To learn to win, first we must learn how to lose

IT WAS a proud moment as no. 1 child stepped out on the pitch, hockey stick – they’re made of fibreglass and carbon fibre these days, just as traditional living grass is also now old hat – in gloved hands.

i felt it incumbent to offer a few words of encouragement. nothing too gung-ho, as competitiveness is out of style in these ‘all must have prizes’ days.

Something worthy, if not stirring, was needed. After all, this was a school tournament and not the morning of Waterloo. ‘it’s the taking part’, or some such homily... ‘Remember, darling,’ i began, only to be abruptly cut off.

‘Yeah, yeah, Dad, i know – second place is first loser!’ she declared through her gumshield as she dashed off.

She was joking. Yet it’s hard to stifle that desire to compete, one of our most basic instincts, under a blanket of political correctness.

competition is in our DNA and trendy teaching cannot erase it any more than keeping little boys away from toy guns will eradicate warfare.

(i remember a child of modish parents lashing sticks together in a rough approximation of an assault rifle. ‘it’s not a gun, mum – just a fiery thing,’ he said, loosing off a clip of imaginary rounds that shot down her hopes that nurture can outmuscle nature.)

news that pushy parents use smartphone videos as instant replays to prove Jeannie must be in the medals for the sack race was startling.

i’ve never been one for arrogance of that sort. But when children want to see who can run fastest, throw farthest, climb highest, competitiveness ought to be harnessed, not suppressed, in the classroom and the playing field.

i was no great shakes sports-wise, but a certain tenacity replaced trophies and medals. hopeless at diving, i kept belly-flopping until the Pe teacher said i’d passed the basic test – i got a ribbon for my Speedos that was as red as my chest.

My maternal grandfather was a great fan of the Bard and so i was mad keen to win the Burns poetry prize at primary school.

i was second every year and it still rankles that i lost in P7 to a girl whose surname was – not coincidentally, i maintain – Burns.

i learned that where there are winners there must also be losers. Traumatised? hardly – i still like the poems.

Of course, we must be careful not to drive children too hard and we must always instil the value of co-operation and collaboration.

YET the academic race is, in the end, with yourself. it’s your application, your diligence and effort that, ultimately, will determine your course long after schoolmates become fondly remembered faces in a faded class photograph.

i saw a beautiful video this week in which a young American baseball pitcher struck out a childhood friend, propelling his own team to the finals.

Rather than falling into the congratulatory arms of his team-mates, he raced off the pitcher’s mound to console his defeated friend.

We must try to teach our children there is no shame in either winning or losing, only in not giving your all.

The lesson we must learn is that losing is fine if you take it philosophically.

Winning is, while most certainly not the be-all and end-all, also fine – if you handle it with magnanimity.