Sport must be amateur or it is not sport. Sports played

When Avery Brundage declared, “Sport must be amateur or it is not sport. Sports played professionally are entertainment,” he spoke with the conviction of a man who believed that the essence of athletic competition lay not in gold or glory, but in purity of spirit. His words cut to the heart of a timeless debate: is sport meant to be a contest of skill and discipline for its own sake, or has it been corrupted into spectacle, sold to the highest bidder as mere diversion for the masses?

The origin of this quote comes from Brundage’s long role as a defender of amateurism, especially during his time as President of the International Olympic Committee. He held to the ancient principle of the Olympic Games, where athletes competed not for wealth, but for honor. To him, professionalism sullied the sacredness of sport. A man who trained for the joy of discipline and the pursuit of excellence was, in Brundage’s eyes, a true athlete. But the one who competed for pay, who performed before crowds for salary, had crossed into another realm—no less impressive, perhaps, but no longer “sport” in its truest form.

History gives weight to his conviction. In ancient Greece, victors of the Olympics were crowned with simple wreaths of olive leaves. There was no prize of gold, no salary, no celebrity endorsements. Yet their names were sung in poetry and etched into stone because they had embodied the highest ideal: arete, the pursuit of excellence for its own sake. The purity of their striving, not the wealth they gained, was what made their contests sacred. Brundage, steeped in this tradition, sought to preserve such ideals against the encroachment of modern commercialism.

Yet his words also stir tension, for we know that the line between sport and entertainment is thin. Professional athletes train with the same, if not greater, discipline than amateurs. Their bodies are temples built through sacrifice, their skills honed to near perfection. And yet, when money and spectacle dominate, when contracts and endorsements outweigh the joy of play, the contest becomes more than sport—it becomes a business, and the athlete an entertainer. Brundage’s warning was not against professionalism itself, but against forgetting the sacred fire at the heart of sport.

In his declaration lies also a reminder of the corrupting power of wealth. When victory becomes tied to financial gain, temptation grows: to cheat, to bend rules, to pursue victory at any cost. History is full of scandals where the hunger for money overshadowed fair play. Brundage’s words call us back to the root—that true sport is a discipline of the body, a contest of honor, and an art of the soul. To lose this is to lose the very spirit that makes sport noble.

The lesson, then, is twofold: we must honor the purity of amateur spirit while also recognizing the reality of professional athletics. As participants, let us engage in sport not for gain, but for health, joy, and self-mastery. As spectators, let us not be blinded by spectacle alone, but remember the human spirit that burns beneath the lights. For whether amateur or professional, sport must ultimately be judged not by its wealth, but by its ability to inspire discipline, courage, and unity.

So let us hear Brundage’s words: “Sport must be amateur or it is not sport.” Let them challenge us, even if we disagree. Let them remind us that the heart of athletics lies not in contracts or crowds, but in the simple act of striving, of testing oneself against limits, of playing for the love of the game. And let us never forget that while professional sports may dazzle as entertainment, the truest sport is born when a person runs, leaps, or throws simply for the joy of excelling, and in that joy, touches something eternal.