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In today’s sports, we sometimes mislabel athletes, whose personal conduct is questionable, as “heroes” who bask in the limelight while bright lights blind them to where they act with impunity off the field. Too often, we forgive transgressions if our team is winning. Recently, I explained to my son why I threw out his Ben Roethlisberger jersey.
Thankfully, heroes still exist for children, but their names aren’t splashed across the front pages. One of my 6-year-old son’s role models is Joel Bailey.
Four months after my son, Jack, was born, I deployed to Iraq. When I came home, my new assignment kept me away, so when we arrived in Kansas, wrestling seemed like an opportunity for us to bond. Jack is small for his age, and shy, and at the time he was still adjusting to having me around, so when he walked into the wrestling room for his first practice, he was noticeably nervous.
While tying his shoes and adjusting his headgear, I tried to encourage Jack by explaining that wrestling was a great sport, that he’d have fun and discover what it means to dig deep when down by two points in the third period and, oh yeah, did I mention wrestling is fun? Jack wasn’t buying any of it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Then Coach Joel walked up.
“Hi! I’m Coach Joel! What’s your name?”
I started to reply, but quickly realized he wasn’t talking to me. He smiled at the little boy curled up in my arms. Jack peeped his head out enough to shyly respond, “I’m Jack.”
“Hey, Jack, we’re going to have a great time together! How about a high five?” Joel replied.
And that was it. My son took his first faltering steps on the mat.
Joel Bailey’s goal — along with Bobby Hancock, Shawn Budke, Jeff Butler, Joe Becker, Mike Marshall and others — is to “produce champions for the game of life” by using wrestling to teach life’s lessons. They teach that success is more than winning: real victory involves always trying your best, even after losing.
The cast of the Spartans is as varied as the demographics of our county, but the kids are oblivious to one’s background because who they see are teammates, all proudly wearing the team colors. In every one, coaches see potential. Can’t pay the registration fee? We’ll work something out. Need a ride to practice? We’ll get you one.
Pay? For the coaches and dedicated wives, pay exists in watching sweat and tears turn into magic. You can’t buy the satisfaction when something clicks and a young boy or girl, after losing repeatedly, pins an opponent and smiles while the referee raises his or her hand in victory. These young people chart a course in a world of distractions, and win or lose, a coach is there with a hug and encouragement. In that moment, a child realizes that he is somebody, that he matters. For many children today, a word of encouragement is manna. Never quitting, always trying, even against the odds.
So if you want to see real heroes — someone heralded for character rather than athletic feats — head on down to your local sports field to watch America’s youth give their best. In the eyes of so many youngsters, coaches are role models. I know, because I see the spark in my son’s eyes when his coach hoists him high on his shoulders. To my son — whose Spartan shirt replaced his Roethlisberger jersey — Joel Bailey is more than a coach. In a world of charlatans, Joel Bailey is his hero.
Editor’s note: Lt. Col. Zoltan “Z” Krompecher is a career Soldier who has deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. In his spare time, he writes about casual observations that affect him. He also coaches. These views are his own.
In today’s sports, we sometimes mislabel athletes, whose personal conduct is questionable, as “heroes” who bask in the limelight while bright lights blind them to where they act with impunity off the field. Too often, we forgive transgressions if our team is winning. Recently, I explained to my son why I threw out his Ben Roethlisberger jersey.
Thankfully, heroes still exist for children, but their names aren’t splashed across the front pages. One of my 6-year-old son’s role models is Joel Bailey.
Four months after my son, Jack, was born, I deployed to Iraq. When I came home, my new assignment kept me away, so when we arrived in Kansas, wrestling seemed like an opportunity for us to bond. Jack is small for his age, and shy, and at the time he was still adjusting to having me around, so when he walked into the wrestling room for his first practice, he was noticeably nervous.
While tying his shoes and adjusting his headgear, I tried to encourage Jack by explaining that wrestling was a great sport, that he’d have fun and discover what it means to dig deep when down by two points in the third period and, oh yeah, did I mention wrestling is fun? Jack wasn’t buying any of it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Then Coach Joel walked up.
“Hi! I’m Coach Joel! What’s your name?”
I started to reply, but quickly realized he wasn’t talking to me. He smiled at the little boy curled up in my arms. Jack peeped his head out enough to shyly respond, “I’m Jack.”
“Hey, Jack, we’re going to have a great time together! How about a high five?” Joel replied.
And that was it. My son took his first faltering steps on the mat.
Joel Bailey’s goal — along with Bobby Hancock, Shawn Budke, Jeff Butler, Joe Becker, Mike Marshall and others — is to “produce champions for the game of life” by using wrestling to teach life’s lessons. They teach that success is more than winning: real victory involves always trying your best, even after losing.
The cast of the Spartans is as varied as the demographics of our county, but the kids are oblivious to one’s background because who they see are teammates, all proudly wearing the team colors. In every one, coaches see potential. Can’t pay the registration fee? We’ll work something out. Need a ride to practice? We’ll get you one.
Pay? For the coaches and dedicated wives, pay exists in watching sweat and tears turn into magic. You can’t buy the satisfaction when something clicks and a young boy or girl, after losing repeatedly, pins an opponent and smiles while the referee raises his or her hand in victory. These young people chart a course in a world of distractions, and win or lose, a coach is there with a hug and encouragement. In that moment, a child realizes that he is somebody, that he matters. For many children today, a word of encouragement is manna. Never quitting, always trying, even against the odds.
So if you want to see real heroes — someone heralded for character rather than athletic feats — head on down to your local sports field to watch America’s youth give their best. In the eyes of so many youngsters, coaches are role models. I know, because I see the spark in my son’s eyes when his coach hoists him high on his shoulders. To my son — whose Spartan shirt replaced his Roethlisberger jersey — Joel Bailey is more than a coach. In a world of charlatans, Joel Bailey is his hero.
Editor’s note: Lt. Col. Zoltan “Z” Krompecher is a career Soldier who has deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. In his spare time, he writes about casual observations that affect him. He also coaches. These views are his own.
