I became conscious of the difference between play and sport when I helped organize a sandlot football team at the age of 12. We had to figure out what we would do. The first thing was to schedule a game with a similar team from a nearby town.

It never occurred to us to practice or prepare for the game except to do what we had done for years— run around, pass the football and yell. The result was catastrophic.

It dawned on us that we were engaged in a sport, not in play. If we were to play decently, let alone win, we would have to prepare, and the only way was to learn the discipline of practice.

Looking back, I realize that at that moment we underwent a profound experience. We entered into a social contract that bound us together with ties still strong after more than 30 years.

Our quarterback imposed his rule on us and assumed the offices of captain and coach. He focused my attention on the importance of pain and the reaction to it.

We had been pushed around unmercifully by a larger and stronger opponent. On our 5-yard line, he told the team he would take the ball on every play until we lost it. He was not large, and it seemed folly to plunge into the center of the line, especially since he had no pads or helmet to protect him.

The first rush caught the other team by surprise, and he went for 10 yards. On the second plunge, they stiffened, but we still moved. For 60 yards, we inched forward. After the first few rushes, it was clear that our offense consisted of one play-up the center. By the time we had penetrated to their 30- yard-line, our quarterback was covered with dust and blood, but still giving the same command: “Snap the ball to me on three”.

A surprising thing happened. The opposition collapsed. We moved 5, then 10, then 15 yards until the touchdown was made.

One boy, determined to break his opponents regardless of personal agony, had demoralized 11 other boys, all bigger than he and as good (or better) football players. Their undoing was their inability to understand how the human will can drive the body to do things that defy reason.

I have never forgotten that day and the lesson I learned. In the years since, I have used that lesson well. Pain of one sort or another is everywhere. It is painful to confront a problem in math that you cannot solve. It is excruciating to roll blank paper into a typewriter and have no words come for hours. It hurts to give a lecture that puts students to sleep or, worse, that is terrible but applauded.

And so I have continued to punish myself. Even at the slow pace I run, it hurts; my pass patterns in touch football are becoming fuzzy and less clean; the weights get heavier to lift, even when they add up to the same total; I don’t bounce so lightly anymore in a judo throw. It is still worth it, for my will remains firm though I must lower my physical sights.

And more and more, I have become a faithful spectator, for what I think I see in sports is the process by which young people become mature men and women. I realize that modern psychology has claimed that sports do not build character. It is true that sports may not improve a person, just as a college education is often wasted.