They broke Eddie Felson’s thumbs—on both hands. His crime? While down and out he was hustling a couple of low life’s in a game of eight ball. He was the greatest pool player in the country—talent wise. However, Minnesota Fats had shredded him in an all night pool tournament. Sure, Fast Eddie started out ahead based on his superior talent. But he couldn’t finish. How did the over-the-hill Minnesota Fats defeat the more talented upstart?

As George C. Scott says to Fast Eddie in that classic movie, “The Hustler”, “Minnesota Fats has more character in his little finger than you have in your whole body.”

There are lots of athletes with talent. There are few players with the character to match their talent.

We were reminded of that Friday night during the Saints homecoming game against Cloverdale.

But first, back to Fast Eddie.

While hustling wannabes, Eddie had snapped. To be a good hustler (I’m told), one has to “miss” key shots. After the “mark” gets ahead, suddenly the hustler’s shots barely drop in, and for some reason, the “mark” never has a clear shot (the Hustler having left the cue ball “just behind” another ball).

Fast Eddie couldn’t help himself. After a few games a demon overtakes him. Rather than “just miss shots,” he runs the table, time and time again. When the others realize that he has been hustling them, in true law of the jungle justice, they take him outside and brutally break his thumbs—so he’ll never be able to hustle again.

When asked why he’d flipped out, Fast Eddie was unrepentant. “I just had to show ‘em how to do it right.”

He was an artist. Self expression was his real game. He paid a heavy price.

True athletes, in fact all artists are like that. They are obsessed with perfection—finding the perfect stroke, taking the last shot, scoring the last TD.

Few people understand this side of athletics. They think games are about teamwork, sportsmanship, and sacrificing for a common goal. (To say nothing of giving us an excuse to bet).

But at its core, competitive games provide the framework where an athlete can escape normal consciousness and travel into a different dimension, reach down inside of him or herself and give birth to a unique expression of “self”—one he may never know even exists.

Oddly, at its essence sport is not about winning. It’s not about trophies. It’s not simply about coming out on top. It’s about finding one’s voice and expressing it in that unique way which is yours and yours alone.

There’s a U-Tube video of a girl who wins a game with a last inning homer, but breaks her ankle turning first. The rules say her teammates can’t help her. If she can’t make it home, the run won’t count. Two opponents carry her around the bases—defying their own coach, team and the ump. It was a transcendent moment in sports.

Which brings us to the Saints. Down 42 to 7, Cloverdale had the ball around their own 20 with two minutes to go. The game was over. Suddenly, their running back broke through the line and raced 80 yards towards a score.

The game was lost. There was no sense chasing that kid. Everyone was exhausted. Then from out of nowhere, a worn out Dante Particelli sprinted the entire length of the field and launched himself, parallel to the ground. His “flying tackle” stopped the runner at the one. It was pure poetry.

The tackle was unnecessary. It wasn’t going to affect the outcome.

But from somewhere deep within, he saw that he might have a chance to catch that guy. Like Hemmingway’s Old man who was “stupidly” attempting to beat sharks off with his bare fists, after his oars broke—all the while knowing that it was futile—Particeli endured—and fought against all odds.

He did it because it was right. Like Job—who lost everything—like each and every one of us who is destined to lose this battle to mortality—Dante Particelli did it right, despite the obvious futility of his efforts.

Real athletes do that. So do real people—people of character.
In every contest, every human endeavor, it’s not what people do. It’s how they do it.

Dante didn’t plan it. He did it because sometimes “Ya just gotta do it right.” Nothing is more important than how you play the game.