Throwing away history is just absurd

Every so often, you just hear a thought that stops you in your tracks.

No names please, of course, but I visited an area high school recently and was chatting with someone I knew at that school.

As we stood by the trophy case, the person told me about how someone at the school had once entertained the thought of throwing some of the trophies away because of the space they were taking up.

Sadly, this is not the first time such a concept has been breached locally. On the word of people I trust inherently, there have been a few schools at which someone at some point looked at the old hardware in the cabinet toward the front of a school building and said, “You know what? Those are relics. Why would anyone want those around?”

Even worse, there are schools at which it’s actually happened — those priceless keepsakes ended up in a scrap heap.

Let’s be clear: If a school ever considers such an action and insults the tradition of their community in such a manner, whoever makes that decision should be thrown out, too.

Dusty, tattered and worn as they may be, championship trophies are part of a school’s identity.

In those trophies — for league championships, district and regional titles and state crowns — are a story onto themselves.

It’s never ceased to amaze me how much of a formality actually winning a state title is in the moment and the immediacy after the fact — but that’s for another day.

It shouldn’t matter if it’s 40, 50 or 60-plus years old and no one in the building at that current time could name anyone on a team or recount the journey of how they reached that goal.

A school and a community are identified in part by what they’ve done athletically.

Long after the trophy is brought home, and long after people sit in a rocking chair and tell their grandchildren about the time they were the best at their craft, it resonates.

Is there anyone who honestly thinks if a track and field athlete shows up at, say, Gilmour, and sees the 1971 state title that Eric Penick won by sweeping the 100, 220 and 440 and scoring all of the Lancers’ points that year, that they wouldn’t be inspired to reach such heights if they heard that story themselves?

Would anyone in Chardon want its 1994 Division II state football championship trophy any place other than a prominent home at the heart of the school?

Would a University hockey player be worse off because they walk past the Preppers’ 2003 and 2009 state titles every day in Hunting Valley?

Would Lake Catholic be better served if any of its championship hardware was in a closet or put on eBay?

Would Mentor be better off if its wall space was taken up by blank wall instead of by its 1994 boys soccer crown or 1985 boys cross country title or its 2013 boys basketball championship?

The answer — on all counts and so many more — is: “OF COURSE NOT.”

None of those schools would — and no one else should, either.

It’s difficult to even fathom how much of history is discarded as it is — as the old saying goes, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

But championship trophies at a high school should never count as trash.

Out of respect to the athletes who put in the tireless work for them.

Out of respect to the coaches who pushed all the right buttons to lead a team to glory. Out of respect to the communities who cheered them on every step of the way and will never forget it as long as they live.

And out of respect to the present and future, who are trying to add their own chapter to a legacy before they exit — leave the trophies alone.

Put them behind glass for all time. Those trophy cases are a museum, for crying out loud — not a pantry that has some old peanut butter that needs to be thrown out.

And if you ever hear anyone entertain such a thought, do your community a favor and stop them in their tracks before they do something that narrowminded.