A small Midwestern town experiences a certain kind of quiet pride when one of its own accomplishes something noteworthy. It doesn’t make a loud announcement. You can see it in the way a coach stops in the middle of a sentence and smiles to himself, or in the way people at the neighborhood diner lean against the counter and talk a bit longer than usual. When word spread that a seventeen-year-old from their community had won the NFHS Spirit of Sport Award, one of the most significant honors in American high school athletics, that was the sentiment that pervaded this part of the heartland.
This award was established by the National Federation of State High School Associations to recognize people who truly exemplify the goals of education-based athletics. not data. not offers of scholarships. Character, community, and a willingness to give without expecting anything in return are things that are more difficult to quantify and, to be honest, more difficult to maintain. Coaches, administrators, trainers, or student-athletes may receive the award. However, there’s a feeling that something strange has occurred when it affects a teen.
When Marcus began planning weekend sports clinics for younger kids in his neighborhood, he wasn’t looking for attention. Marcus is the type of kid who still holds the gym door open for the janitor. At the time, he was a sophomore, hardly old enough to drive, and he spent Saturday mornings observing the children in his neighborhood who had nowhere to go and nothing planned to occupy their time. Before it became loud enough to cause him to act, it bothered him in silence for some time. Perhaps the most underappreciated trait a young person can acquire is that transition from observer to actor.
Even Marcus was taken aback by what started out as a casual arrangement in a public park. Local companies began contributing equipment. One weekend, a retired gym instructor showed up and continued to return. After pickup, parents who had hardly spoken to one another started to hang around, carefully creating what appeared to be a neighborhood. The impact of a few hours of organized sport on a community that had been gradually losing its connective tissue may have been unanticipated, but in retrospect, the connection seems almost clear.
There was never any doubt about his academic standing, which is a prerequisite for the NFHS award. However, Marcus’s nominees were careful to emphasize that grades were essentially irrelevant. The integrity of the endeavor was what mattered, as evidenced by his appearance in January when the ground was frozen, attendance was low, no one was watching, and there was no reason to perform. Adults rarely exhibit that level of consistency. It is truly remarkable in an adolescent.
Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, and Wisconsin are included in Section 4 of the NFHS. These states have long-standing athletic traditions and communities that frequently have a profound understanding of the impact that sport can have on a town’s sense of self. There is fierce competition among those states for this award. A selection committee carefully considers each nomination that state associations produce. Marcus passed that process after more than a year of consistent work rather than a single spectacular act. It has an almost stubborn quality, but in a good way.
It’s difficult to ignore the similarities between Marcus’s story and those of other young athletes from across the nation who have discreetly come to the conclusion that winning isn’t everything. I think of an Alaskan family whose teenage sons participate in arctic sports while handing out outreach materials at each event. Different situations, different places, but the same basic instinct—use what you have to give something back. When that instinct manifests in young people, it feels more like a recognized calling than a lesson learned.
There was little fanfare when Marcus accepted his award. He reportedly returned to the park the next Saturday after shaking hands and saying “thank you.” The town took notice. It always does.
