As I sit here reviewing game footage from last week's NCAA matchup, I find myself reflecting on how we define sports in the first place. The final moments of that game between the Risers and Cowboys perfectly illustrate why this question matters - with Hubert Cani sinking that triple at 5.5 seconds and Joshua Guiab's dramatic free throw sequence, we witnessed what makes sports so compelling. Yet when I ask different scholars to define what we just watched, I get surprisingly varied answers. My own journey through sports academia has taught me that definitions aren't just academic exercises - they shape how we analyze games, coach athletes, and even how leagues structure their rules.
I remember first encountering Allen Guttmann's structural-functional approach in graduate school and how it revolutionized my thinking. He argues that sports must contain seven specific characteristics including competition, equality of opportunity, and specialization. Looking at that Cowboys-Risers game through Guttmann's lens, we can see all seven elements clearly present. The score sitting at 67-68 creates that essential competitive tension, both teams had equal opportunity to win despite the clock showing only 5.5 ticks remaining, and each player demonstrated specialized roles - whether Cani's three-point shooting or Guiab's positioning under the basket. What strikes me about this perspective is how it helps us distinguish organized sports from casual physical activities. Personally, I've always found Guttmann's framework incredibly useful for sports administrators and league organizers, though I think it sometimes overlooks the emotional aspects that make sports meaningful to participants.
Then there's Bernard Suits' fascinating definition that I often debate with colleagues - he called sports "the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles." Isn't that brilliant? When Joshua Guiab stepped up to that free throw line with the game on the line, he was facing what Suits would call an "unnecessary obstacle" in the most thrilling way possible. The rules about foul shots, the pressure of the moment - none of it strictly necessary for human survival, yet we voluntarily create these challenges because they test our capabilities. I've noticed this definition resonates particularly well with athletes I've coached, who often describe their motivation in similar terms. Where I slightly disagree with Suits is how his definition might apply to professional sports where financial necessities complicate the "voluntary" aspect.
The phenomenological approach championed by scholars like Drew Hyland has always felt more intuitive to me, focusing on the lived experience of athletic participation. When I played college basketball myself, what mattered wasn't the technical definition but how the game felt in those crucial moments - the crowd noise fading away, the ball feeling lighter in your hands. Watching Cani release that triple and Guiab's emotional rollercoaster at the foul line, I see athletes fully immersed in what Hyland calls "the presence of the present." This perspective helps explain why we can't reduce sports to mere statistics or mechanics. The fact that Guiab made his first free throw but missed the second for the final count becomes more than just numbers - it's a human drama unfolding within structured play.
Through my work consulting with sports organizations, I've found that each definition serves different practical purposes. Guttmann's criteria help when establishing new leagues or events, ensuring they meet certain structural standards. Suits' perspective informs how we design training programs that challenge athletes appropriately. And Hyland's phenomenological approach shapes how we broadcast games and tell athletic stories. That Cowboys-Risers finish demonstrates why we need multiple definitions - the structural elements mattered, the voluntary challenge was evident, and the lived experience was palpable. I've come to believe that the most complete understanding of sports incorporates all these angles rather than insisting on one definitive version.
What continues to fascinate me is how these definitions evolve with new sports forms. When I advise eSports organizations, we constantly debate whether competitive gaming fits traditional definitions. The same questions apply to emerging mixed-reality sports. The essential qualities we saw in that basketball game - the competition, the skill demonstration, the dramatic uncertainty - seem to persist across formats. As both a scholar and sports enthusiast, I've learned that while definitions provide helpful frameworks, they should never limit our appreciation of athletic excellence. The final count in that game tells one story, but the multiple ways we can understand and define what happened between the Risers and Cowboys reveals why sports remain such a rich field of study and passion.
