OK, so this ain't English class and I don't mean to give a book report here. But during a recent vacation spent on the blindingly white sands of a Caribbean beach, I re-read Hemingway's 1952 novella about Santiago, an aged and unlucky, but proud and determined fisherman who "goes out too far" in a small skiff and hooks into an 18-foot marlin.

You know the story.

The big fish hauls Santiago's aching carcass around the Gulf Stream off the coast of Cuba for a few days, all while the old man, a huge baseball fan, wonders how the Yankees are doing, how the great Joe DiMaggio would handle himself in such a difficult undertaking, and how he's going to conquer the magnificent fish - which is larger than his boat - and get the Chicken of the Sea to market back home.

If you don't know the story, I don't mean to spoil the ending to a classic written more than 50 years ago, but - the poor, old fisherman, whose sail is "patched with flour sacks and, furled, it looked like the flag of permanent defeat," ends up outlasting the marlin. He uses great skill, remarkable endurance, and, in the vernacular of modern sports, mental toughness to triumph over the fish, only to have the beautiful creature, strapped to the side of his tiny skiff, devoured by sharks on the long trip back to his coastal village.

The old man, throughout the narrative, battles nobly and honorably against inevitable defeat. He hangs on for dear life, and finds meaning in that life by facing down the overwhelming challenges at hand. Interpretations of Hemingway's work range from the author lashing out against his critics to a religious presentation, featuring Santiago as a Christ figure. The author once said he took satisfaction in creating characters and plots from which readers could see different symbols, themes, and meanings.

What does any of this have to do with sports?

A lot.

Well. That's just a slice of what I took from the story, due, in part, to my own frame of reference, having made a study of sports and competition through the years.

Naturally, the text can and should be applied in a much broader connotation, as well.

Either way, English professors and literary experts, bear with me.

Here's the deal: The old man may have shown too much pride in seeking to go so far out to sea, much farther than he had gone before, all in an effort to break a slump of 84 days without catching a fish. Whatever drove him to do so, once out there, he mastered his elements, used all his acumen and expertise and wherewithal to earn his wonderful reward.

In short, the gifted-but-flawed man did nearly everything right to win his battle. He utilized his talents, his years of experience as a fisherman, and laudable resolve, all mixed with dignity and good intention, to take the 1,500-pound marlin.

And, then, the unrighteous sharks come to take their meals, despite the old man's efforts to fend them off.

When Santiago floats back to harbor in the dark of night, while the village sleeps, to ingloriously and deliriously and exhaustedly stumble alone back to his shack, the skeleton of the great fish still tied to the side of his boat, the subsequent conclusion, at least drawn by those who do not look closely, is abject defeat.

The valuable meat was not delivered to market.

But those with a keener eye see triumph.

They see glory.

The man never gave up. He fought. He endured. He conquered. He filled the measure of his abilities. He knew it, even if no one else acknowledged the fact.

That's the ultimate analogy with sports. At all levels, from peewees all the way to the pros, observers, parents, fans, coaches, sportswriters, usually see only the results, the numerical count. Who won, who lost, nothing else matters. That's why they have a scoreboard. That's what competition is all about, right?

Second place is the first loser.

Tiger Woods lost at the U.S. Open on Sunday when he fell behind Angel Cabrera. Later, the world's best player said: "Finishing second is never fun." And critics quickly called into doubt his quest to supplant Jack Nicklaus as the greatest ever - because he didn't finish atop the leaderboard at one tournament.

The sharks do swim.

Same with junior sports, where winning, as defined by the numbers on the board, is preeminently valued over development and fulfilled potential.

In college and pro sports, even when potential is fulfilled, it's not good enough. Winning - again, those advantageous numbers on the scoreboard - is the only virtue, even when everything is given in the competitive attempt.

In offering praise or dishing criticism, or just reacting to an outcome, that last part ought to enter the equation - at all levels of sport.

I suppose that's a trite thing to draw from a book that has meant so many different significant things to so many different readers, and that garnered a Pulitzer and helped the author gain a Nobel Prize.

But re-reading it on that blindingly white Caribbean beach re-opened my eyes to the undeniable fact that winners don't always finish first. Sometimes, they move under a sail that only looks like a flag of permanent defeat. In reality, it heralds the exact opposite.

gmonson@sltrib.com