I sit at a little league game, the most silent among the parents in the stands. While I may be rooting for my child and his team inside, I tend not to scream to or at my child, who likely wouldn't hear me anyway, or to or at the other parents, who might hear me but would just scream back, louder than I'd like to hear. It's not that I don't care. It's just that I express my care in different ways.
My child's team loses today--a combination of bad luck and some not so great play choices. I should probably be upset. Perhaps I should wonder why my son or his team didn't do better. Yet, I find that most of the time, if he walks away somewhat energized and somewhat exercised, that is enough for me.
Is it more fun to walk away the winner (or the parent of the winner)? I suppose. I know I never wanted to travel to awards ceremonies from which I would go home empty-handed. But not winning never kept me from wanting to do my job. The work was enjoyable on its own, just as baseball is fun for my son, whether he wins or not.
So, as he walks off the field, a bit dirty, but none the worse for wear, I am grateful that he is able to do something that he enjoys. And that, for him, and for me, it's not always about winning or losing. It's about how he plays the game.