How champion are made as told by AYAZ MEMON. On a stroll in Shivaji Park, Mumbai, the other
day, I overheard a young lady imploring a
cricket coach, pointing to a little boy standing
next to her: “You will be able to make him like
Sachin Tendulkar, na?” The coach, by now
perhaps inured to this query, had a wan smile
and some innocuous words in reply. “We can
try,” he said to the young mom.
Nobody in Indian cricket—indeed, perhaps
even world cricket—has quite captured the
imagination of the world as Tendulkar has in
the past quarter of a century. The fact that he
made his debut at 16, is still playing at 36,
and has amassed fame and fortune to last
several generations obviously makes him a
terrific role model to emulate. Sachin has
been the most popular registered name for
boys in India in the past decade and a half
(Rahul comes second, with opinion divided on
whether this is because of Dravid or Shah
Rukh Khan, who goes by that name in several
of his movies).
Millions of mothers and fathers throng cricket
coaching clinics across the country hoping
that their young one will be the next big thing
in the game, but obviously not everybody
becomes a Tendulkar. If champions were so
easy to find, why would there be a need for
elaborate coaching systems, sports
academies, etc.? The failure rate is
phenomenally high and heartache for children
and their guardians is highly common.
Which brings us to the crux of the matter: Are
champions born or are they made? Is it genes
which decide how gifted a sportsperson a
child will grow up into, or the rigours of
extensive training, or just experience? Indeed,
what goes into the making of a champion?
In a different league: (clockwise from left)
Muhammad Ali, Tiger Woods, Roger Federer
and Sachin Tendulkar.
After spending 32 years writing on sports, I
must admit to failure in finding hard-edged
linear logic that could explain this adequately.
Some champions had this, some that, some
this and that, making the answer a blur rather
than clear-cut. Yet, in reading further about
the lives of some top-notch champions—those
to the manner born, as it were—some
interesting factors emerge.
The sportspersons I focused on are Tendulkar
and Don Bradman (cricket), Muhammad Ali
(boxing), Tiger Woods (golf), Diego Maradona
(football), Roger Federer (tennis) and Michael
Phelps (swimming). They cut across a cross-
section of sports (individual and team),
continents, race and a 90-year period to make
the study wide-based.
In itself, this establishes that there is no real
skew along these lines when it comes to
champions: They come in all shapes, sizes,
colour and from any part of the world (if
anything, this should stymie any sense of
chauvinism—racial or nationalistic—but that’s
an issue to be addressed some other day).
How big a factor is economic well-being then?
It’s a mixed bag really. In some cases, quite
significant, especially to sports such as
tennis, golf and swimming, but not quite so
with cricket and football.
Federer, for instance, comes from an upscale
background; his father was an executive with
a multinational pharma company which
enabled not only access to facilities, but also
expenses for coaching, etc. Ditto with Phelps
in swimming and Woods in golf. But
Bradman’s background was modestly rural
middle class, while Tendulkar’s was modestly
urban middle class. Ali, in contrast, was the
son of a poor (in the American context)
signboard painter from Louisville, while
Maradona was even more underprivileged—he
was the son of a bricklayer and came from the
slums of Villa Fiorito outside Buenos Aires,
Argentina.
So if nationality, race and money are not
necessarily important constituents, is there
some other kind of trigger that can spark the
pursuit of sporting excellence? Again, it’s a
yes, no, maybe. Bradman, Tendulkar,
Maradona and Federer were products of an
environment in which their preferred sport
already enjoyed mass popularity. Phelps took
to swimming almost as a family thing,
because his two elder sisters were already into
pool training. Woods was pushed into golf
from an early age as an aspirational quest by
his parents.
Of all the athletes under discussion, only Ali
had a cathartic experience of sorts which took
his passion for boxing into overdrive. In 1954,
when he was 12, Ali’s bicycle was stolen when
he had gone to an auditorium. Beside himself
with rage, he vent his spleen on a police
officer, Joe Martin, who advised the youngster
to learn boxing before he could even think of
bashing up the thief in revenge. Shortly after
that, Ali began serious training and dreamt of
becoming a world champion.
So where and how does genius get uncovered,
and what takes it to actualization? These are
the aspects where the athletes mentioned in
this article appear to find common ground.
Without exception, all of them started pretty
early in choosing their sport. Once that was
done, their passion took over, and the rigour
of practice became so relentless as to become
manic obsessive. All these stellar performers
paved the road to excellence with hours, days,
months and years of blood, sweat, toil and
tears: There is clearly no short cut to such
high success.
Perhaps more fascinatingly, all of them not
only exhibited a razor-edged competitive
streak from an early age, but also set
benchmarks for themselves: In that sense, they
also competed against themselves, constantly
striving to improve, move further away from
the pack, as it were. Obviously, this requires a
high level of commitment, energy, physical
endurance, mental toughness—not forgetting
ego. None of them ever wanted to lose.
So, if I have to list a few of the attributes that
go into the making of a champion, these
would be: (a) passion, (b) energy for robust
practice and hard work emerging from will
power, (c) capacity to learn quickly and keep
learning constantly, (d) strong competitive
streak, (e) gumption to do things differently, if
only to prove a point to themselves and, (f)
extraordinary capacity to cope with setbacks
and failures through a strong mind.
I must borrow the speech former British prime
minister Tony Blair gave during the Beijing
Olympics in 2008: “I remember still, almost 45
years ago now, running in my first competitive
race at my school sports day. I remember the
running track, grass freshly mowed. A sunny
day. The race was over 440 yards. Four times
round our small track. I settled in behind the
lead runner, calculating to overtake him on
the last bend before the straight run to the
finish. The race went (according) to plan until
just as I reached the bend, I tried to sprint
forward. Suddenly, my legs just didn’t have
the energy. The mental will was there. The
physical capacity was not. I remember that
feeling of shock and disappointment now as
clear as I did then, the disconnection between
desire and ability. I still have my silver cup for
coming second. But silver was not what I
wanted. I wanted gold.”
The conclusion Blair draws has universal truth
value: “What makes a champion? We must
start with an uncomfortable truth: Natural
talent helps.”
But don’t try telling that to young moms who
want their six-year-old children to become the
next Tendulkar.
Ayaz Memon is a senior columnist
day, I overheard a young lady imploring a
cricket coach, pointing to a little boy standing
next to her: “You will be able to make him like
Sachin Tendulkar, na?” The coach, by now
perhaps inured to this query, had a wan smile
and some innocuous words in reply. “We can
try,” he said to the young mom.
Nobody in Indian cricket—indeed, perhaps
even world cricket—has quite captured the
imagination of the world as Tendulkar has in
the past quarter of a century. The fact that he
made his debut at 16, is still playing at 36,
and has amassed fame and fortune to last
several generations obviously makes him a
terrific role model to emulate. Sachin has
been the most popular registered name for
boys in India in the past decade and a half
(Rahul comes second, with opinion divided on
whether this is because of Dravid or Shah
Rukh Khan, who goes by that name in several
of his movies).
Millions of mothers and fathers throng cricket
coaching clinics across the country hoping
that their young one will be the next big thing
in the game, but obviously not everybody
becomes a Tendulkar. If champions were so
easy to find, why would there be a need for
elaborate coaching systems, sports
academies, etc.? The failure rate is
phenomenally high and heartache for children
and their guardians is highly common.
Which brings us to the crux of the matter: Are
champions born or are they made? Is it genes
which decide how gifted a sportsperson a
child will grow up into, or the rigours of
extensive training, or just experience? Indeed,
what goes into the making of a champion?
In a different league: (clockwise from left)
Muhammad Ali, Tiger Woods, Roger Federer
and Sachin Tendulkar.
After spending 32 years writing on sports, I
must admit to failure in finding hard-edged
linear logic that could explain this adequately.
Some champions had this, some that, some
this and that, making the answer a blur rather
than clear-cut. Yet, in reading further about
the lives of some top-notch champions—those
to the manner born, as it were—some
interesting factors emerge.
The sportspersons I focused on are Tendulkar
and Don Bradman (cricket), Muhammad Ali
(boxing), Tiger Woods (golf), Diego Maradona
(football), Roger Federer (tennis) and Michael
Phelps (swimming). They cut across a cross-
section of sports (individual and team),
continents, race and a 90-year period to make
the study wide-based.
In itself, this establishes that there is no real
skew along these lines when it comes to
champions: They come in all shapes, sizes,
colour and from any part of the world (if
anything, this should stymie any sense of
chauvinism—racial or nationalistic—but that’s
an issue to be addressed some other day).
How big a factor is economic well-being then?
It’s a mixed bag really. In some cases, quite
significant, especially to sports such as
tennis, golf and swimming, but not quite so
with cricket and football.
Federer, for instance, comes from an upscale
background; his father was an executive with
a multinational pharma company which
enabled not only access to facilities, but also
expenses for coaching, etc. Ditto with Phelps
in swimming and Woods in golf. But
Bradman’s background was modestly rural
middle class, while Tendulkar’s was modestly
urban middle class. Ali, in contrast, was the
son of a poor (in the American context)
signboard painter from Louisville, while
Maradona was even more underprivileged—he
was the son of a bricklayer and came from the
slums of Villa Fiorito outside Buenos Aires,
Argentina.
So if nationality, race and money are not
necessarily important constituents, is there
some other kind of trigger that can spark the
pursuit of sporting excellence? Again, it’s a
yes, no, maybe. Bradman, Tendulkar,
Maradona and Federer were products of an
environment in which their preferred sport
already enjoyed mass popularity. Phelps took
to swimming almost as a family thing,
because his two elder sisters were already into
pool training. Woods was pushed into golf
from an early age as an aspirational quest by
his parents.
Of all the athletes under discussion, only Ali
had a cathartic experience of sorts which took
his passion for boxing into overdrive. In 1954,
when he was 12, Ali’s bicycle was stolen when
he had gone to an auditorium. Beside himself
with rage, he vent his spleen on a police
officer, Joe Martin, who advised the youngster
to learn boxing before he could even think of
bashing up the thief in revenge. Shortly after
that, Ali began serious training and dreamt of
becoming a world champion.
So where and how does genius get uncovered,
and what takes it to actualization? These are
the aspects where the athletes mentioned in
this article appear to find common ground.
Without exception, all of them started pretty
early in choosing their sport. Once that was
done, their passion took over, and the rigour
of practice became so relentless as to become
manic obsessive. All these stellar performers
paved the road to excellence with hours, days,
months and years of blood, sweat, toil and
tears: There is clearly no short cut to such
high success.
Perhaps more fascinatingly, all of them not
only exhibited a razor-edged competitive
streak from an early age, but also set
benchmarks for themselves: In that sense, they
also competed against themselves, constantly
striving to improve, move further away from
the pack, as it were. Obviously, this requires a
high level of commitment, energy, physical
endurance, mental toughness—not forgetting
ego. None of them ever wanted to lose.
So, if I have to list a few of the attributes that
go into the making of a champion, these
would be: (a) passion, (b) energy for robust
practice and hard work emerging from will
power, (c) capacity to learn quickly and keep
learning constantly, (d) strong competitive
streak, (e) gumption to do things differently, if
only to prove a point to themselves and, (f)
extraordinary capacity to cope with setbacks
and failures through a strong mind.
I must borrow the speech former British prime
minister Tony Blair gave during the Beijing
Olympics in 2008: “I remember still, almost 45
years ago now, running in my first competitive
race at my school sports day. I remember the
running track, grass freshly mowed. A sunny
day. The race was over 440 yards. Four times
round our small track. I settled in behind the
lead runner, calculating to overtake him on
the last bend before the straight run to the
finish. The race went (according) to plan until
just as I reached the bend, I tried to sprint
forward. Suddenly, my legs just didn’t have
the energy. The mental will was there. The
physical capacity was not. I remember that
feeling of shock and disappointment now as
clear as I did then, the disconnection between
desire and ability. I still have my silver cup for
coming second. But silver was not what I
wanted. I wanted gold.”
The conclusion Blair draws has universal truth
value: “What makes a champion? We must
start with an uncomfortable truth: Natural
talent helps.”
But don’t try telling that to young moms who
want their six-year-old children to become the
next Tendulkar.
Ayaz Memon is a senior columnist
