisfying.

-If your opponent cowers in fear but still beats you, then you look like an idiot.

-If your opponent gets angry and fights harder but you win, why did you make it harder on yourself?  I'm sure it's nice to be able to achieve victory by raising your game to immense levels, but was it worth the risk?

-If your opponent gets angry and fights harder and beats you, then you look like an idiot.

There's really no victory worthy of trying to intimidate your opponent.  The cost/benefit ratio is absurd.  Your best bet is to keep your mouth shut and just go do your job.

But the worst part of all this is not that it happened between the Astros and Rangers.  Rather, the problem is that this type of behavior is practiced with our youth as described in pep rallies and other types of scenarios.  Rivalries between high schools and colleges do nothing more than endanger our impressionable youth by exposing them to practices and traditions that do nothing more than cause detriment rather than teach good sportsmanship and morals and focus on the good experience of the game instead of the need to win.

Remind your young ones that it's about the good experience of playing the game, not about demeaning or defeating someone else.