Victory at all costs?
An old sporting argument – good for many lovely hours of intense discussion and fervent discussion – surfaces every now and then. Is winning everything? Or does sportsmanship and “playing the game” come first?
Students of cricket will remember way back in 1981 in a one day International played between New Zealand and Australia, New Zealand batting, one ball to go, six runs to win, how Greg Chappell, captain of Australia, went over to his brother Trevor and instructed him to bowl the ball underhand, along the ground. Even Viv Richards couldn’t hit a six then! Australia won. Pandemonium then ensued. The Prime Minister of New Zealand said Chappell was a coward. The Prime Minister of Australia said he was terribly sorry about what happened. The sports journalists had a field day and the headlines were full of sound and fury. Greg Chappell said he was very, very contrite indeed and he would never, never do it again. Only the scorebook, recording a victory for Australia, made no comment.
What really is the answer? Consider the contrasting behaviour of great champions in a past era. Consider, for instance, Arthur Ashe, the marvellous American tennis champion of the 1970s and then compare him with his compatriot John McEnroe. On the one hand, Ashe – modest, good-natured, articulate, impeccably mannered. On the other hand, McEnroe – temperamental, aggressively egotistical, often obscene – the last word in bad sportsmanship and bad manners on court. Yet they are both in the category of very great champions.
How is one to judge? The question is of course complicated in these professional days when the difference between winning and losing means a big difference in the size of paycheck. When a man knows that beating his opponent is going to bring him US$1 million (or more) his behaviour is likely to be more ruthless, more governed by a spirit of winning at all costs, than it might have been in the old amateur days when men played much more for fame and glory. Yet fame and glory have been, and will continue to be, sharp enough spurs to bring out the best – and the worst – in men
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So how should we consider unsporting behaviour at the highest level? In world championship fights in America it is said that they do not disqualify a fighter unless he actually pulls a knife in the ring or perhaps bites off a bit of an ear or maybe clubs an opponent repeatedly in the groin. You have to be tough to be a world champion.
I recall a very famous case in tennis long ago. It was the final of Wimbledon just after World War II. Bob Falkenburg of America, not the fittest of men, lay down on the court between points in the fifth and final set to rest – completely against the rules, but he got away with it and went on to triumph, amidst a storm of boos, against a clean-cut, excellent player whose name I can’t for the moment remember. Should we admire Falkenburg’s behaviour or not? After all, he won, and his name looks down on you at the All-England Club inscribed forever on the golden roll of champions. As an American coach said, as all American coaches say, “Nice guys come last.”
As another example, what is one to make of the practice nowadays in big cricket – perfected, dare I say, by the Australians – of very loud, very unanimous appealing to influence umpires at key moments even when you know the batsman is certainly not out? I hate the Australians for doing it − but half-wish sometimes that we had perfected that crafty art.
I frankly admit that my own mind is not entirely made up about all this. I certainly admire and like to see good sporting behaviour and excellent manners in any sport I play or watch. I feel an immediate revulsion against Maradona’s infamous (but not infamous in Argentina) “Hand of God” goal or Tyson biting Holyfield or Schumacher’s deliberate lunge in trying to prevent Villenueve winning the Formula One World Championship in 1997 or footballers in great matches deliberately and falsely diving in theatrical agony to get penalties. Yet I find myself, against my better instincts, retaining a sort of grudging, but considerable, regard for the ruthless, win-at-all costs competitor who puts victory above all else and fights tooth and nail for it – especially, of course, if he happens to be on my side.
One thing I am sure about and that is that in the end all champions must have one thing in common – and that is a certain toughness, a determination like steel, something – name it what you will – that is at least akin to ruthlessness. Even the most sporting of champions, the most courteous of persons, if they are to succeed, down in their hearts must have this tough spirit, and, when it comes to the testing point, must be unrelenting in the search for victory. That is what gives the true champion his or her charisma. That is what gives sport its edge of real excitement.
And, as I end this with questions still in mind, I think again of Greg Chappell in that match against New Zealand back in 1981 and I think I just hear him above the uproar afterwards whisper to his little brother, “Well, Trev, apologies are nice, but victory is sweeter!”