I have known my share of failures: failure to pass a class, to compete, to play, to cut the mustard, to measure up, to make the shot, to make any shot, to remember, to forget, and the failure to write...

 

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Perhaps I can somehow overcome my last and most pestering failure by doing something about it like this...

Turning my failures into Triumphs! Take heart Cubs, Mariners, Rangers and other perennial failures!

Can it be done? Here's hoping my co-bloggers!

I don't remember when I first failed, or even sensed that I failed, or even really recognized that I felt the pain and anguish due to the feeling of failure. But I have had a few "fracasos"; some more significant than others...

I failed to participate and sing with the rest of the little kids on Pioneer Day (age 4).

I failed to stop myself from throwing away my sister's favorite pet rock. (age 5)

I failed to be in the US for Independence Day for the Tricentennial (1976, also age five).

I chickened out and failed to try out for Little League (age 8).

I failed to realize that I needed to play competitive playground basketball if I wanted to be good at it, and that I would like it so much later in life (ages 8-13)

I failed to pay attention to Isaih's championship team as closely as I wished I had (1981, age 10).

I failed to stick it out and stay with my seventh grade football team, despite all the obstacles (age 12)

I failed to pull myself away from the television to do stuff like make more money mowing lawns, compete in more sports, gain more muscle and training, and stamina... (ages 12-16)

I failed to ask out the girl I liked so much (age 16)

I failed Algebra 4 (age 17)

I failed Chemistry, and more importantly, I failed to realize I had no business taking that teacher, knowing myself and the teacher's rep (age 18)

I failed to make the easy lay up on a perfect inbounds pass in a church b-ball game in overtime (age 18, also)

I failed to make it to the house on time of the boy we baptized in Chile, thus missing his parents before they left for the country, and the special ice cream treat that they had made us--big cultural feaux pas(age 20)

I failed to see the cross bar of the county park entrance was closed, and smashed the family car (age 21)

I failed to get accepted as a transfer student to BYU the first time I applied... (age 21)

I failed, and continued to fail as an adult in many real and tangible ways....

There were many letdowns, miscues, and so many more failures I could recount, both from my youth and my adulthood. The adult failures become more prescient and personal to my hopes, dreams, ego and self-esteem...

But: I did not fail, and I am not a failure. I am a survivor, and I have not given up.

Who could have taught me these  lessons of resiliency and never giving in to the failures ?

The obvious answers are: my parents, my family, my teachers, friends and neighbors...

My heroes...

Isaih Thomas. The last of ten, no father at home and a tougher neighborhood in America there was not.

Larry Bird. His father was an alcoholic and took his own life while Larry was a freshman enrolled at IU.

Magic Johnson. He stood up and has not sat down.

Tim Raines. Forever known for sliding head first into second to not break the cocaine vials in his back pockets, he regrouped, and went on to get 2600 hits, 808 steals, played with his son in a major league game, survived Lupus, came back from life threatening forced retirement, and has now coached the World Champion White Sox. He's my fav all-time.

Walter Payton. Played with more passion and heart than anyone else I have seen. Died with grace and eloquence.

Ty Detmer. Never called it quits even though everyone said he was too small, not getting the starts. Flutie is the same, only played more and longer.

Bill Russell. A bigger champion and social pioneer you could not name.

Michael Jordan. Lost his father to two senseless thugs. Came back and came back again: I appreciate his two years with the Wizards more than any of his championship seasons.

Oscar Robertson. Graceful warrior who kept all the venom inside.

Jesse Owens. Beat down the worst hate-monger on the world's biggest stage.

Jackie. 47. If you don't know the rest, then I suggest you don't stop reading blogs until you do.

Dat Nguyen. Vietnamese can play Texas-style football.

Sugar Ray Leonard. He kept coming back, again and again. 

Don Mattingly. Classy and skilled, he called it quits at his appointed time.

The list is endless. So are my failures.

And my triumphs? I, like my heroes, am a survivor in life and death:

I defend my family, my rights to life and freedom.

I love my country, even when I feel there is injustice.

I play the game because I love it.

I lose and fail and keep coming back.

I don't let the naysayers dictate my destiny.

I may feel discrimination or the unfavorable wrath of favoritism, and I continue more determined.

I am me, and I know what that means.

I believe in something bigger than me, bigger than you, and pray that we may all realize the dream.

What do I think the dream is?

That we all triumph as we are meant to be, not failures, but eternal champions.

We are meant to be triumphant because of our failures.

Sports and its figures remind me of those failures, triumphs and endurance in life constantly, beautifully and at times tragically... Sports symbolize the whole thing... How can I not like them?

How am I not meant to endure and triumph? Not even death can take my legacy away...