The agony of defeat.
Wins and losses, winning and losing.
Doesn’t matter if the sport being played at the highest level is amateur or professional, those kicking a soccer ball, shooting a puck, or catching a ball, experience the highest of highs and lowest of lows.
It’s why championship games capture our imagination. It’s why we wake up at all hours to watch the Olympics, World Cup, etc.
I’m sure you’ve noticed your son or daughter after their “big” game. Bright smiles are always beamed from their jubilant faces, but a loss? A loss which ruined their Stanley Cup moment? Here comes a massive pout unlike anything you’ve seen before. It’s as if the beloved family pet left home never to return again. Forget about taking away the Xbox or iPhone, suffering that first championship loss stings and hurts bad – real bad!
Decades after losing the BC Games Gold Medal game in fastball, my former teammates, who remain dear friends to this day, still anguish over the loss. Sure we came home with a silver medal, but it’s the loss we remember. A few years later I was part of a Provincial Championship winning team at the intermediate level (well done Langley Merchants), but it’s that damn loss I remember the most, and not fondly.
As a Sports Anchor and Reporter I’ve seen a Super Bowl victory up-close-and-personal. I was midfield in San Diego when the Broncos were handed the Vince Lombardi trophy after winning their first Super Bowl. Team Owner Pat Bowlen, who I spent a day with earlier in the week while doing a story on, spotted my cameraman and I out of hundreds of journalists and team members on the field. I’ve had numerous moments in my career, having the Super Bowl trophy personally delivered right in front of me, as if I had won it, ranks right up there!
I’ve also been fortunate to watch the BC Lions win a few Grey Cups. Not going to lie, I froze my butt off on the sidelines in Winnipeg but seeing one of pro sports legendary trophies triumphantly hoisted by the home team brought a different tingling to my body and it wasn’t from the sub-zero temperature. The subsequent Grey Cup party at the team hotel wasn’t too shabby either, same for the charter flight home.
Late Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, I once again witnessed the agony of defeat. Let me tell you, it doesn’t matter what side of a loss you see it from, it’s painful. Yes I know there’s greater things going on in our world right now, but for an elite athlete this is their world. One where wins and losses feel like the end of the world. I had a front row seat in Los Angeles when the Whitecaps made their first MLS playoff debut. Somber would be an understatement to describe the mood then. This loss against FC Dallas leaves the kind of mark your buddy delivered with that sucker punch/purple herbie. You remember that bruise on your thigh. Hurt like hell and left a month-long bruise. Now imagine it being delivered with sledgehammer force.
Again I was field level, no trophy this time. Just buckets full of tears being shed by grown men. A group of men whose five-game unbeaten streak was abruptly ended by one whistle, one damn penalty kick goal. More than one Whitecaps player slowly walked by me. Making eye contact was near impossible, heads were hanging that low. Those who did look up sported bloodshot eyes from the spent tears, and this was minutes after the final whistle.
A good 20 minutes after they departed the field, tears were still flowing in the dressing room. When Caps head coach Carl Robinson came out to talk to the media he told us how hard his players were taking the loss. He mentioned veteran Mauro Rosales and how he was crying uncontrollably. Erik Hurtado, who scored the tying goal, could barely string four words together. The only reason his tears didn’t stand out more in the locker room was because he was sporting a mouse/bruise under his right eye from a forearm smash he took in the match. His and Rosales tears were gone when I saw them on the team bus and then again on the flight, but the loss was imprinted on their faces. An ugly stamp of defeat worse than any Mike Tyson face tattoo. It’s still on everyone’s face as we fly at 42,000 feet. Three hours into the flight home and some four-and-a-half hours after the game had ended, Carl Robinson sat down beside me for a lengthy chat. First words out of his mouth were “I’m still gutted!” He was drained, emotionally spent, and in need of a leather couch with some quiet, soothing, elevator music dissolving this loss away.
Yes to a man, each know there’s greater things happening in our world like Ebola and wars. But this is what professional sport looks and feels like. This is what the agony of defeat looks like. It’s a face nobody wants to sport, or look at. When it’s staring right back at you, there’s not a word or thing a person can say to make you feel or look better.
Wins and losses. Numbers and stats in the column.
Wins and losses. Raw emotion fans and players ooze for hours, days, weeks, years and yes for some of us, decades.
The agony of defeat.
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