The Race Is Not To The Swift

Tonight was a good night for the kind of small-town high-school football around which so much of American culture is built.  The closest small town large enough for a football team is the county seat, and it is so small by local standards that it very rarely carries the day.  The players are as strong as they usually grow in farm country, but there is more to the game than strength and speed.

I am teaching the rules to a young person who is growing in appreciation of the sport.  At the end of the first quarter, while the score was still tied, I asked him which team was going to win and why.  He answered that he thought the visiting team had better plays.  "That's right," I said.  "Their offensive strategy is much more sophisticated, and it is unlikely our team can adapt to it quickly enough.  Nor do we have a similar strategy that will let us match them.  They will likely win easily."

"But not for certain," he said.

"No," I agreed, remembering the verse from Ecclesiastes.  There were three quarters left, and time and chance happen to us all, but so it proved.