Let me start this week's column with a disclaimer: What you are about to read has nothing to do with the law, real estate, banking or any of the other core topics we typically cover in this newspaper.

With the economy still in the tank, houses being foreclosed on and sitting empty and too many bank accounts carrying ever-dwindling balances, I thought I would take a week off and address another topic that I've been thinking a lot about lately: competition.

If you have children, this column is for you. If you don't, but you employ people who were once children, then this column is really for you.

As the father of two, ages 3 and 6, I became familiar with the "participation trophy" a few years back when my daughter Zoey started tee-ball. At the end of the season, each child is presented with a generic trophy simply for participating. Not for winning (which would be indeterminable since keeping score is frowned upon) but, rather, for simply showing up.

Though I found it to be an odd practice, I guessed it was because the children were all 4 years old and I presumed the ritual wouldn't last; I was wrong.

In the ensuing years, my daughter has received multiple trophies, plaques and certificates from soccer, tee-ball and from school. The most recent example came when she entered a writing contest in her elementary school. After weeks of waiting in anticipation for the announced "winners," she proudly came home, waving a certificate proclaiming that she came in second place. We were ecstatic, as was she. We soon found out that half her class (and by that I mean everyone who entered the contest) won second place. Call me old-fashioned, but in the world I grew up in, there was a single winner followed by a single second place and a single third place. This, of course, would leave some children out in the cold - and apparently in our overly PC-world, this has been deemed unacceptable.

While my daughter feels great about "winning" in the contest and she treasures each of her assorted trophies, I'm left to wonder what the fallout will be from raising a generation of kids who don't keep score so as to not hurt anyone's feelings. A generation of kid's who are told they are winners just for participating and are bombarded with the tired (and absolutely false) axiom, "It isn't whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game."

Rubbish. For all of us who work, it is absolutely about whether you win or lose. I don't know about you, but I've never had a boss say to me, "Hey Matt, I can tell you tried really, really hard. So even though you didn't complete your work, and what you did finish was all wrong, that's OK, champ, have a trophy."

To that point, are we not doing our children a giant disservice? How can we expect them to be prepared to face the countless challenges they will encounter in the "real world" if we are coddling them all the way through childhood, shielding them from any and all feelings of failure and rejection? What is going to happen to our generation of coddled kids when they arrive in college, and eventually into the job market, completely unprepared for failure? The first time they bomb an exam and aren't soothingly offered a make-up, the first time a boss calls them in and fires them, how will they respond? After a lifetime spent being told how good they are at everything they touch and how everybody is a winner if they just try their best, my guess is that the fall back to reality will be a hard one.

As the owners, managers and co-workers who will be dealing with this generation, good luck. Try disciplining a workforce that expects a certificate for showing up, a trophy for participating and, when they eventually decide to keep score, practically a coronation should they be victorious in anything they do. Some of you who oversee retail operations may already be familiar with the coddled generation. Not only do they expect to be paid, they have grown accustomed to being adored, pampered and rewarded not only for success but for mediocrity and everything in between.

It was almost 25 years ago that I stood at home plate and struck out swinging to end my team's run in the Babe Ruth State Championship. To this day, I can vividly remember the feeling of trudging back to the bench, hanging my head and watching the other team hoist the trophy they earned. As the losers we got ... nothing. That, along with the many other failures I was allowed to experience as a child, made me stronger. It made me not only hungry to succeed, but it made me appreciate success when it did come.

As I head out to the soccer fields tonight to watch my daughter play, I will do what I always do. I'll cheer her successes and be there for a hug when she fails. Then I will head home and begin to make space for her next trophy.

Matt Chandler: mchandler@bizjournals.com