What 20 Years of Loving Sports has Taught Me (in 20 mins)
The Field of Play vs the Field of Life
The modern-day tribal warfare. The 21st-century version of using man-made equipment to physically dismantle our opponents.
In some ways, that’s what sports are to us today… except without the goal of trying to kill our rivals. I’d like to think that we a species have evolved past that point.
Instead of hunting with bows, arrows, and sharp sticks, we “hunt” by using rackets, bats, balls, paddles, and our bodies to outsmart and outmaneuver our opponents. Instead of fighting for food or land, we fight for points, goals, money, and fame.
That’s what I’ve always loved about sports. It brings out a sense of physical and mental competition that has been rooted in us for thousands of years. The sacred love of sports, especially for guys, is a calling back to our ancestral roots of competing against others.
My Sports Story
Since the moment young Milind took his first steps, sports had consumed his life. He had a mini basketball net in his basement, soccer balls, badminton racquets, and so much more.
Sports was something that gave me energy in life, whether I was playing or watching them. Outside of school or work (and sometimes even during them🫣), there’s a good chance you’d find me throwing the frisbee around at the park or playing in a makeshift wiffle ball tournament with friends. It’s a big reason why my closest friends always tell me that I’m so good at any sport we play. It’s also a big reason why my entire room is decorated in a sports theme, from the Blue Jays colour of the paint on my walls , the Raptors posters, and all the old games and toys I’ve collected over the years.
Most of my fondest childhood memories are from sports. As I’ve grown up, I’ve realized just how impactful they have been in shaping the person I am today. Sure, I may have had some naturally good hand-eye coordination skills, but a lot of the lessons from sports had nothing to do with any of these skills.
I wanted to use this article to share 10 key life lessons I’ve taken away from 10 of the different sports I’ve played in my life. Through stories and experiences, these 10 lessons are a testament to how sports are not just an escape from the world, but an embrace of our world’s greatest elements.
So sit back and enjoy my sports career retrospective!
Badminton → Family connection
My earliest memories of sports was 3 year old Milind sliding on the gym floor and trying to hit the birdie as hard as he could at our family rec badminton club. The rules of the game didn’t matter to him, and despite that, the feeling of being active and swinging the racquet around was the ultimate source of joy in his life.
Since then, my parents, sister and I always had the most epic family doubles matches against each other. Each week was another chance to win bragging rights. No matter how poorly our days went or how angry we were at each other, Friday night badminton from 7–10 pm was able to make us bury the hatchet.
It was also a great social club where we had celebrations for Christmas and went out for drinks every few weeks . On those East Side Mario’s trips, our family was often complimented on how close our relationship was between each other (especially my sister and I). I know those family badminton nights played a big part in it.
In school, I played on the team from grades 7 through 10, and I had closer relationships with my teammates during those times than in any other sport. It’s a big reason why many of our teams performed so well in our tournaments. When we’re able to have fun with each other playing Spyfall or cards in between our matches, it makes things easier on the court to have that connection while playing doubles, regardless if it’s with a friend or with family.
I’m thankful that from my first club sport, I was able to take away this valuable lesson that has served me in my relationships ever since.
Soccer → Teamwork
My hometown friends and I joke that it’s basically a rite of passage growing up in Ottawa to play at least one year of OSU (Ottawa South United). It’s the main soccer league there, and from the moment kids can walk, OSU is a natural fit. Everyone can embrace the summer weather, it requires little investment in equipment, and it’s a great way to build teamwork.
I played in OSU for about 5 years from age 5–9, and it was a great way to learn my role in the bigger picture of the team. In young kids’ leagues, everyone goes for the “beehive technique” where all players swarm the ball, and you have a bunch of kids moving like a pack of bees chasing the intruder.
It’s pretty cute, not gonna lie, but as you get older, you learn about the importance of spreading out and having roles like strikers, midfield, and defence. I still remember one year where my dad was my coach, and he would put me as a striker a lot, always chanting “It’s all yours Milind!” whenever I had a breakaway chance. Ah, the memories!
Having this level of cohesion with your teammates, building trust that each person will do their role, is a wonderful lesson I took from my soccer years. It’s a lesson that applies to group projects, business, and any other team endeavour. You can’t do everything by yourself, so there needs to be this collaborative engagement with others. I’m glad I learned the importance of this from a very young age.
Hockey → Friendship
“Can Milind come out to playyyyyy?” Every time I’d hear this sound at the door, I jolted out of wherever I was to tell my friends that I’d be right out. But the story never started like this.
We moved into our Ottawa home in February 2009. It was a great place on a not too busy road, and there was a really nice pond behind us. One day, my mom and I had gone for a walk around the pond. On the way back, we heard some noises on our street. It was the sounds of something scratching along the pavement roads, but I couldn’t pick up on what it was.
“Look, the [Ottawa] Senators are playing.” my mom told me.
“Where?” I responded, sounding both excited and slightly confused why our local NHL team was playing on our street.
She then pointing out to two other kids with Sens jerseys on playing road hockey. One was the goalie all dressed up in gear, and the other one was taking shots.
“Do you wanna go play with them?” my mom asked on our way home.
She could tell that I really wanted to, but was nervous to ask on my own.
So a few minutes later, we both walked back outside, and then she asked if I could join. They were both very welcoming, and we spent some time shooting around. Up until that moment, I never really found anyone in my neighbourhood who loved sports like I do.
Little did I know that this simple moment would transform our friendship into something that lasts to this very day. All those winters growing up were spent playing road hockey in our snow pants and bodychecking each other into the snowbanks, plus some hot chocolate and video games at each others’ houses. The summers were spent playing kids vs parents road hockey and going swimming in my friend’s backyard pool.
Sure, we eventually moved on from hockey to play baseball, tennis, basketball, and many other sports, but hockey was what kickstarted our friendship. Whenever I looked out my bedroom window, I could see whether or not they were outside, and even when one of them was walking towards my place. Waking up to those doorbell sounds on weekends was the only way to get me out of bed before 9 am.
Beyond just the friendship between the three of us, even our families got very close over the years. We had neighbourhood events with each other, and my friend’s dad was someone who helped me get a summer job after reading all my newsletters.
We’ve now been to actual Ottawa Senators games together, and I’m meeting up with one of them at the Toronto Blue Jays home opener on April 8th. To think about how the Butterfly Effect of a “Can Milind play with you?” has led to this friendship is pretty incredible. It’s a lesson in how valuable they can be, and picturing what a simple greeting might become has made me a lot more open to meeting new people at university.
Volleyball → Dealing with pressure
My first school sports tournament was in middle school. As one of only two grade 5 students on the grade 5/6 team, I remember all the pressure I felt. These were all the older kids I looked up to (metaphorically and literally). How was I supposed to compete with their taller, stronger, and puberty-enhanced physiques?
That first tournament for me and the team was not a memorable one. Sure we won a few games, but it was way below expectations. Missed serves by me, mishitting bumps, and an overall lack of team chemistry. You can imagine how 10 year old Milind felt hearing cheers when he missed a shot against the home school’s team and their audience.
Coming back that next year, I vowed to make a change. I had the experience of looking foolish the past year next to all these bigger and older kids, that now I knew what to expect. That year, practice was where I shined. It was then that I learned the value of all the discomfort and pressure I faced, as it gave me a sense of control once again. In our tournaments this time, my coach had me on the court more than anyone else on our team, and we ended up going all the way to winning our board championship.
In that tournament, the outside noise didn’t affect me much. My serves were on point, my returns were there and our team was on the same page. Even when we lost a game in the round robin stage, we had the resilience to come back and beat that same team in the championship.
In the 10 years since, I’ve been known as someone who deals with pressure very well. Be it at the highest level of baseball, other school teams or even when giving presentations and working with tight deadlines, I’m able to stay pretty even keel throughout. I have volleyball to thank for initially building this skill within me.
Baseball → Failure
We lost another game. Our coaches were pissed. Instead of the usual post-game talk, they left us alone to talk amongst ourselves. We had to figure out what to tell each other, because clearly what they were saying wasn’t working. For once, we had to hold ourselves accountable.
We huddled up as a group. “We just gotta focus more!” “We can score way more runs, let’s be aggressive at the plate.” “We can’t be making all these errors.” These were some of the points coming out of our pre-teen mouths.
After going 0–3 in the round-robin stage of that tournament, we were in dead last out of 8 teams. That Sunday in the playoffs, we had to beat 3 of the top 4 seeds in the quarters, semis, and finals to win the championship. We had to run the gauntlet, and two of those teams were ones we already lost to before.
Filled with our elevated team chemistry and lessons from our past failures, we did just that. We beat the 1st seed in the quarterfinals, then beat both teams who beat us less than 48 hrs prior on our way to the championship.
Baseball is known as a game of failures. If you get on base 35–40% of the time as a hitter, you are a Hall of Famer. More than any other victory I had while playing competitive baseball, including hitting my first home run and winning the provincial championship, I’m proudest of how we grew from that tournament in the States.
In fact, we weren’t even supposed to go at first. After winning provincials with a similar team, we thought that qualifying for the next year’s provincials would be a breeze. That’s when we got punched in the mouth and lost the district championships.
The disappointment on our faces was immeasurable. Our side of the stands was shocked. Our baseball league was one of the best in the country, and to not even win districts was a huge letdown.
During the time where we would’ve been in provincials, we went to a different tournament; this one. It took us getting swept in districts and losing all round-robin matches for us to learn from our failures and win.
Growing up, I was a very sore loser. Whenever I played sports with my dad and lost, I would burst into tears. My dadi (grandma, dad’s mom) would often tell him to lose to me on purpose so I felt better (typical dadi behaviour haha). But my dad wanted to teach me how to lose with grace.
Those lessons prepared me for competitive baseball, and baseball has prepped me for life. Failure is guaranteed, but in baseball and life, it’s the people that can learn most from their failures who win.
Basketball → Community
2 million people. It’s hard to even picture that. Imagine a concert at a 20,000 person stadium, but 100 of those. That’s how many people went to the Toronto Raptors championship parade in 2019.
It started with me watching each playoff game intently from my couch, yelling my lungs out after the infamous Kawhi buzzer-beater. It then lead to me inviting a few close high school friends over to watch game 2 of the finals, then game 5, and then game 6 (where they won it all!).
Once that moment of celebration hit, where all of us were yelling loud enough that our neighbours heard us, I started imagining what it would be like to attend that parade. Sure, I had my final exams a few days after, but when I look back on life, would I rather skip this potentially once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study? Hell to the no.
My parents, despite not being the biggest basketball fans, were on board with my philosophy. We made the trip down and stayed with our relatives. The night before, we went to the parade site around 10 pm, and already saw people lining.
I got super worried that if we came the next morning, we’d be stranded hundreds of rows back from the stage. My parents were certain that everything would be ok, but I wanted to make sure that we made the most of this opportunity to see our sporting heroes up close.
Quickly enough, we raced back to our relatives’ place to get our stuff and made it to the downtown area around 2 am, 12 hours before the players were supposed to arrive. And yes, it had gotten much more crowded these last 4 hours. The sound of eager fans with all their signs and the sight of all the Raptors jerseys in the crowd was a reminder of just how many people rallied behind this team.
During those 14 hours of waiting for the players to arrive (yes, it took 2 extra hours because of how many people showed up), we shared water with each other as people were roasting in the burning June heat, talking about our favourite Raptors moments from the playoffs, and taking pictures.
I had a basketball net in my driveway since I was about 10, and I always used it to practice all the crazy moves I saw from the pros. While my Punjabi genes never helped me out height-wise, they didn’t slow me down from hitting my own game-winners as I counted down the time in my head.
Despite never having been to an actual Raptors game, the parade taught me how powerful a community can be. Being a Raptors fan is an identity for some of the people I met, and when that identity is shared across a large group, suddenly our differences don’t mean as much. In other clubs, programs, and organizations I’ve been part of, this experience taught me how important it is to build a dedicated culture of people embracing their shared passions.
Tennis → Mastery
When the pandemic hit, shutting down all sports facilities for months, one of the only places my friends and I could go was the outdoor tennis courts.
That summer, the courts near my place were busier than ever, with long lines of people desperate to find some form of enjoyable physical exercise outside of their 13 daily walks.
Since the courts were 2 mins from my place, we’d have games with each during the lunch hour of online school, and then again later in the evening with the court lights on.
What I took from actually getting out onto the court during those summer months was just how much more I respect tennis players. One of my friends played competitively for many years, and I enjoyed watching all the Grand Slams on tv.
But I never truly understood how physically demanding it was. In some other sports, you can still be out of shape and dominate because of other factors, but have you ever seen a tennis player who isn’t crazy fit?
With the combination of power, speed, endurance, and mental strength needed to play that sport, I have a much greater appreciation of the effort required to truly master a craft. Even just playing one set with friends gets us exhausted, but most men’s tennis matches are best-of-5 sets. That too, in Grand Slams, these matches are almost every single day. And if you’re playing both singles and doubles in a tournament, that’s like 5 hours of daily tennis matches! 🤯
If you want to be the best at something, you need to beat the person who’s willing to sacrifice anything that isn’t aligned with that goal. If you want to take a rest day, there’s someone else who’s training overtime to beat you.
These professionals like Nadal, Djokovic, Federer and the Williams sisters have been playing ever since they could hold a racquet. And that applies to people in other fields too. MrBeast has been on YouTube for 10+ years. Tiger Woods started playing golf at age 3. The Kardashians have been in business for over 20 years.
Now, whether or not you like certain people is a different story. But this lesson I got from tennis is a testament of both the intensity and longevity required to truly achieve greatness!
Golf → Persistance
I recently got into a debate with my co-workers about what sport is the most boring and made fun of. Immediately, two of them said golf. My manager and I were flabbergasted.
Their whole argument was that whacking a ball into a hole was not their idea of entertainment. From their minds as non-players, I understand. At first, watching it on tv was incredibly boring. But once you start swinging that club, you realize just how difficult and demanding the sport gets (especially on the mental side).
It’s a game of swings and momentum, just like life. You can get bad breaks from good shots, or good breaks from bad shots. You can hit 3 bad shots in a row but save the hole on a great putt, or have 3 great holes and then triple bogey. Often enough for an amateur golfer like myself, it’s a lot of pain for most of the holes, but it’s those 1 or 2 great shots like a 25-foot putt or getting it on the green from 175 yards out that keeps me coming back.
Despite how peaceful it can be out on the links, golf truly is a game of mental warfare. I’ve been playing about once a month each summer for the last 7–8 years, and now when I see professionals play, I’m amazed how consistent they are during the round.
The more you get in your head while playing, the more you focus on all those swing lesson videos you watched, the worse you tend to play.
“Golf is a game that is played on a five-inch course — the distance between your ears.” — Bobby Jones
Just like in life, golf is a game of persistence and perseverance. In your work, health, and relationships, if you focus too much on the sand traps (what could go wrong), you’ll likely make those undesired realities come true. But if you focus on the fairway and the path to the hole (your desired goal), then you might just reach them. In life and in golf, the most important shot is the next one.
Cricket → Passion
It’s 3:30 am at the University of Waterloo. I walk into a building and inside a lecture hall, what do I see? Hundreds, and I mean hundreds of students in Team India shirts, ready to watch the Cricket World Cup final. You already know that I was wearing mine too.
My love for cricket is basically ingrained in my blood. I got my first set when I went to India in 2012, and it has stayed with me ever since. My dad and I played a lot in our unfinished basement, and my grandma would also enjoy bowling very slowly to me so that I could turn into a young Yuvraj Singh and smack sixes.
I was initially very sad when we were finishing our basement since I couldn’t play down there anymore. As I grew up, we moved from the basement to the driveway, then to the local park with friends. I’ve been part of cricket clubs at our university, and even made up my own cricket game where I was the bowler, batsmen, and fielder all at once so I could play by myself (don’t ask me to explain it, I still don’t get it).
But what I remember most about the sport is the fandom that spread across my home country. My family would wake up at 5 am just to watch our boys play, and I still remember sitting with my dadi to drink our warm milk and eat cookies as we watched the games in her room.
Now, however intense that might seem, it’s a completely different story in India. Stadiums are full of screaming fans with their horns, flags, jerseys, and full-body paint. The streets are lined up with thousands of fans. When India loses, riots break out and jerseys are burned. When they win, it’s like a national holiday with parties and firecrackers blasting all night long.
My first day alone at university, I met a few Indian students. They were all international students who just arrived in Canada a few days ago, and it was cool to learn about their lives having actually grown up in India. I asked them if they were going to watch the Asia Cup match the next day between India and Pakistan (the ACTUAL biggest rivalry in sports), and they said that a big watch party was being organized on campus.
That was my first experience of the passion in both fanbases when the room was filled with Indian and Pakistani fans, with one half screaming after every ball.
Now, a year later, when it was India vs Australia in the World Cup final, it was an entirely Indian audience. Given how the match turned out, if any Australian was there cheering their team’s victory amidst our sadness, they might not have made it out alive.
In Canada, cricket is the fastest growing sport. And while we might not have the support of 1.4 billion people cheering us on, I hope that in our own lives, we can take this level of passion and commitment to succeed towards any goals we hope to achieve!
Table tennis → Hope
Call it ping-pong, mini tennis, whatever; to me, it was that sport that helped give me hope.
I had a table in my basement ever since it was finished. The evening games with my dad during COVID were stuff of legend, and our New Year’s Eve best-of-7 matches to determine the champion of that year were intense.
In a much more personal sense, table tennis was the sport that brought me a sense of hope when I needed it most after being diagnosed with leukaemia in 2019. When I had to miss a full school year and be isolated at home from my weakened immune system, table tennis was my outlet to sporting joy. My body was too weak to play any intense sports, but those 5–10 mins rallying at our table while sitting on an exercise ball were the best parts of my day.
Though I often didn’t have the energy to go for more than 7 or 8 shots in a rally before getting tired, table tennis helped me feel like I was progressing in my recovery. Soon enough, I was able to play for 15, 20, and 30 mins at a time. Then eventually, I was able to join my high school’s club and beat up on all of my friends.
In university, my new friends and I would always be playing at the tables around campus for hours on end outside of school, and I made sure to show them all the cool spin shots I learned in my basement.
Most of my friends hadn’t played much before, so the real test came when I joined the school club. There, I was surrounded by provincial/state, national, and even international-level players. It was very out of my element compared to the competition I faced in residence.
But one thing to know about me is that from all my years of playing sports, I was NOT someone to doubt himself and give up so easily. I tried out for the table tennis team in 2nd year, and along the way, I had to face multiple former competitive players. As someone who’s only experience was in his basement, it definitely felt like I was the underdog.
Despite having 2 match points against me, I was able to win that match and eventually secure the final spot on the A-team. At the tryouts, I wasn’t sure sure that I would even make B-team, but I knew that for me to have any chance, I could not let that hope go. I’ve never felt so “in the zone” as I was during those tryouts, and it’s a lesson of just how important it is to be mentally prepared.
Since then, I won a bronze medal in singles and a gold medal in doubles at our school’s tournaments. In a sport like this, where it’s often just you out there, it’s the ultimate form of accountability. Teammates can’t lose you the game, it’s never the crowd’s fault or the weather’s fault, it’s all about you.
It’s a game that never cheats you, and it’s a reminder to never cheat the game (or life) back. Keep up hope and be accountable for your actions!
The Next Chapters
While the fascination with sports initially brought me into this world, the lessons learned kept me here. To gain the wisdom your 80-year-old self will appreciate while having the joy your 8-year-old self admires is the perfect place to be.
You don’t need to be freakishly talented to be successful in sports, or in life. I wasn’t some athletic prodigy growing up. It just takes the time to try new things, find out your interests, and have a willingness to make mistakes along the way to grow. It doesn’t matter if it’s with friends at the park, in a rec league, or the championship game at the highest level. Who knows where I’d be if I didn’t join my first club, team, or met these new friends? Certainly not here.
Being able to compete in public settings, which exposed all my failures and triumphs to others has given me the tools to perform in other areas of life. I’ve become a better public speaker, a better friend and coach, a more disciplined person , and better able to face adversity.
There’s enough sports quotes I could use to end this off from greats like Wayne Gretzky, Mohammad Ali, or Michael Jordan. Not that I’m on any of their levels, but instead of re-stating something you’ve already heard, here’s my lasting thought on the power of sports in our lives:
“Sports are a reflection of life’s challenges, and the more we embrace these opportunities to learn, adapt, and grow as people, the more we’ll tilt the scores in our favour.”
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