The nostalgia of an armchair sports fan

There is a popular notion that when it comes to sports, mankind is split: There are those who like sports, and those who don't. The first group can be divided into two: those who do - i.e., go to the gym every morning, participate in triathalons, play tennis every weekend - and those who watch. The latter, according to the popular conception, are further split into two groups: those who like to watch a game, any game, live, and travel with the teams they root for (and fight their rival?s fans, with both sides often being inebriated), and those who like to see the game, any game, on television with friends, beer and munchies.

There is also a widespread feeling that men like sports, while women don't. I'm not even going to gratify that with a counter-argument. But I would claim - based on a sample of one: myself - that when it comes to other sorts of people who supposedly do not like sports, bookish characters like me, the prevailing conception is simply not true: I may not run a mile every morning, and I won't travel to some European city to watch the team I favor win or lose (as the case may be), and I may not even spend an evening in front of a TV set, biting my nails while a ball is being chased by two teams of grown-ups. But I am still nevertheless fascinated by the entire spectacle of sports and have been following it since my early childhood. I can hold my own in any conversation related to this topic, and can astonish my interlocutors with bits of arcane trivia. Just try me.

It all started, if memory serves, when I realized that I was not going to make my third-grade soccer team. I could have blocked goals with my girth, but I lacked some agility. And the glasses on my nose did not help. So I retired to the library and started reading about sports.

At this tender age I read about Baron Pierre de Coubertin and his idea of reviving the institution of the Greek Olympic games in modern times. Indeed, he suggested the famous motto "Faster, higher, stronger," but as I couldn't achieve any of those, I much preferred the creed he devised: "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."

It took me a few years of reading the biographies of famous sportsmen and women to realize that even if the baron thought the main thing was taking part - if you actually are involved in sports, you better want to triumph and let the others make do with the struggle. In Vince Lombardi's words: "Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing."

So I continued to read about famous winners (and some no-less-famous losers). I still remember the story of Emil "The Locomotive" Zatopek, who won the gold medal in the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki in the 10,000-meter, 5,000-meter and marathon events - all within 8 days. As I recall, after he crossed the finish line in the 5,000 meters, he had enough breath in him to cross the Olympic stadium, still running, to kiss his wife, Diane, who had just won a gold in the javelin throw.

From those early days of reading, I also remember the story of Polish welterweight boxer Zygmunt Chychla, who also won a gold in Helsinki. I'm not a big fan of boxing, but at one time I knew everything about the fights between Joe Lewis and Max Schmelling, and between Jack Dempsey and Gene Tunney. In time, virtually the entire world was following Cassius Clay (a.k.a. Muhammad Ali), and the antics of Mike Tyson and his opponent's ear. Anyway, from Chychla's biography I remember one particular moment, or rather one particular round - during a match which he was going to lose on points anyway: He later recalled how he had kept his concentration in the ring by betting with himself on how many times the strap of his boxing shirt would slip from his shoulder down his arm.

Not just about boys

All this was just a preamble to talking about some favorite sports books of mine - and no doubt of many other Israelis my age: I'm referring to the series entitled "The Young Sportsmen," written by Avner Carmeli and put out by Mizrahi publishers in the early 1960s. Avner Carmeli was one of the many pen names of Shraga Gafni, arguably one of the most popular and prolific Israeli authors: He has about 175 books to his credit. "The Young Sportsmen" was about soccer, but more specifically, about two players named Rafi and Alon, who perform wonders on the field during their school's championship matches. Due to their stunning abilities - no goalie could stop a ball kicked by Alon, and no forward could score when Rafi stood between the goalposts - they are invited to play for Israel's national team.

But this is not only about the boys: They have girlfriends, too. The beautiful and resourceful Renana is enamored of Alon (and vice versa), while her friend Shua (indeed, an odd name by any standard) is Rafi's source of strength and most loyal fan. And this is not only about soccer: It is about the representatives of a small, courageous state, surrounded on all sides by enemies, who in spite of the world conspiring against them, are adamant about winning fairly. Again and again, Alon and Rafi are ambushed, abducted, injured and chased by people seeking to prevent them from being on the field when the referee blows the opening whistle. And again and again, Renana manages to expose the plots, to point to the guilty parties and to release Alon and Rafi from wherever they are being held. And in the end Israel wins.

I remembered all this anyway, but before writing about it, I made a point of tracking down two of the books from the series and rereading them. I will not elaborate here on their literary qualities (which remain nonexistent), but I will say the books have an agenda that can be termed national, if not nationalistic. The Israelis are young, beautiful and right - and the whole world is against them.

The national teams that play against the Israelis in the world championships are characterized by stereotypes: The South American teams are brutal and wild (the Nicaraguan team has three women players who are even wilder than the men, but luckily some Irish players fall in love with them during the match, so Ireland loses, but three weddings make the pill sweeter). The German team is disciplined: They all follow orders, but all use ?uppers? to win at any cost. The Russians play dirty because their coach feeds them information via mini-receivers disguised as buttons on their shirts. The Australians, who usually play rugby, are not supposed to tackle their opponents on the soccer field as they do in that game, but they cannot contain themselves. The result: Players from both sides are carried out on stretchers by medical teams. The Yugoslavs almost buy one of the Israeli players (who is angry because Alon replaced him as the star of the team), but Renana intervenes at the right moment and the game is disqualified. (It is won by the Yugoslavs even though Rafi is playing; however, he is still recovering from a hit-and-run accident, aimed at putting him out of commission, and thus he plays against his doctors' orders.)

Parachute trick

Before the match against Egypt, in the "Israel vs. Egypt" book in the series, Rafi and Alon are abducted yet again, and held in captivity in Switzerland. Shua and Renana manage to have them released, but while flying in a supersonic jet to Tokyo, where the game in question is being held, it becomes clear they won?t make it on time. As the rules do not allow replacement of players mid-game, Israeli coach Bandy (the real-life coach of the Israeli national team in the '60s was Hungarian Gyula Mandi) decides to start the game with nine players only. The first half has the Egyptians leading 13 to nil. But don't worry: Rafi and Alon jump out of the plane above the stadium, parachute onto the playing field to join their teammates, and win the game 14 to 13.

It is such a pleasure to relive those days when all the world was against us and yet we prevailed - due to the chivalry of Rafi and Alon (who forfeits a penalty shot when he thinks it is unjustified, even if it will allow his team to win the game; he does win it, but only fair and square), and the support they get from their wonder-woman girlfriends Renana and Shua.

It is rather disappointing to wake up and find that Israel is not the sports superpower it was in Carmeli's books. To cheer myself up, I?ll have to watch some live broadcasts of the Maccabiah Games. I for one will never forget that it was thanks to the Maccabiah that we got Tal Brody to join the Maccabi Tel Aviv basketball team. He may not have won a seat later in the Knesset on behalf of the Likud party, but he is the person who put us - that is, Maccabi, Israel and therefore me - on the map on that same fateful night in 1977 when Yitzhak Rabin announced his resignation as prime minister.

Yes, it is very important to take part in sports. Actually, in a way, we take part whether we like it or not, when we root for a player or a team. It is much more fun to win, but if we can?t win ourselves, let?s at least watch others winning. Or read about them doing so.