For eight months I have been rising at 4 a.m to sit at my computer and dredge the depths of memory, as I write what will surely be my last book: Changing the Game. The book is part memoir, part life lessons, and ultimately an introduction to my latest project, A-Games. A-Games is a programme for youth designed to create meaningful sports and fitness activities for them while simultaneously enabling children to learn valuable life skills such as organisation, management, and leadership. To write Changing the Game, I have sifted through childhood scrapbooks, talked to old friends, and taken long walks to recall and reflect upon my experiences on and off myriad playing fields. After numerous discussions with players, coaches, parents and friends, and much cogitation, I have arrived at this conclusion: when it comes down to it, the most important thing you derive from active and prolonged participation in sports is a harvest of memories. Another great takeaway from games and sports is the joy of building lasting friendships, together with physical competence, achievement and enjoyment. Though I’ve competed in seven sporting disciplines from junior high school to the professional level, I have only a few memories of victories and defeats. I don’t believe winning taught me to be a gracious winner or losing readied me for more serious losses in life. Rather, 70 years of consistent participation in competitive sports and games has taught me how to play with empathy, humour and honesty. If a player challenges me on the senior basketball court, the game takes on a special thrill. The joy of winning is transitory, it doesn’t last very long. Sure, winning is great. But every athlete and sportsperson isn’t likely to win the ultimate championship in her chosen sport. However, every athlete who laces up her shoes and ventures into a sports arena or athletics track, has an opportunity to build a bank of memories — hopefully wonderful — to last a lifetime. For example, I remember the time my high school basketball team was invited to play in the Beverly Hills Invitational Tournament. It was the final day of the tournament and we were tired. Two of our starters were down with the flu; we’d played two games the day before and one that afternoon, and now we were lined up against Long Beach Wilson for the championship. It was an evenly contested game and the scores were tied as the clock ticked down to eight seconds remaining. I took a shot and missed it. A Wilson player grabbed the rebound and his teammates immediately but ill-advisedly shouted “Timeout!” There was just one small problem. Wilson didn’t have any timeouts left to use. The referee tried to tell them they would be penalised (a technical foul is given in such cases) if they insisted on taking the timeout. But in the noise and confusion his warning to them went unheard. The expression on the players’ faces when they realised their mistake was painful. I felt…
