For the Pros: The Pain is Worth the Gain
Rajon Rondo played most of the Celtics-Heat playoff series with torn ligaments in his elbow, illustrating the courage and pain threshold of professional athletes. But was it worth it? Rondo is 25 years old. Should he have endangered a career that figures to last another decade just to improve the Celtics’ chances of winning a championship? Perhaps not, but we should be slow to dismiss his playing as reckless folly.
Coach George Allen once remarked that he would trade a year off his life in exchange for another Super Bowl. He took a lot of flak, his remark was considered illustration of the pathological obsession with winning that mars professional sports. The surprising thing is that anyone would find Allen’s remark objectionable. Living to 88 instead of 87, or 73 instead of 72, hardly seems paramount. Experiencing the ultimate achievement in your field and the intense pleasure that accompanies it seems easily worth a small tradeoff in lifespan.
The willingness to trade longevity for glory has an impressive pedigree. In The Iliad, Achilles forfeits the prospect of a long life for the equivalent of a Super Bowl victory. Having deserted his army over a personal slight, he is implored by his mates to return to battle. At first he resists, but when his friend Patrokolos is killed by Hektor, Achilles sees the error of his ways. He returns to battle, seeking revenge but also the glory due him if he topples his formidable foe. Unlike George Allen, he wasn’t mocked for choosing glory over longevity.
Several athletes have made the same choice as Achilles, albeit trading in years in uniform rather than years of life. Remember Steve Stone? Likely not, because he was a journeyman pitcher who managed only one memorable season. That year, 1980, he won 25 games and the Cy Young award. Stone destroyed his arm that season by over-reliance on his bread and butter curveball. His hook was virtually unhittable, but the curveball (used too often) does in pitchers as well as batters. The following season was Stone’s last. He staggered to a record of 4-7, and retired at the age of 34.
Stone knew the consequences of his pitch selection. When he got off to a fast start, he saw the opportunity for a special season and opted to throw caution to the wind. If that’s nutty, Stone has good company in the nut kingdom. During the 1987 NBA playoffs, Kevin McHale played on two severely injured feet for a dozen games. Unlike Stone, McHale was in the prime of a fabulous career – this was not his only chance for glory. In fact, McHale already wore three championship rings and had made several all-star appearances. His teammate, Larry Bird, urged him to go home and heal for the next season rather than risk permanent damage. But McHale, like George Allen, had sipped the champagne and knew there’s no comparable taste.
His courage didn’t pay off. The Celtics lost in the finals, and McHale was never the same player. He retired after the 1992 season at 35, outlasted by any number of his contemporary big men. As it happens, in the early 1990s, Larry Johnson and Derrick Coleman, who played McHale’s position but never approached his greatness, signed contracts for $84 million and $38 million respectively. McHale’s decision to play on bum feet for a few weeks cost him a fortune. A few weeks ago, Rajon Rondo ran that same risk.
Did McHale and Rondo act foolishly? Surely there are times when discretion is the better part of valor. One is hard-pressed to defend Pete Reiser, the 1940s Dodger great who aborted his career by repeatedly running into outfield walls. But McHale and Rondo weren’t blindly reckless. They made a calculated gamble based on the sensible belief that you measure a career less by the number of years than by the quality of however many years.
When Sugar Ray Leonard opted to keep fighting despite a detached retina, some sportswriters went ballistic. How could anyone risk permanent eye injury for another championship belt? They were arguably more shortsighted than Leonard. To be sure, I wouldn’t want my own kids to make Leonard’s decision. In fact, I didn’t want Leonard to either. But to be baffled by his choice is to reveal oneself a stranger to the allure of sports. A non-athlete may have trouble understanding how someone can attach so much significance to an hour in the ring as to risk one’s eyesight. Steve Stone, Kevin McHale, and Rajon Rondo would not.
I’ve heard it said that it’s not whether you win or lose, or how you play the game -- what matters is that you can play tomorrow. Not necessarily.
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