Playing for Keeps

A fun part of pastoring in areas with lots of small towns is going to small-school sports events. NBA arenas have nothing on the energy that buzzes in a dingy old WPA-era gym filled with half the town cheering for students who carry the whole load of municipal self-esteem onto the courts with them.

Sometimes the crowds get a little ugly -- I've never understood how a grown man or woman can heckle a kid, and I've long since lost any respect for the idea of screaming at a referee. Especially when the screamer's someone whose life peaked in high school and who looks about one diastolic reading away from shaking hands with Mr. Stroke. Plus, I don't get the concept of coaching from the stands. I'm betting a lot of these folks spent their high school sports careers as Riders of the White Pine (the instruction "Block out!" shouted when the ball is being brought upcourt is my first clue). The next good piece of coaching advice I hear from the stands will be the first. I have a high school buddy who played on a team that went to the state tournament, and when his daughter plays, he limits himself to encouragement and straight-up rooting for the home team. And her coach is apparently something of a twerp. Of course, under his breath he says something different, but that's just so he doesn't have a stroke himself.

All that drops away when you see the face of a kid who hits a game-winner or does something that he or she probably thought they could never do until just that moment. It's never a bad thing to get to witness someone having the best night of their lives, and here's hoping that for all of them, that experience is actually "the best night of their lives" so far.