The propensity to toss balls into baskets has been around a long time. Like many mothers, I bought one of those decoys for getting my sons to throw their socks into the hamper. But they were more interested in nailing the trash can, or their little sister's face. 

 

A friend who was an elite wrestler told me what has changed for him. Many years ago the experience of being on the mat, and later watching from the stands when his son competed, depended on the score. So, too, when he turned on a sports event he found himself cheering for the team from his home state, regardless of whether he knew any of the players personally or they even lived in the city they represented. 

 

But in recent years he has found himself in the crowd at a state finals riveted to the sheer strength of the wrestlers, regardless of the color of their jersey. He celebrated each single leg take down or tie up as evidence of a steely body going full throttle. Five hours later he returned to cognizance of the clock and other obligations, oblivious to something as arbitrary as a score. He has witnessed strategy on both sides, and respected each young man who achieved it. 

He contrasted mainstream sports with Special Olympics. There are stories of young people who slowed down to wait for another runner who had slipped, or was confused. Sometimes they link arms, to cross the finish line as an unbroken chain of buddies.

 

When the athletes involved are under no obligation to measure themselves in comparison to everyone else, there is a wider playing field for success. Showing up, having fun, clapping each other on the back, and donuts after the game made the effort worthwhile. There is enough joy to go around.