Excitement filled the gym. It was our girl’s 4th/5th grade basketball game and the girls were up by several baskets.
One of my students on the team passed by where I was sitting with some fifth grade boys on her way back from the drinking fountain.
“Sally.” Sally paused and turned to face Billy. “Sally, did you play in the game yet?”
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Did you score any points?”
“Not in this game.”
“Did you score points in any of your other games?” he asked, starting to smirk.
She nodded, starting to look impatient with his line of questioning.
“How many points?”
“I don’t know.”
“Probably only like two.”
“How many points did you score this year?”
“I wasn’t on the team,” he replied.
And she walked away, back to win their second game as a team. BOOM! I was so proud of her! She didn’t let him get to her and she stood up for herself. You go girl!
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.