More
Dumb Things People—Athletes—
Say
about God
“This
is so wrong,” I said
after
reading the recent Super Bowl claim on God.
“Divine intervention,” said
David Tyree, of New York Giants and Super Bowl XLII fame. That’s why he caught
the game-changing football that led the Giants to their ring-yielding victory
in 2008, gnashing the hopes of the New England Patriots for yet another ring of
their own. Tyree will be in Indianapolis this Sunday, no doubt hoping (praying)
for another “divine intervention” to squash number 12’s (a.k.a. Tom Brady)
desire for another win—another ring.
Tyree is not alone. None other
than the glorious Giselle has imparted her own plea for an intervention of
positive vibes and prayer for 12—her husband—and his teammates.
Divine intervention is no
stranger to sports jargon. Athletes praise God when they win; when they lose,
it’s because God has “other plans.”
I’ve heard this misguided jargon
for years, but I’m still not numb to it. “Are you kidding me?” was my reaction
when I read the “divine intervention” story. I am pretty certain that each
seventh day, God rests, as He commanded us to do, never mind that whole Super
Bowl Sunday thing. On that day of
rest, I think God surveys the universe and sees that some of it, indeed, is
good. I also think He’s aware that the rest of it is not so good—a work in need
of a lot of progress.
Another thing I’m certain of is
that this Sunday, God is not going to
be micromanaging the Super Bowl. God’s hand is not going to manifest a nudge of
the football in one direction or another so that team X catches it. God will
not be sending a whisper of air to a less-than-Vinatieri kick so it sails though the goal posts.
I don’t think God is taking
sides in the Giants versus Patriots contest. I’m certain God will avoid Madonna’s
half-time show: He’ll be far too busy sending angels to frantic moms as they
try to navigate the Madonna years with their daughters.
Super Bowl XLVI—that’s 46, I
just worked out those Roman numerals—will have a winner. Super Bowl XLVI will
also have a loser (even though it’s beyond me how any team that makes it to the
Super Bowl can be called a loser in any context).
If any winning Giant thinks his
ring is a gift from God, what would a Patriot think about God when his ring finger
is as light as it ever was come Monday morning?
If any winning Patriot claims
God was on his side, what would a Giant think when he sips bitter wine rather
than champagne late Sunday evening—that God abandoned him?
Sports are and always have been
a win-lose prospect, and that’s the way of the game—any athletic contest.
Sports have countless positive aspects, and I don’t doubt that many an athlete
has been led—by God—away from a life on the streets to a life beneath the
bright lights. But that doesn’t mean that God ignores those still standing
beneath streetlights in less-than-savory areas.
Divine intervention? I believe
in it with all my heart. Too many events transpire without any explanation—a
tumor disappears, a child is whisked out of harm’s way, a serendipitous moment
occurs—in those times, I don’t use coincidence
to describe what has happened: I use Godincidence.
My belief in divine
intervention stops when a sports contest begins. God simply has too much to do
to trifle with football, baseball, and soccer.
So where does God figure in the
sports world? He figures in the kids who make it away from those streetlights.
He figures in the discipline, the health, and stamina that athletes of all
persuasions pursue. He figures in the joy we mere observers get when our team
gets the ring or the medal. He figures in the pleasure of the company of
friends as we share victory and in the commiseration of those same friends when
we stumble away stung by defeat.
God figures when a star athlete
runs a summer sports camp for disadvantaged kids in blighted areas. God figures
when another athlete spends ring money on a youth center. God figures in those
details, but not so much in the details of the final score.
It’s that other final score that God
is most concerned with . . . how do we score in the details of our lives, what kind
of game are we playing, and exactly what do we stand to lose—or win?
* * * * *
Sunday, I will not be "praying" that my favorite team wins...
but I will be rooting for the New England Patriots.
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