The whole fiasco over Barry Bonds and his imminent record achievement has me thinking:
In the past when people told me that a game was "just a game," I believed it at the time because I knew that another point in the win column wasn't ultimately that important (here my memories speak of my history with basketball, but my thoughts are certainly not that exclusive). Such mantras, in addition to little press write-up phrases like "God doesn't care who wins a basketball game" – chew on that bit of theology for a while – took the pressure off as much as they could.
But in my heart, I knew then, as I know now, that there was no way the game was "just a game." It had to mean more.
It does mean more. Why else would I choose to spend at least 12 hours a week preparing and playing physically, not to mention the countless hours of mental preparation and discussion with coaches, teammates, teachers, and family? Perhaps I exaggerate a bit here, but the truth was that sport was an obsession in highschool. Fortunately, I attended a school where such obsession didn't come at the expense of a healthy academic experience. All the same, what I remember from playing highschool sports involves life lessons and experience primarily, personal and team achievements secondarily, and as cliched as that sounds, it's true! The game, in reality, was a microcosm of life's effort. Physical benefits are obvious. But look beyond them. Endurance, pain tolerance, teamwork, problem-solving, overcoming discouragement, belief that the improbable could actually happen, dependence on community, dependence on your own abilities, swift action under pressure, care for details, efficiency, humility, respect for authority – all of these skills and attitudes directly relate to how I live now, and how I lived then. I couldn't see it then as I can now, and of course I have not perfected anything, nor do I consider myself a model person in the least. I'm also not saying narrow-mindedly that these things can be learned and practiced only in the realm of sport. Certainly not. But it's a dern awful good place to experience what life is all about.
Sports become unhealthy obsessions. There's no denying it. Professional sports in particular are not immune to their participants trying whatever it takes to get ahead. You see that kind of corruption happening everywhere, not just in sports. Unfortunately, Barry Bonds is one of those people, and he doesn't seem to care at all. When he calls baseball a "business" as opposed to a "game," he is sadly correct, but he's going the wrong direction. He doesn't realize that you have to lose a little in order to really play the game. He has directly abused the gift of sport by taking the easy route, and in so doing he brings physical detriment and shame to himself and humiliation to the baseball record-keeping books, not to mention a sad mark on baseball history.
But I don't want this to be a diatribe against Barry. Instead, what does he stand for? His situation should remind us all to examine our hearts, and not only because, as the columnist mentions, we stood by and watched as Barry "did his thing," but also because we commit such unethical acts every day, even if they're on a smaller scale. This may sound ridiculous – but if a game is more than a game, it should show us active game participants how to live. I know there are a lot of people out there who aren't even interested in sports, and I'm not writing this for you, although I think you can glean some truth from it. But for those who love them like I do, let Barry Bonds be a reminder. It's just a game, and it's more than that. We are compelled to take life seriously and to have fun doing it.
Gadamer pointed out that perhaps life is merely play and this world our stadium. If so, we ought to rightly reconsider how we're playing.
Great post, I heartily agree. I would temper "care for details" with "overcoming pettiness." As soon as you dwell on one of your mistakes the other team has the ball and is running down the court/field. And as soon as you dwell on one of your teammate's mistakes you commit a turnover or foul. It's a great exercise in "getting over things quickly" as it were.
And I would also take "humility" out of the equation. Well, I suppose I was never humbled cause I never got to the point where I could be. I just yelled at the refs.
i suppose instead of humility i should have written selflessness, because there are times when you have to give it up so your teammate can steal the show. but then there are times when you have to be cocky and do it yourself (perhaps more positively labeled "assertiveness). :)