While a senior in college, I took what I thought would be a no-brainer, breeze-through-to-graduation, two-unit class entitled, "The Concepts of Coaching."

While a senior in college, I took what I thought would be a no-brainer, breeze-through-to-graduation, two-unit class entitled, "The Concepts of Coaching."

Taught in a room without windows in the belly of our gymnasium, it was intended primarily for student-athletes who saw a future in coaching; I took the class as an elective simply because its professor, Pepperdine men’s volleyball coach and Westlake resident Marv Dunphy, was someone I knew and respected through my work on the university’s sports page.

While the class consisted mostly of listening to various guest speakers from different fields of competition, there was also a paperback textbook assigned that examined the deeper issues that surround the world of sports—from the macro, how sports effect society, to the micro, how the modern-day pursuit of excellence affects the individual athlete. It was an interesting read to be sure, because it did not look at just sports and culture, it looked at the culture of sports.

One section of the text I remember most vividly dealt with issue of "specialization," the constantly growing practice of narrowing down an athletes’ attention to one particular sport, rather than competing at a variety of sports. This has happened as a result of increased emphasis put on winning and success—if a kid hopes to stay ahead of the competition in a single sport he or she must commit all their time to it rather than spread out their training over different athletic endeavors.

I think this issue hit me so close to home because growing up I always felt encouraged, and even expected, to play as many sports as time would allow—from the time I started AYSO to the year I graduated high school I played a different sport every season. And not because I thought I was so good at everyone or because that’s how I liked it (though I did), but that’s just how it was done.

My high school’s starting running back on the football team was the starting two-guard on the varsity basketball squad. Our school’s best long jumper was also our local legion baseball team’s best outfielder and home-run hitter. This kind of cross over could be found everywhere because the best athletes were expected to lend their talents to every team they could.

At first glance, few people would say they think it’s a good idea for young athletes to just concentrate on one sport—after all, with so many different opportunities out there, it just seems natural that a growing adolescent with physical gifts would want to exercise their talents on different playing fields, not just on a baseball diamond or in a swimming pool or at the ice rink.

But in the state of California, where the talent pool is so large and the level of competition is so high, it appears to me that a system has been created that makes specialization not only an issue, but a requirement for young athletes. And that’s scary.