The ethics of piling on in sport and life

There was this high school B-team quarterback of middling talent, a sophomore, promoted to the undefeated junior varsity for its season finale. Summoned from the bench in the fourth quarter, with his new mates safely ahead, 37-0, he promptly led two touchdown drives against the clearly overmatched opponent.

The last score came on a trick maneuver when no such thing was necessary, when the lad called for a halfback pass disguised as a run. 51-0. It was too easy.

That quarterback was me. Guilty, you might say, of the unsportsmanlike deed of running up the score. At the time, I certainly didn’t consider how the other team felt about the situation, or whether I should be more embarrassed by my actions than the victims were by the score.

That was 59 years ago, but the ethics of that sort of piling on are an old and recurring topic that goes beyond playing fields, the dehumanizing of the Other Side in all matters — socially, culturally, politically.

I’m thinking of the scraps at school board meetings, the name-calling and profanity hurled at anyone considered a "loser" for their beliefs, the inconsiderate blasting of music by neighbors at all hours, the aggressive parkway speeders and drivers who won't give way to ambulances, the knuckleheads who can’t extricate themselves from their phones to acknowledge other humans, the anger on social media. In general, me-first posturing.

What triggered this rumination was the local high school football coach who dodged disciplinary action after his team’s recent 47-0 rout that activated Nassau County’s lopsided-score policy. Any coach whose team wins by more than 42 points is required to submit a written report on the lengths to which he went to avoid running up the score. Or face possible suspension.

The quandary in these matters, though, is whether respect for opponents can be legislated. And exactly how to define respect.

In sports, a zero-sum endeavor, somebody has to lose. But so what? Being on the short end of a score hardly reflects on one’s moral character. Besides, real competitors don’t consider themselves charity cases in the face of superior talent, don’t ask for leniency, and aren’t expecting it. In that sense, I’ll argue that it is possible to win big and remain humble. Besides, as long as there is fair play, isn’t there an obligation — no matter one’s skill — to do one’s best at all times?

It’s just that there are limits, the difference between a spontaneous, organic rout and a bully rout. In 1980, when Portland State defeated Delaware State, 105-0, in college football, Portland State led, 63-0, at halftime and continued to use its first-stringers. "When it was 63-0," the losing athletic director, Nelson Townsend, asked, "did they still think we could catch up?"

Is it necessary to invoke a mercy rule in life? Is it the duty of a dominant team to call off the dogs at some point? Clear the bench? And, in the latter case, is it appropriate for the coach to instruct his seldom-used subs to rein in their eagerness to perform? (In the long-ago days of this quarterback, the coach didn’t call the plays; the quarterback did, which would shift some degree of accountability.)

I can’t say I was sorry for that 51-0 thrashing. I’ve been on the other end of those things and, rather than feeling humiliated, was frustrated by my — and my team’s — failures. But it’s too easy not to consider the other side. And it would have been more polite to run the ball.

This guest essay reflects the views for former Newsday sports reporter John Jeansonne.