Finish last in your league and they call you idiot. Finish last

Hear the sharp wit of Abe Lemons, the basketball coach whose tongue was as quick as his mind: “Finish last in your league and they call you idiot. Finish last in medical school and they call you doctor.” At first glance, it is humor, a jest tossed into the air like a ball on the court. Yet beneath the laughter lies truth, one that cuts to the heart of how society measures success and confers titles of respect. It is a reminder that appearances deceive, that achievement in name does not always equal mastery, and that respect must be weighed not in titles, but in deeds.

The meaning is both comic and profound. In the realm of sports, finishing last brands one as a failure, a fool mocked by rivals and forgotten by history. But in the halls of medicine, even the student who just scrapes by still emerges with the title of doctor, a position of trust and authority. Lemons points to the irony: how society can be merciless to some and overly generous to others. It is not a condemnation of doctors, but a satirical warning that respect earned by position alone may not always reflect true ability.

History gives us vivid examples of this truth. In the Roman Empire, the philosopher Seneca often warned that titles and positions granted by power do not guarantee virtue or competence. A senator may wear the purple, but he may lack wisdom; a general may command armies, yet fail in courage. So too, Lemons’ quote echoes this ancient wisdom—that the cloak of respectability can cover mediocrity, while harsh judgment often falls upon those who falter in more public arenas.

Consider also the story of Ignaz Semmelweis, a Hungarian physician of the 19th century. Though a doctor of high standing, he was ridiculed by his peers for insisting that handwashing could prevent deadly infections in childbirth. Many doctors, though graduates of fine schools, rejected his truth and clung to their pride, costing thousands of lives. Here is the warning in Lemons’ jest: the title of “doctor” does not guarantee wisdom, nor does finishing one’s schooling ensure the heart or humility required to serve. Respect must be earned by practice, not by paper.

Yet the humor also shields a deeper teaching. Lemons reminds us that we must be careful in how we judge others. The athlete finishing last may still have shown courage in competing. The doctor who struggled through school may still save lives with diligence and care. True respect lies not in where you finish, but in how you serve, how you improve, how you use your station for the good of others. The lesson is not cynicism, but discernment: be wise in how you grant your respect, and let actions weigh more than titles.

The lesson, child of tomorrow, is this: never confuse position with worth, nor titles with truth. Do not belittle the one who stumbles openly, nor blindly exalt the one who hides behind credentials. Respect effort, respect integrity, respect deeds that prove their value. For in every field—be it sport, medicine, politics, or art—there are those who shine without fanfare, and those who hold great titles yet lack great substance.

To live by this wisdom, train your eyes to look beyond appearances. When you meet a leader, a teacher, or a healer, ask not only what title they bear, but what spirit they carry. And in your own life, seek not only to finish the race, but to finish it with honor, humility, and skill. If you fall, rise again; if you succeed, remember that respect must be continually earned.

Thus the wit of Abe Lemons endures. “Finish last in medical school and they call you doctor.” It is a jest, yes, but also a mirror held up to society, showing us the strange ways respect is given and withheld. May it remind you to laugh, but also to judge wisely, and above all, to live so that your worth is proven not by titles, but by the truth of your deeds.