No cricket this week, so Morgan's spending his birthday at home

 

If it wasn’t for Covid-19 I’d almost certainly be at the Khaya Majola cricket week today watching and reporting on the cream of our under-19 talent. It turned out not to be, which means I got to spend the week before Christmas at home, something I can’t remember doing for a very long time.

That’s one good thing I guess, and another one is that two of the giants of the week, Niels Momberg, CSA’s director of youth cricket, and Morgan Pillay, the permanent organising secretary of the tournament, won’t be working on their birthdays. It was Niels’ birthday on the 17^th and it’s Morgan’s today.

Ordinarily, they would have be at the festival this week, as they have been every year, for years. Let’s hope the year off will refresh them both and keep them coming back for more. The Khaya Majola Week is an extraordinary tournament, the jewel in the crown of school sport in this country, and having administrators like these two in charge of it makes it that.

Morgan is by 100 miles the best sports administrator I have come across in my 30 years of involvement in school sport. I told him that when I write my book one day he will be in it. Well, I’m on it, and here’s the bit on Morgan:  

I have attended the under-19 Khaya Majola Cricket Week (and its predecessor, the Nuffield Week) just about every year since 1989. At the 1994 week, hosted at Kearsney College I met a young teacher from Pietermaritzburg, Morgan Pillay. He was on the local organising committee, tasked with keeping track of the state of play in the various matches being played around the area, so he worked quite closely with the media who were there. It was the beginning of a friendship which has gone on for 30 years now and in that time I watched Morgan grow into the best sports administrator I have ever come across and one of the most valuable people in schools cricket in the country.

He has been the permanent organising secretary of the Khaya Majola Week since 1996. It’s an honorary position – he doesn’t get paid anything more than expenses for doing it – and he has kept his real job as a mathematics teacher all along. The tournament is just a week long, but organising it is an all-year affair, so it’s amazing that he has found the time to do it for so many years.

 He has fine-tuned the running of the event over the years to the extent that it runs like clockwork now. The wheel isn’t re-invented every year. Morgan’s personality and his unique style of leadership – he is incredibly demanding, but makes those demands with so much charm that it’s impossible to say no – is what makes it work. 

Morgan’s birthday, December 18th, always falls slap bang in the middle of the week, so he’s never home for it. He says it’s tough being away from home, but then he does get to spend his birthday every year surrounded by great friends and in the service of the youth.

Happy birthday Morgan Pillay – a sports administrator who is in it for the right reasons, as is Niels Momberg. Oh that there were more of them in cricket!

The real lessons to be learnt

Here’s something I wrote early last year. It’s the next in my list of things to think about in a year when there has been no real school sport

 

Good men, not good players. That's what it's really all about

I, like many I guess, didn’t know why the running out of Jos Buttler at the bowler's end by Ravi Ashwin in the Indian Premier League recently is called a “mankad”.

So, I Googled it, and found out that this type of dismissal was named after Indian bowler Vinoo Mankad, who dismissed Australia’s Bill Brown in this fashion during the second Test in Sydney in 1947. It was the second time he got Brown out in that way on that tour and it caused a mighty uproar. The name stuck after that.

I’d never heard the term before, although I have come across incidents where backing up batsmen have been warned by the bowler for stealing a few yards and I always thought the laws of the game required that to happen before the batsman could be dismissed in this way.

It turns out that there’s nothing in the laws, or in the MCC guidance notes on the Spirit of Cricket, saying that there has to be a warning, so the dismissal in the IPL was perfectly legal and that’s the end of it.

It’s not really the end of it though, is it? Cricket, in particular, is a game that teaches life lessons all over the place, that’s why it’s such a good sport to play in schools.

The expression “it’s just not cricket” is what that’s all about and although it may be an old-fashioned concept with a bit of a paternalistic, colonial tint to it, the principles behind it are not.

It means just what the mankad debate is all about – sometimes the right thing to do is not governed by the laws, but it is the right thing to do. If you don’t do it it’s, well, just not cricket.

Cricket’s a good game for teaching values to children, but any game will do the same, it all depends on the way it’s coached and managed.

I firmly believe that the real reason we include sport in the school curriculum is to develop the young people involved into good human beings who can go out into the world one day and make a positive contribution.

It may be that they do that as professional players, but that’s incidental, that’s not the reason why we run sporting programmes at schools.

Any teacher or coach responsible for the running of a school sport programme who doesn’t have in mind that the most important task is to teach children to behave honourably and according to the values and ethics that are included in both the laws of the game and the ephemeral “spirit of the game” is not, in my opinion, doing his or her job.

And a cricket coach who teaches a bowler to mankad a batsman, or for that matter, tells a batsman that it’s OK to steal a yard backing up because there’s no chance that he will be mankaded, should be fired.

Let’s send young people out into the world who do good because it’s the right thing to do, because it’s just not cricket to do otherwise.

Can I add an example from the weekend past that, for me illustrates what I’m talking about?

 I was sent a copy of an e-mail to the principal of a school congratulating his boys on their behaviour at an airport on their way back from one of the weekend rugby festivals. I won’t say which school but the name wouldn’t surprise anyone who, like me, spends a lot of time among schoolboys in Joburg.

The players, just hours after what must have been a devastating, narrow defeat that afternoon, sprung to the assistance of two different mothers struggling with babies, prams and bulky luggage in the strong wind, and cheerfully saw them on and off the plane and onto the airport bus.

There were no real losers in that team – they have been taught, and they have learnt, the more important lessons that, in this case, rugby is meant to teach.

 

A different Top 10 this year

It’s the first week of December and this is the time, in other years, when in my newspaper days I use to publish my list of top school sport achievements of the year. I carried on the practice once I’d left the papers – putting it out as a blog once the sporting year had ended.

Well, there was no sport for most of 2020, and now that the kids are slowly beginning to go out into the fresh air again, I think many of us have been forced to relook at our priorities and think about what the real role of sport at school should be. Is it really about winning matches in the short term? What do you lose along the way when you have that attitude? And won’t it be great to be playing competitive games again, win or lose?

So, no list of achievements this year but why not a list of the top things we should be doing to get back to values-driven, educationally based practices in school sport? What are the things we should do to make developing young people our goal, through the medium of sport? How can we call ourselves winners, even when our teams and individual athletes lose?

All of that is exactly what I’ve been on about for the last 30-odd years and, being a scribbler of words by profession and hobby, I’ve written enough to bore a battalion on the things I’ve seen and liked, and those that make me mad.

So, I’m going to bore you some more with 10 previous pieces. Publishing a collection of old columns and blogs is quite a common practice. I swore that when I finally write that book I’ve been threatening I wouldn’t do that. But this isn’t a book, and I’m embarking on the exercise, as always, mainly for the relief of my own boredom, especially this year when the SA Schools water polo tournament won’t be ending in Cape Town this week as it was scheduled to, and the Khaya Majola Week isn’t starting on Monday.  

Here’s the first of 10, written for the Saturday Star in 2015

1 The little things make the biggest difference

There was a time, quite a few years ago, when I used to cover provincial swimming. It mainly involved going to the national aquatic championships each year and something happened at one of those that came to mind while dealing with the reaction to my chirp last week about the ranking of the top schools in Africa.

In those days the nationals would conclude with a compulsory formal dinner attended by all the swimmers and at which prizes were handed out.

There was a donated trophy for the winner of every championship race. I’m not sure that they still have those cups, but I do know they no longer have that presentation dinner: a combination of rising costs and the poor behaviour of the swimmers, schoolkids, mostly, who tended to drink too much on a night when the tension of all that training and competition was lifted, put paid to that.

It was tradition for all the competitors to wear their “number ones” to the dinner – provincial blazer and tie for the boys, skirt and blazer for the girls, including green-and-gold blazers for those with national colours.

I sat there watching swimmer after swimmer go up to collect their trophies, without a single one bothering to collect their blazers from the chairs they had draped them over before meeting the dignitary making the presentation – not even those fabulous green-and-gold ones that they probably didn’t get much opportunity to wear.

Then, at a table next to ours, a young man heard his name being called out, donned his then-Northern Transvaal blazer, neatly buttoned it up, straightened his tie and went up to have his hand shaken. I had to ask when he came back: “What school are you at?” His reply: “Pretoria Boys’ High.”

It doesn't sound like a big deal, I guess, but looking back, the incident epitomises the sorts of things schools like that insist on. It was Pretoria Boys’ High that time, but it could have been any one of a number of the traditional schools I have interacted with over the years.

It’s an insistence on doing the basics right, and it plays a big part in the success those schools enjoy in everything they do.

I’ll give you another example. I was asked a couple of years ago by SA Rugby to take a former Australian international player to visit a local rugby school. He was a retired teacher over here to watch the Wallabies, and he wanted to get a feel for local education and schools rugby.

So I arranged for him to visit Jeppe High School for Boys. His wife, also a teacher all her life, came with us, and on the way back to their hotel much later she expressed her amazement that every schoolboy she came across throughout the day had a polite “good morning, ma’am” for her. You don’t get that at Australian schools, she told me.

It’s an educational version of the “broken window” policy at work – take care of the little things and the big ones will take care of themselves..

Pupils who take pride in their appearance and who have had the importance of good manners drilled into them will find it easier to do what’s required to succeed on the sports field, in the classroom, and in every aspect of  life.

It ought to be one of the categories that are evaluated when they draw up those “top school” rankings.

“Are the pupils neatly dressed and do they greet you?” Discover a school where you find that and, I’d wager, they do most of the other things properly too.

Next time: don't be arrogant, nothing lasts forever.

 

There's more to student rugby than just playing the game

Michael Dick, known affectionately everywhere as Moby, is the doyen of university rugby administrators. He worked in that role at UJ for 17 years, and saw UJ emerge as the dominant club in the Lions union in that time, and the went over to Wits University where he quickly rose to the position of Head of Sport.

His move to Wits coincided with the coming across of long-time UJ coach, Hugo van As, and together they have overseen the remarkable transformation of Wits rugby from a relative non-factor to a significant force in the Varsity Cup and in the Lions club league.

He has, in all that time been a great servant of university rugby and has earned the reputation as an expert when it comes to identifying young players who have got what it takes to make it as student ruby players and has been able to recruit a number of future stars on rugby bursaries.

Playing rugby at university level isn’t just about the football, I’ve heard him say many times. The Varsity Cup regulations insists on academic performance as well as sporting but more than that, giving a bursary spot – and at Wits they are limited – to a student who is going to neglect the academic side and drop out after one year is a waste of time and resources.

Selecting those bursary recipients is tricky process and part of it is making sure the prospective student, and his parents, fully appreciate what lies ahead, and understand what it’s going take to succeed.

It’s something that the people doing the job at all academic institutions who recruit talented rugby players face. Moby has more than 20 years of experience in it and he recently put some of his thoughts down for the ruggas.co.za website.

It’s well worth a read, for school coaches who are concerned about what their matriculating players are going to do next (as all the good ones are), and for parents looking for financial assistance in putting their talented sons through university.

The link to it is:

http://ruggas.co.za/eight-brutal-honest-tips-for-sport-stars-leaving-school

 

Stopping sport at schools is not a good idea

 

The importance of sport at schools – to both teachers and learners – became really apparent in its absence this year. All school sport was halted in March 2020 when the nation went into lockdown as a result of the Coronavirus and it only resumed, in a limited fashion, in November. The entire winter season didn’t happen, neither did the start of summer in the third term.

The schools were closed down completely for quite a while and online learning became a new phenomenon. That, in some cases included online encouragement to pupils to stay active and engage in some sort of training regime. Virtual coaching sessions and webinars and workshops were presented to keep sport and sporting matters alive at a time when everyone was stuck at home.

Many admirable attempts were made, but there is no substitute for the real thing and there were reports of children becoming anxious and even depressed at not being able to get out there and run around with their friends.

In June the kids were allowed to go back to school – the grade 7s and 12s first – under strict protocols, with the rest coming back, bit by bit, in the months that followed. The conditions laid down included a ban on all school sport. There was some relaxation of that towards the end of the year, but returning to normal interschool activity was not allowed.

Clearly, the health of the children has to take precedence and limiting contact limits the chances of transmission of the virus. That said, however, there seemed to be little sense in allowing children to return into class rooms where they would be in close contact with each other, in enclosed spaces, but not allowing them to engage in sporting activities, in the outdoors, with limited physical contact.

If protocols could have been drawn up which, supposedly limit the risks of transmission in classrooms, the surely the same could be done in a sports context?

It comes down to two issues that have been recurring themes in my parallel interests in sport as part of the educational process and in the sadly unequal state of education in South Africa. Sport is unquestionably part of the educational process in schools, not a nice-to-have add on that can be dropped  just to be safe rather than sorry when it comes to transmission of the virus. At the same time, however, the sorts of sporting programmes that I tend to speak of do not exist in the majority of the schools in the country. I have written before of the damning ratio of five to twenty-five thousand – only five thousand of the twenty-five thousand schools in the country, according to research, meet the lowest standard of functionality: teaching and learning taking place on a daily basis.

In many of those schools there are issues of attendance - by teachers and learners, buildings are in disrepair, there are no sports fields there is very often no electricity or running water and the scourge of pit latrines has not been fully eradicated. When Covid-19 struck, of course there were bigger fish to fry than the authorities wondering how sport could be safely practiced in schools of that type.

It’s about inherited privilege and inequality and what should have been done to redress the situation. I don’t have the solution, but it’s clear that while there have been efforts, there hasn’t been much success in the last 26 years.

Fixing those schools, both physically and in terms of the development of the principals and teachers who work in them should be one of the top priorities, sadly it hasn’t been. And included in fixing them should be the establishment and upkeep of sporting facilities and the introduction of well planned and efficiently run sports development programmes. Without that, as I’ve often said when looking at transformation, we will never have the organic shift in the demographic composition of provincial and national teams which everyone desires and which at the moment can only be achieved through compulsory racial quotas at the selection stage.

But most importantly, it’s about preparing all our children as well as we can for the futures they face and there’s no question that sport plays a massive part in that.

Everyone should be given the chance to play, and let’s think very carefully before we stop them from doing that because we don’t think the lessons taught outside of the classroom are as important as the ones taught inside.

Craven Week. It doesn't have to end this way

I find it strange that, following the announcement that SA Rugby might not have the money to financially support the Craven Week next year, the assumption is that it can’t take place.

Last week the SA Schools Rugby Association (Sasra) met with Saru and announced afterwards that the national federation will not be funding the under-13 Craven Week, the LSEN Week and the under-18 Academy Week next year. There are two other Youth Week festivals – the under-16 and under-18 Girls Weeks (run as one) and the Iqhawe Week, an under-15 festival catering for schools that field four rugby teams or less. No mention of how those two will be funded was included in the statement, and it was stressed that the under-18 Craven Week and the under-16 Grant Khomo Week will be only be helped if the funds were available.

The likelihood of a cash-strapped Saru being able to do that is slim, particularly in the light of the purported R300 million that will be forfeited by pulling out of the Rugby Championships. Hence the assumption that there won’t be a Craven Week next year, followed by the expected reaction: anger and sorrow at the prospect of players losing out on opportunities to secure professional contracts at one end of the spectrum; and a ‘so what?’ attitude from the other end where detractors claim that the week has in any event deteriorated into a rugby development exercise from which many of the top players are excluded.

There’s some merit in both those points of view of course but the bigger issue, I think, is the way in which the Craven Week has become taken over by Saru to such an extent that it’s assumed that it cannot happen without their financial backing.

SA Rugby’s interprovincial youth weeks had been sponsored by Coca-Cola since 1997 but the deal was not renewed in 2018. The authorities are cagey about how much it was worth, but it’s accepted that it must have run into millions, increased every year. Coke’s withdrawal was clearly not only rugby-related – they pulled out of schools cricket and, significantly, out of the Copa Coca-Cola, a massive under-16 soccer competition, as well.

Coca-Cola was a great sponsor of the Craven Week, no question. I attended the week for 30 years and was a beneficiary of their largesse. They made it special for the players more special for coaches and officials and even more special for the VIPs. In the process, it grew flabby and there was an air of entitlement around the place. When Coke pulled the plug that disappeared, unless a new sponsor could be found or Saru footed the bill themselves. Well, there’s no new sponsor on the horizon, and Saru doesn’t have the money, so that’s the end of the week, right?

Wrong. Let’s talk about three of the other mass participation school sports: cricket, hockey and water polo. In all of three, and in most of the other codes played at schools, an annual interprovincial tournament is an accepted part of the programme. The year calendar is drawn up around the dates of those interprovincial weeks. The Khaya Majola cricket week was also sponsored by Coca-Cola and it is being largely funded by Cricket South Africa itself for the time being, the other two have only ever had partial sponsorships and both hockey and water polo don’t currently have big title sponsors with bottomless pockets. Their interprovincial tournaments are self-funded by the parents, along with any other sponsorships that the provinces might be able to secure.

And they run tournaments that dwarf the Craven Week in numbers and complexity. Take water polo, for instance. The 2019 SA Schools interprovincial tournament was held in Johannesburg. It involves boys and girls in all the age groups and is played on a preliminary round-robin and cross pool playoff basis. There were 111 teams, they played 455 matches, at 10 venues. Close to 1500 players were in action and around 350 officials. There was some sponsorship, covering T shirts and subsidising meals. A horde of volunteers – teachers, learners, parents, senior players etc – made it happen, and the participants had to pay to be there.

It’s similar in hockey. Again, there are boys and girls tournaments, at various venues – around the country in this case because you need enough astroturf pitches at each venue – and, again, it’s self-funded, and run by volunteers.

There’s little senior union involvement in the water polo or hockey tournaments. Granted, Saru is far more organised and has way more resources. Unlike the Craven Week, those are school tournaments. They aren’t regarded as part of the development and talent identification pipelines of the national federations to the extent that the rugby and cricket weeks are.

The question, therefore, is why should this be the end of the Craven Week (and the other Saru Youth Weeks)? Step back, make them school tournaments again and let someone else run them, on tight budgets, with parents paying for their children’s participation and local sponsorships easing the burden.

Parents are prepared to make sacrifices to give their children the chance to shine. You see that all over the school calendar. Wealthy and well-connected parents will always arrange sponsorships for the teams that their kids are in– that’s the only way it has ever happened with school sport sponsorships. The numbers aren’t huge and national publicity isn’t the goal, but every bit helps.

And admit that there are those out there who can get the job done. Committees made up of parents and teachers do it all the time, at the Easter Festivals, at water polo, cricket, and hockey tournaments. I know of one school where they are ready to step up right now. They have the track record to support that, having successfully run the girls interprovincial weeks in the past.

In the process, let’s give the rugby weeks back to everyone who is there. They aren’t supposed to be championship events. Saru can find other places to identify talent and dam up the flow that comes through the player development pipeline. Let the dog wag the tail again.

Let's watch our language and keep the fascism out of sport

 

In my most recent blog I became a bit sentimental while reminiscing about great school coaches who are no longer with us.

In the process I made the mistake of saying, while talking about Athlone Boys’ High’s headmaster of the 70s and 80s, Buddy Hurd, that Athlone ruled the roost in boys sports in the early 1980s. I guess I was guilty of the old sin of not letting the facts get in the way of a good story, but I was talking about great fallen warriors really, not about who might or not have been the top sports school in Joburg in 1980 and 1981.

Anyway, I was put straight, in strident terms, by one of the trumpet blowers of the school who, he said, actually ruled the roost. It turns out that while Athlone had the top rugby team in those two years (which many regard as the only thing that counts) and were tops in water polo and swimming, that was all. So, I was told that I wrote nonsense and made a statement that was wildly misleading. That may be true, although it confounds me that someone can get hot under the collar about things that happened 40 years ago, and which weren’t really important even then.

I got into a bit of a Twitter debate around the issue (always a mistake) and a word was used in a reply to me that made me realise that the real purpose of school sport is not understood by all. It was pointed out to me that his school “caned” Athlone in athletics in the 1980s. These days, when we should be vigilant about toxic masculinity, that’s a significant way of putting it. Caning is corporal punishment, it’s about the big man making the little one bend down in front of him and beating him on his backside.

That’s not a great image, and it really shouldn’t be used in relation to winning in sport.

Sport, after all, is part of the holistic education that so many schools claim they are providing in their quest to produce (in the case of the boys’ schools) better men, husbands and fathers. They love to  call their products gentlemen. A gentleman, I would think, is kind, generous and empathetic. If a school isn’t making the teaching of those values a big part of their sports programme then they should shut it down.

A gentleman doesn’t agree with corporal punishment, not literally nor figuratively.

I remembered writing about this stuff a few years ago, so I dug around and found a blog I posted in 2018 in which I had a go at schools that allow their rugby teams to win games by 70, 80, 100 points - there was even one 220-0 score – and then brag about it.

There were some right-minded people who commented on that story and they said what should be obvious: allowing a rugby game between children to go to over 100 points is an abomination. It does no-one any good, not the winners nor the losers, and worse, it encourages the mothers of those humiliated (and probably physically battered) players to withdraw them from the game.

Here's what I wrote at the time:

Now, if you think poorly coached and unskilled rugby players aren’t also important you need to take a breath and think about it. In the first instance, the quality of any elite side depends on the numbers below, reduce the base of the pyramid and the apex will be lower. Those involved in sport as part of the educational process have a duty to make their teams as good as they can be, but they also have a responsibility to the greater game. It’s also a matter of self-interest. What are they going to do when there is no-one left to play against?

 

And their duty to their players includes developing their character – there’s no profit in breeding braggarts and bullies, and scoring more than a point a minute is purely that: it’s bragging and it’s bullying.

 

Some question the value of helping out those strugglers – teach them the lessons of standing up against a superior force and taking their punishment like men, they say. How else will they learn?

 

It really shouldn’t be necessary to point out that that’s the language of the fascist, of the colonial master and the child-beating parent. Is it really what a fine educational institution wants to be saying?

 

I could have added that it’s also the language of the cane-wielding schoolmaster.

So, I got sentimental and exaggerated the achievements of Athlone Boys’ High during a very brief glorious period of its history. I was caned for it.

Here’s hoping that in the post Covid-19 era schools re-evaluate what they are trying to achieve through their sporting programmes.