The mood behind CYA, most of the time, isn’t literal. Specifically, you don’t need to cover your behind like a quail during hunting season. But every day, many of us realize that life --whether in business, family affairs, conversations, or in dealing with humans in any capacity-- consists largely of taking responsibility for what’s yours and covering your back so that you don’t get blamed for messes that are not yours. Yes: CYA is life, basically.
Probably the only thing Sarah Palin ever said that I agree with (and I’m paraphrasing) is that many of the lessons we learn in life we can learn through participating in sports. This is particularly true, I believe, during our journey from childhood to adulthood.
This whole thing about CYA came back to my mind during a walk though the playground of my old elementary school in PA called Blair Mill.
Blair Mill was a great primary school. Teachers were good. The atmosphere was gentile and nurturing. We even had a puppy dog, The Blair Mill Beagle, as our mascot. But what I remembered first, passing by the broad arch-shaped wall of the school which faced the playground, was the treacherous daily game of CYA we school kids played, known as Assball.
More frequently we called it A-ball, for the simple fact that we didn’t want to tip off recess ladies to what we were doing. We didn’t want to risk the game being banned for the bad words inherent in its name. The truth is that they had no idea what we were doing, and probably didn’t care, even about the most violent parts.
As Upper Classmen of the school, the 4th and 5th graders got claim of the big wall for whatever suited them. Previously, kids might kick a rubber kickball off the wall without much of a competitive game in mind.
What started out as a simple activity of several boys throwing a ball against a wall and trying to win the next catch, transformed itself into a more cutthroat meta-sport that consumed the later years of my childhood. As such:
The rules of A-ball:
1) Whoever has the ball (usually a tennis ball) throws it against the wall.
2) Anyone one can attempt to catch it on the rebound.
a. If you catch the ball or gather it off the ground, you get the next throw.
b. If you touch the ball but fail to catch it, you must run to the wall and touch the wall before another player can gather the ball, throw it, and hit you.
3) If you get hit with the ball before touching the wall, that’s one strike
4) If you get three strikes, here’s what happens:
a. You must go to the wall.
b. Crouch down, head touching the wall, with your rear facing the area of play.
c. Every other player lines up, and, one at a time, gets a turn to beam you in the ass with the ball.
d. Sit tight. There are about 20 to 25 other boys playing this game.
A-ball must have blossomed out of either suburban boredom or our pre-adolescent need for competition and one-upps-manship on the way to middle school. I’m sure some social scientist out there might say the game had its own Darwinian significance.
Being both a risk taker and a poor athlete at the time didn’t suit me well. I would run and try to catch the ball but my hands weren’t very good for that.
I probably spent more time crouched at the wall with three strikes than any other boy on the playground. A few times I took the ball in the face thanks to the gifted guys who could use their baseball skills to land it accurately between my feet, under my torso and into my hidden face.
Playground games like these are probably one of the reasons some boys and many girls grow up to dislike sports or be indifferent altogether. Like those who are teased, school represents something a time and a place they wished to break away from. I certainly get this.
The Blair Mill Beagle, unofficial mascot of A-ball.
Nonetheless, I had fun playing A-ball, despite the minor pains and embarrassment. But I am not 100% sure why. Perhaps this game represented some thrill and danger in the lives of sheltered and protected youths like us. Maybe on those lucky days without three strikes, I enjoyed the achievement of eluding capture.
What I probably learned, to the best of my recollection and bruises, was the ability to adapt to any situation, even adverse one, like getting pelted 25 times in the rear with a tennis ball. More than anything, I learned the value of CYA; in this life experience the fundamental value of covering your ass in everything you do, for fear of unsavory consequences.
Also, I learned about the consequences of taking a risk; in this case the simple risk was playing a game for social acceptance or even enjoyment. All in all, good training for the greater problems with greater ramifications that one must face as an adult.
I like to think that our game of A-ball was unique. But I am certain kids elsewhere with a wall and a tennis ball might have played a similar game, learning similar lessons.
And, whether you like sports or not, care or don’t care about who’s in the next Super Bowl, it is hard to deny that our playful activities as children have as much to do with shaping us as people as our work activities do now a grown ups. Hopefully along the way our experiences shed on our character not only a little humor and humility, but some important things to take away for another day.
What the world has seen in the last year and a half seems to suggest that not enough of our leaders have had adequate tests of their character, or even their CYA skills, out on life's playground.
With the world economy in the balance, CEOs of financial giants like AIG, Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers threw up their hands amidst their failing companies as they walked off with fortunes.
We could criticize our governments too for their screw ups and not having the foresight to anticipate financial chaos borne from recklessness. It seemed, for a while that incompetence was spreading like H1N1.
Maybe looking back, we could have helped our leaders earlier with their journey through life. Or better yet, there are still lessons to be learned with the help of a little playground fun of pelting à la A-ball.
Frye writes weekly about sports and life. Updates can be found here at MySports/Complex and on his Facebook page of the same name. Just watch your behind.
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