The American Spectator

Streetcar Line

(Page 2 of 2)

As for the elder Thompson, his character is of a different sort. Far less approachable by strangers, far more intimidating not just in height (6'10") but often in demeanor, his integrity remains far too little appreciated by the nation's sports fans. In an age where college sports headlines far too often involve cheating, payoffs, and educational fraud, Thompson never forgot his role as educator. I can attest, from first-hand experience, that unless his players were at a road game, they always, always attended class -- or else Thompson kicked them off the team.

His first-hire as head coach was of a former nun as tutor for his players -- to make sure they studied, and eventually graduated.

So respected was he that when he heard one of his players who grew up here in D.C. was still being seen in company with childhood friends who had gone bad -- associates of one of the city's top known drug kingpins -- Thompson sent word out on the street that he wanted to see that kingpin. Sure enough, the kingpin showed up at Thompson's office as instructed. And, as the story was reported, Thompson ordered him to leave Thompson's players alone.

And the kingpin said "yes, sir." Or words to that effect. And the problem was solved.

Meanwhile, Thompson's freshmen players didn't live in separate athletic dormitories -- they shared the dorms with other students (on my own freshman dorm floor), and wrestled and goofed off and studied with all the rest of us.

Like father, like son: When JTIII arrived from Princeton to take over the Hoya program in 2004, among his first gestures were to make various overtures to the Georgetown student body.

And the sentiment once known as "Hoya-motion" is back on campus. The winning is back, and the program's integrity never disappeared.

FORGIVE, THEN, THESE rambling vignettes. Fathers and sons, sons and fathers. Fathers and sons and sports -- at high levels, or decidedly low ones. Watching the three Thompson's at the Verizon Center Monday night (while wishing I had a radio to listen to the Chvotkins describe the game), after watching Peyton Manning win yet another game on TV the day before, I could not help but think of how fathers and sons and sports and good examples are so often tied together.

I remember the long, long autumn afternoons in the park throwing the football with my own father. And the summer afternoons where he took huge baskets of used tennis balls to pitch to me for baseball batting practice, always at my behest, so his undersized son could learn how to hit the singles and occasional doubles I wanted to hit in order to be more asset than hindrance to my Little League teams. Good memories, those. Among the best I have.

Which leads us....where, exactly?

Perhaps it leads us in the neighborhood of an essay that is somewhat inelegantly organized. But certainly it leads us somewhere in the realm of gratitude.

Gratitude to the Thompsons and the Mannings. Gratitude for their good examples. And gratitude to all good fathers, most especially my own.

To honor all good fathers, may the sons also rise.

topics:
Education, Sports