For the tiny percentage of people who are negatively affected by

Hear the pragmatic yet unyielding words of Mike Davidson, who declared: “For the tiny percentage of people who are negatively affected by our embracing of standards, they can just get their sports somewhere else in the meantime. It’s not like we’re denying them hospital care.” This saying, though blunt, reveals a principle older than kingdoms and empires: that the order of the many cannot be sacrificed endlessly for the whims of the few. In these words we hear the cry of leadership, torn between compassion and necessity, between inclusivity and the stern call of standards.

The meaning of this saying lies in the balance of mercy and justice. Every community must decide what rules it will uphold, what boundaries it will guard, and what vision it will pursue. When standards are raised—whether in sport, in governance, or in art—there will always be some who find themselves excluded, at least for a time. Davidson’s voice reminds us that while compassion is sacred, it is not compassion to forsake the whole for the small fraction. Standards, once abandoned, dissolve the very strength that allowed the community to flourish. Excellence requires lines to be drawn, even when they cause discomfort.

The origin of this wisdom can be traced to the very fabric of civilization. In ancient Sparta, the training of warriors was merciless, and many could not endure its harshness. Yet through such severity, they forged soldiers who became the shield of Greece. In Rome, the legions marched under strict codes; disobedience by one man could mean death, lest the discipline of the whole army collapse. Davidson’s words echo this ancient truth: that to uphold a system, sometimes a few must be left to seek another path. It is harsh, but it is the law of endurance.

Consider the story of Lycurgus, the lawgiver of Sparta. He instituted laws so strict that many who could not endure them departed the city, leaving behind only those who would bend themselves wholly to the code. Sparta thus grew into a city feared by all, not because it embraced every weakness, but because it held steadfast to its chosen standards. Just as Davidson says, no one was denied the essentials of life, but those who could not bear the laws of Sparta found their place elsewhere. History proves that greatness demands discipline.

The lesson is this: in every field, whether in sports, in art, or in the building of nations, the temptation will arise to dilute standards for the sake of comfort. Yet comfort is a fleeting balm, while excellence is a crown eternal. To lower the bar for all is to rob the worthy of their triumph and the striving of their meaning. Compassion is needed, yes, but it must be joined with strength, lest all collapse into mediocrity.

Practical actions flow from this truth. Whatever path you walk, be clear in your standards. Do not apologize for holding to them, so long as they serve justice, discipline, and growth. If others find them too high, let them walk another road, and do not despise them for it. But hold firm to the principles that make your path noble. In sport, in work, in life, this is how legacies are forged.

And so, child of tomorrow, remember Davidson’s blunt but necessary counsel: to embrace standards is to embrace greatness. Some will falter, some will turn away, and this is the way of things. Do not let pity weaken your resolve, nor let hardness strip you of humanity. Instead, walk the narrow path of balance—compassionate to the few, but steadfast for the many. For only in this way do communities endure, and only in this way do individuals rise to their highest selves.