[The initial version of this article was published in RUNNER'S WORLD magazine. However, as it is relevant to all competitive sports, it was edited to apply to squash. When this article was first published, Bright, a former national-class diver and gymnast, was a sports therapist in Michigan, counseling amateur and professional athletes.]

Sam, a new B player, was sitting across from me, agonizing over whether or not he should enter the upcoming tournament that was going to attract some top B players.

This was a difficult decision for Sam because he had started out as a recreational player, playing for exercise, fun and his own satisfaction.

Recently, he had entered a few of the small local tournaments, and with each tournament his results had steadily improved. In fact, he had won the C division in the last tournament. But playing in this tournament meant going up against some big names, and top club players from out-of-state (possibly A-players who were "sand-bagging") with national ranking aspirations.

Sam's frustrations centered upon the fear of doing poorly and letting himself down. I decided the moment was right to tell him what a former All-American player, who's now in his 60s, had told me 18 years ago about competing and being a champion.

Naturally, the All-American talked about the hard work and dedication that are associated with athletic success. But when he started talking about what really constitutes a champion, he caught my attention. Perhaps it was because I didn't understand what he meant. He defined a champion as"someone who is as good as the best and better than all the rest."

As the years unfolded, his definition began to take on special meaning. One of the things I began to realize is that in order to be a champion with any kind of longevity, one must strive to not merely be "the best." Because once you are on top, the only way for you to go is down. Therefore, the goal is to be "up there with the best."

A further understanding of this definition came about when exploring the idea of "the perfect individual." Most people are unable to identify anyone who is perfect. How does this notion apply to the former All-American's definition of a champion? An athlete cannot win every time he competes, but a champion must be someone who wins more often than he loses. "As good as the best and better than the rest" also means that you are able to perform even when you don't feel like it. Athletes have days when they don't feel like performing. The champion, unlike every other athlete, is able to rise to the occasion and do his best.

Johnny Bench, one of the finest catchers in the history of baseball, attributed his ability to perform optimally to "pride." He said during a recent interview that he looked at playing his position as "a job." He took great pride in doing his job well because he had obligations to his fans, to his teammates and to himself.

There's no need to worry about whether you are going to win or lose. The odds have taken care of that. You've got to accept the fact that you are going to lose occasionally. What you want to do each time you compete is your very best. What more can you expect from yourself?

Both the world of sports and the world at large have come a long way since the Vince Lombardi era, when winning wasn't everything, it was the only thing. As the sphere of athletes has enlarged to include the courts as well as arenas and stadiums, so has our conception of victory and defeat enlarged. The everyday athlete need not consult the score sheets to judge his performance - he can examine himself. By looking inward, he can discover whether he rose to meet a challenge or retreated to avoid one; whether he extended the same generosity to his opponents that he did to himself; whether he acknowledged his limitations as readily as he displayed his prowess.

This new conception of victory can be liberating, but it carries with it a heavier responsibility. When achievement is judged subjectively it frees the athlete both from the score sheets and others' opinions. At the same time, it demands great honesty.

After I finished talking, Sam leaned back in his chair and gave a sigh of relief. In a calmer voice, he said that he'd gotten something special from what I had told him. He realized that he didn't want to be the kind of player who is just out to win tournaments. His life was too involved in other worthwhile and satisfying activities. Instead, what he wanted to achieve with his playing was the feeling of knowing he did his best - something that only he could define.

Sam's fear of playing in the big tournament wasn't as great as before. He simply looked at the tournament as another opportunity to do his best. And the final judge of what constituted his best would be himself. There can be no fairer, or sterner, judge.

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