Sports (and jocks) often get a bad rap.  But by watching my sons play, I saw boys grow to men.

By John Baer

The last game was on a crisp fall afternoon at Gettysburg College in south-central Pennsylvania.  Division III football.  Hardly the big time.

Near the end of the game, my younger son James, a Gettysburg senior, carried the ball around the left end and was tackled just short of a first down.  Gettysburg won anyway, to finish it season 1-9.  Not pretty.

But when I watched James trot off the field for the last time, I felt a range of emotion unrelated to scores, games or seasons. I felt an 18-year journey end.

From the time my older son John was 8, my small family lived competitive sports.  Though we never pushed them to participate, my wife (who evolved from a nonfan to an avid one) and I cheered our boys on through football, baseball, basketball and track, in Little League, Pee Wee, high school and college.

Over the years, we met coaches, athletes and other parents.  We became part of a community, a subculture sometimes mocked by sports critics and society as being too focused on the outcome of "the game."

And we were focused.  The four of us did the occasional museum or a day at the zoo.  But mostly it was sports.  Some of our friends raised their eyebrows.  Was it too much?  I don't think so.

I know there are questions about sports in society:  Are they overemphasized?  Do brawling parents at kids' games foretell a cycle of "sports rage"?  Is the XFL a precursor of sports horrors to come?

But for most of us, sports offer more than questions.  For families, they offer a physical place to be together away from work or school.  For kids, they offer -- often at critical times in their lives -- a way to connect with each other and work toward common goals.  For me, sports became a collection of personal moments, a mental album of boys growing to men.

There was John at 8 intercepting a pass and me running along the sidelines with him.  James at 17, muddied and serious, holding my hand during a halftime "parents day" event at a high school football game.  Imagine a male teen holding a father's hand!  Imagine how nice it was for me.

John's first over-the-fence home run in Little League came when he was 12.  I was an assistant coach. He hugged me after he crossed home plate.  A full hug.  The kind parents normally get only from toddlers.

Make no mistake.  My family wasn't in this for life lessons.  We were jocks.  But wins and losses are not what I remember.

There was e-mail from James at college after a serious injury almost ended his football career.  He said he'd start that Friday night against Johns Hopkins on the kick-off return team.  Not much for a high school standout.  But between the words, I could read his joy.

John was key to his high school basketball team's getting to a state championship game.  We lost by 5, and there were lots of tears.  But that stuff about life's ups and downs?  Crystal clear in our house.

James's high school football team made the playoffs, too, without him.  He had separated his shoulder during practice.  He was more stoic about not playing than I was.

There was a week when John, then a Division III basketball player at York College, was named his team's most valuable player for the season.  The next week, James won the same honor from his high school football team.  The local paper ran an item:  BAERS NAMED MVPS.  I have a copy or two.

There were serious injuries.  John blew out a knee and severed a ligament in his first college basketball game.  It took surgery, rehab and braces before he could play again.  James broke his leg and ankle so badly during a college football practice he required a plate and screws to mend.  I suggested golf, but he stuck with football.  He never ran the same.

To their credit, both boys, without scholarships or inducements, came back after such injuries.  Both showed a determination I think will serve them well in life.

And all of this, of course, is sports with a small "s."  No agents, no college "grants," no prospect of ever turning pro.  Most crowds at Division III games are smaller than at a midsize high school game.  And that's why it's special.  The athletes are fueled by the purest aspects of competition.  Sport from the soul.

Sports gave my sons, my wife and me a center, a source of endless conversation.  I have no doubt my sons are better people for having competed in sports.  My family is closer.  John and James are best friends.  I don't think either of them misses sports or practice, and I'm not sure they yet appreciate everything sports gave them.  But I do know that those who say that America is obsessed with sports, or that schools stress sports too much, are missing an important point.  Sports can be a bond that brings and holds families together.  And I'm sad the last game is over.