A wise person once said that losing builds character. A wiser person once said that losing stinks and winning is way more fun.
When I was younger, I was the worst sore loser you could ever imagine. I would scream when I struck out in Little League and occasionally cry on the mound when I gave up runs. Watching my beloved Mets, I would chuck pillows at the TV when they lost. They usually lost.
Somewhere along the road, I stopped crying and throwing things when I failed. It was immature. It didn't reflect well on the Leibowitz name. But even throughout my high school baseball years, I despised losing. I couldn't stand striking out. I chewed over my mistakes for days. I never wanted to let myself or my teammates down.
In college, two factors forced me to finally loosen up. First, my athletic career ended. Second, I realized that, if I wanted to pursue my dream of becoming a sports writer, I needed to watch games objectively and maintain an even keel. There's no cheering in the press box - and there's certainly no crying.
Now, when I put on my journalist's hat, I attempt to push emotions aside and simply report what I see. But it's impossible to separate myself as a person - a sports fan who hates to lose - from myself as a journalist.
For the past two years, I have covered the Tufts football team for the Daily. What I've seen is a whole lot of disappointment and a whole lot of losing, and that's exactly what I've written. Week after week, I have documented the team's plight in as neutral a manner possible.
But to me, what's happening on the field is not the full story. Of course, wins and losses matter, and the Jumbos have not won since 2010, enduring one defeat after the next in gut-wrenching fashion. On the field, they have failed, and everyone involved - coaches, players and administrators - bears some responsibility.
While it's easy to say that losing builds character, the act of losing does not, in itself, make better human beings. Winning is the goal. Losing stinks. But knowing how to respond to losing, on the other hand, is invaluable. This is where the Tufts football team continues to amaze me.
After a game, heads do not hang. Players do not quit. On Sundays, the team comes in ready to do anything humanly possible to win the following Saturday. This might sound like "coach-speak," and any self-respecting sports journalist knows that coach-speak is often euphemistic BS. But this, I can assure you, is not that.
The Tufts football team has become the subject of frequent ridicule on the Hill, and don't think the players don't know it. But the Jumbos believe in themselves when no one else will. They tune out the noise and march forward, approaching their practices, film sessions, meetings and treatment sessions with unwavering focus and intensity.
Yes, most athletes do this. But these are Div. III athletes, students, college kids caught up in the longest losing streak in the country. Moping would be understandable. Anger would be justified. Embarrassment would be natural.
The Jumbos, though, have done what I could never do: taking the intense frustration that comes with losing and channeling it constructively. The players have not become apathetic or enraged. Instead, they have carried themselves with quiet determination, working tirelessly in search of that elusive victory.
Placed in a similar situation, I know from experience that I would lack the will to cope. There's nothing worse than losing. I admire the football team for approaching such a difficult stretch with equal parts passion and poise.
Aaron Leibowitz is a senior who is majoring in American studies. He can be reached at Aaron.Leibowitz@tufts.edu.
