Madysen Taggart is the 2nd Region Player of the Year, and frankly, the rest of us should sit down
Certain announcements in life arrive with a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Your library book is overdue.” “The cafeteria is out of chicken nuggets.” “There’s a fire drill at 10:15, so please don’t start anything important.” These are small announcements. Polite announcements. Announcements that wear sensible shoes.
And then some announcements kick the door off its hinges, stride into the room, and demand capital letters.
2nd REGION PLAYER OF THE YEAR.
That one belongs to Christian County’s very own Madysen Taggart, and I’d like it noted for the record that I typed it in bold because typing it in a normal font felt disrespectful. It’s the sort of news that ought to be delivered by a brass band, possibly from the back of a parade float, possibly while somebody releases doves. We don’t have doves. We checked. Apparently there’s paperwork.
So you’ll have to make do with this column instead.
Let’s Talk About What “Region” Actually Means
Now, if you’re a parent who has just wandered in from the car line and you’re not entirely sure what a “Regional Player of the Year” is, allow me to explain, because it is enormous.
A region is not your back garden. It is not your cul-de-sac. It is a great sprawling patchwork of schools, every single one of them stuffed with talented, hardworking, extremely competitive athletes who have also spent their summers sweating through drills and their evenings icing things that hurt. Every one of those players wanted this. Every one of those coaches had a name in mind.
And when the dust settled and the votes were counted, the region looked across all of it and pointed at one Lady Tiger.
That isn’t a pat on the head. That’s the region standing up, clearing its throat, and saying, in effect: “Right. Her. Obviously.”
The Bit Nobody Sees
Here’s the thing about awards like this. You see the announcement. You see the graphic. You see the exclamation points, of which there are many, and rightly so.
What you don’t see is the rest of it.
You don’t see the early mornings when the rest of us were still negotiating with our alarm clocks like hostages. You don’t see the extra reps after practice when everybody else had gone home to sit on the sofa and eat snacks. You don’t see the drills repeated so many times they stop being drills and start being instinct. You don’t see the bad days, the sore days, the “I really don’t feel like it” days that got pushed through anyway.
An award like this is the receipt. It’s the very visible proof of a great mountain of very invisible work. And Madysen has clearly been hauling that mountain uphill for years, one countless hour at a time.
I, by comparison, once went for a jog in 2019 and still bring it up at dinner parties.
It Was Never Only About the Stats
Of course, the numbers matter. You don’t become Player of the Year by being merely decent and having a nice smile. But the people who know Madysen best keep coming back to something the box score can’t quite measure.
It’s the passion. It’s the competitive spirit, the kind that doesn’t switch off simply because the scoreboard is friendly. It’s the leadership, the willingness to be the steady voice in a tight moment, and above all it’s the commitment to her teammates.
That last one is the bit that really matters. There are plenty of talented athletes in the world who play near their team. The special ones play for it. They make the people around them better, braver, and a little more convinced that the next point, the next play, the next match is theirs for the taking. That’s not a statistic. That’s culture. And when you’re a brand-new school building everything from scratch, culture is the most precious thing in the building.
A First, in a Year of Firsts
Which brings us to the part that ought to give everyone a lump in the throat.
Christian County High School is in its inaugural year. Everything we do this year is a first. First pep rally. First homecoming. First time somebody gets lost looking for the gym. We are, all of us, writing on a blank page.
And on that blank page, in big confident handwriting, Madysen Taggart has just written Region Player of the Year.
Years from now, when this school has trophy cases bursting at the seams and banners hanging from every rafter, somebody will look back at where it all started. They’ll find this moment near the very top of the list. Not bad for a Tuesday.
Soak It Up
So, Madysen, on behalf of every student, teacher, coach, parent, and slightly overexcited columnist in Tiger Nation: congratulations. You’ve earned this. All of it. Every early morning and every aching muscle has led right here.
We couldn’t be prouder to have you representing the Christian County Lady Tigers, and we hope you take a moment, just one, to stop, look around, and enjoy it properly. Frame the certificate. Tell your grandchildren. Mention it casually at dinner parties for the next forty years. I would.
Because the votes are in, the debate is over, and there is only one thing left to say.
THE REGION HAS SPOKEN.
