Do we need to answer the question “What is a sport?” in order to address questions about which sports are better than others, or how to improve any given sport or spectator’s experience?
I suspect not. But reflecting for a moment on the different fundamental features of various sports does help us to explain why some of them seem so much more compelling for spectators; and also how they could become even more compelling. (For example, this kind of reflection helps us think about how certain sports could be broadcast better, which I have discussed here for soccer, here for hockey, and here for curling.)
The question “what is a sport?” is not particularly interesting for reasons that have nothing to do with the difference between sports and other human activities. It is because, for philosophical reasons, with all due respect to Plato and Socrates, it is rarely interesting to ask questions of the form “What is x?” or “When is an x an F?” (e.g. “when is [a human activity] a [sport]?”).
Imagine you and I have different definitions of what a sport is. How do we test or prove which one is best? If we have different theories about whether it is raining or not, we can just look out the window to see who’s right. But if we have different definitions we usually end up having to hold these up against the way ordinary people speak. And it turns out that for lots of everyday words or concepts like “sports,” people speak in pretty loose ways. We can talk about two dudes trying to pick up chicks in a bar as if it were a sport. (That’s why we call them “players” or “playas.”) Some loner standing knee-deep in a swamp shooting at ducks might be called a sport hunter. Some of the nerdiest kids in high school are mathletes: competitive puzzle solvers.
Of course, one brash alternative is to say “ordinary language be damned: here is my definition of sport, and according to this definition lots of things people think are sports — like golf, and bowling, and luge, and the 100m dash — are not real sports!” The problem is, what argument can you give for your unique new definition if somebody doesn’t buy it?
As I have hinted and argued throughout this blog, hidden in that attempt to define not-so-great sports out of existence (as sports, at any rate) are important intuitions about what makes some sports great. But these intuitions are best articulated and explained not by arguing about definitions, but by making a normative case for why the quality of that sporting or spectator experience is better or richer. Again, we don’t have a good name for this kind of normative argument. When we’re arguing in other realms of our lives for why some action or rule is better, we call this ethics. When arguing about why some work of art is better, we call it aesthetics. But we don’t have a respectable term for many of normative topics in this blog, though they bear resemblance to questions of both ethics and aesthetics. “Sportsthetics” sounds too much like protective equipment.
But I digress. In fact, I’m about to back track. We usually can’t settle deep disputes about definitions, but we can eliminate some bad definitions, especially if these are being employed tactically for other purposes. (E.g.: if someone’s definition of “sport” is used to show why competitive cheerleading isn’t a sport, and when this is done in order to deny school resources to this activity.)
Consider how our concept of sport is related to, and distinguished from, other concepts like game, competition, or physical skill and ability.
We notice that the “classic sports,” from fencing and tennis to curling and all varieties of football, contain all of these elements. But we can also easily identify activities involving just one or two of these that are clearly not sports. Chess and charades are competitive games but we would never call them sports. Piano playing and ballet require advanced physical skills and abilities, but we never think of describing them as sports either — not even in the context of competitions to see who is the best pianist or ballerina.
Now I would contend that many of the least interesting sports — as sports, that is; they might be interesting in other ways — are those that involve a particular physical skill that preceded its being considered a sport. We start thinking of it as a sport merely because we have staged a competition between different people practicing this activity. Many of the classic racing/ throwing/ shooting sports have this form. Indeed, most Olympic sports are like that. We ran, swam, threw projectiles, lifted heavy stuff, rode horses, skied, shot arrows and fired weapons, rowed boats, and so on, long before we decided it would be cool to see who could do these things the best.
As sports, most of these things are no more or less compelling than competitions between pianists, ballroom dancers, amateur singers, child spellers, or people with heads full of trivial knowledge. Which is not to say these kinds of contests aren’t compelling. They can all provide tremendous drama and test the limits of the human spirit in its quest to achieve difficult goals and to conquer the human frailty that keeps many of us from ever achieving as much as we want. We can identify with participants of contests and be inspired by them. And some of what they do, whether it is sprinting gracefully or singing like angels, can be beautiful to behold.
But it’s not really sport, is it? For one thing, most of those simple racing, throwing, lifting, etc, competitions don’t even involve anything that we could rightly call a game. My favorite (sadly former, though still very much alive) sports columnist, Salon’s King Kaufman, called these kinds of sports “indirect competitions.”
“It’s athlete vs. clock or athlete vs. competitor’s score. The competitors take their turns, sequentially. They never face each other — I mean literally, face each other, the way a hockey forward and defenseman do, or the way two boxers or wrestlers or even tennis players do. That facing each other, that me trying to stop you and you trying to stop me, is what makes the great sports great.”
When each athlete is simply trying to perform the demanding skill as best he or she can, blocking out, if at all possible, how the competitors are performing, there is a lot less to engage with or to admire, apart from their courage and determination. E.g., as Kaufman put it in that column from the 2002 Winter Olympics, “The Winter Olympics are filled with sports like that. All of the racing sports, the skiing and bobsled and speed skating and luge, are exercises in déjà vu. One guy flying down a mountain on skis looks pretty much like another guy flying down a mountain on skis, and doing it in one minute, 39.13 seconds looks a heck of a lot like doing it in one minute, 41.25 seconds, which is a range that on Monday encompassed 20 skiers.”
I might add that there is a further category of “indirect competitions” that are especially dubious as a full-blown sports. Namely, those in which we can’t even objectively measure the winner by time, distance, height, or weight, but instead need a panel of judges to evaluate more subjectively the form. Feel free to call these sports, but if we do, we really have almost no compelling argument against thinking that any physically demanding activity — from yoga, to dozens of forms of dance and acrobatics to, yes, competitive cheerleading — can be considered a sport worthy of the Olympics if enough people start doing it and a governing body can invent some criteria for good form. And how often, really, do most people want to watch these competitions. In most cases, no more than an hour or two every four years.
Does this seem right? Great sports are the ones that involve games, not just contests. Games where defense matters as much as offense. And, as I tried to argue in a series of posts on soccer beginning here, defense that involves tactics, along with physical and mental play, that are as admirable as those on offense.
But what, exactly, is a “game”? (To be continued….)
Ian
August 4, 2010
An interesting post on a topic I have considered many times in the last fifteen years, and one which raises some new points for me, particularly that of indirect competition.
One question I would raise is that of where a 5,000m race would fall in this. There is no physical confrontation but your tactics are dependant upon others in the race so you are not merely racing against the clock. It’s not direct competition in the case of you trying to stop someone, but it’s also not indirect as you have to react to them in real-time. Is covering someone’s breakaway attempt ‘defense’?
It’s previously been my belief that the 100m dash is one of the purest sporting contests you could ask for. If an alien (with a universal translator, obviously) came down to earth during the 100m dash and asked what was going on the simple answer would be “we’re finding out who’s fastest from here to there.” It’s an event that inate within us in that people learn how to run entirely of their own accord.
Having said that, your subsequent post to this touched on something that has also occurred to me, the concept that all games are essentially artificial and, if one thinks too much about them, a nonsense. Given that this is in some ways the glory of sport does it in fact devalue the 100m because of said simplicity?
As regards cheerleading etc, my belief is that a sport must be refereed rather than judged. Sport may result in things of great beauty, but that should never be a defining factor. A scuffed goal after a goalmouth scramble in a soccer match should always count for the same as a spectacular 20-pass move that ends with a screamer from the edge of the area. When you move from the objective to the subjective you leave the domain of ‘sport’.
waynenorman
August 12, 2010
Ian: I know what you mean about the purity of something like the 100m race. And there are some special qualities to that race in particular. Although the average speed of the 200m is faster, the 100m is the race where a human will go as you can possibly go on two legs (with only minimal aid from footware…), and that seems almost intrinsically significant. It is one of those handful of sports which will be the first-choice sport for any athlete with a chance to be competitive. (Many sports only attract athletes who aren’t capable of competing successfully in the more glamourous sports. Nordic combined is like this: it surely collects people who could not win either a cross-country ski race or a ski-jumping competition. No-one will dream of being a luge champion if they have any other athletic options.) With the 100m (performance enhancing drugs aside, for a moment) we can admire human perfection. But the lack of strategy and defence is certainly a reason why most of us can’t get excited about watching 100m races on a regular basis.
I share your intuitions about longer races, though; especially, at the limit, the marathon. In everything over the 800m (which I think is now pretty much a sprint) there is definitely strategy involved; and in the marathon in particular, there can be engaging psychological warfare. Runners try to get their opponent to run a suboptimal race from their point of view (e.g., make a fast finisher maintain too fast a pace through the middle of the race), or to believe that the opponent is so much stronger that continuing to battle against the pain is futile. It is not nearly as much strategy as one gets in, say, tennis, let alone in soccer. It also doesn’t display the variety of physically challenging or beautiful maneuvers. But the purity of the struggle does certainly count for something.
marizlife
September 5, 2013
I’m doing a thesis on “Is dance a sport” so for part of my thesis report I had to look up the definition of a sport. This post really helped me thank you!
sinistar99
October 21, 2014
OMG I’ve thought about this question for a long time. The best I can come up with is this: Something is much more likely to be called a “sport” if it meets these two criteria.
1. The players must be on the play field. This eliminates Pool, “esports” like video games, Foosball, and, though debatable, ping pong as well as many other competitive games or activities. It also eliminates Nascar. The players aren’t on the play field… They’re in cars.
Note: This has been a point of contention, naturally, from NASCAR fans who might say you’re in your shoes if you’re playing basketball, therefor not “on the play field.”
But location answers the question “where are you?” That answer might easily be “in your car,” but it will never be “in your shoes.” So car is a location, but shoes are not. This might by definition eliminate polo because you’re on horses, though one could say the horses are part of the team and absolutely on the play field… and if one did say that, I wouldn’t argue too much.
I’m inclined to eliminate NASCAR for another reason similar to the reason Paul Riser famously said cyber-sex isn’t cheating: “Because you’re TYPING.” Auto-racing isn’t a sport “because you’re DRIVING A CAR” But that’s harder to really defend so we’ll stick with rule 1.
2. There must be an offense and a defense. There’s no defense in bowling. No defense in Golf. You cannot stop an opponent in gymnastics from scoring a point. When it’s their turn you don’t really even need to be there. You could go off and eat a sandwich.
In fact you wouldn’t even call your fellow competitor an “opponent” in such activities in the same way you would an opposing football or basketball team or the UFC fighter on the other side of the ring.
Darts, basket weaving, ballet… track and field… no defense. This makes it inherently non-adversarial –which is why those things are much less likely to be called “sports.”
Diane
May 29, 2017
I agree!