I confess to being a sports fan fanatic, specifically, college football. I lost interest in professional football years ago, and except for the playoffs, I rarely watch an entire game. But college football, at least for now, still cultivates that altruistic, team spirit that the pros appear to have lost, what with every man looking out for his own salary.
So, most every Saturday during the fall, you’ll find me tuned in to ESPN Game Day by 10 a.m., and if I’m not watching a game out of the corner of my eye while I’m doing other things, I’m at least checking scores on my score tracker.
When the Oklahoma Sooners play, I rarely sit, except for commercial breaks. I’m either pacing back and forth or screaming and yelling during much of the game. Don’t bother calling me, or texting me, because I will ignore you, and whatever you do, don’t stop by for a little chat over a cup of hot tea. Just leave me alone, please and thank-you. I tell my church flock they aren’t allowed to die or have an emergency during an OU football game. They know I’m teasing, but I say it with a straight face, anyway.
In case you’re thinking sports fans of my ilk are surely an uncultured, uneducated, unsavory bunch of ruffians, you know, the kind people that rarely if ever bother to read or write, much less bathe on a regular basis, or wipe the tobacco juice from the corners of their mouth, well, I beg to differ.
I read in the Wall Street Journal where Harper Lee (To Kill a Mockingbird) watched every Crimson Tide football game and even corresponded with Coach Bear Bryant. As she herself once put it: “I was a rabid football fan long before I was a writer.”
In fact, she once skipped the Cannes Film Festival to meet Bear Bryant. “I would say it wasn’t an interest but a passion,” said Tonja Carter, her attorney. “Most of the fall schedule was built around watching the games on TV.”
I’m one in spirit with you, Harper. Though you didn’t root for the same team as I do, you shared the same passion as mine for college football.
Now, you can imagine the pain and agony I went through when my beloved Sooners had what I call an “awf” day, not a day off but a game in which they played awful.
By the 3rd quarter, I couldn’t stand it.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” I told Lori, “or I’m going to be so messed up I won’t be able to go to church tomorrow, much less preach.”
She quenched her brow like she does when she asks if I remembered to mail our mortgage payment. I could see her envisioning me the next day, curled up in my chair, wearing my raggedy black sweats, squeezing a deflated football, mumbling to myself, “I can’t believe they lost; I can’t believe they lost; I can’t believe they lost.”
So, I drove around and around and around.
Until I couldn’t stand that any longer, either. I stormed back in the house, hoping the Sooners had made a comeback of epic proportions.
And they had.
Almost.
An onside kick we recovered was reviewed, then much to my dismay, it was disallowed.
The game was over.
We lost.
I had to get over it and quick, for Sunday is the main day, after all. I kept humming, “On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.”
Sitting on the front pew the next morning, I was a picture of serenity, calm, and composure. I was silently repeating “The Jesus Prayer,” when one of my friends walked in front of me: “I can’t believe you lost that game yesterday,” she said. “Wow, three touchdown favorites. But they made a great comeback, and that was a terrible call at the end of the game. I told my husband, ‘Those review calls ought not to decide a game like that.’”
It threw me back to Saturday afternoon. I felt like standing in front of the altar, tearing my robes, gnashing my teeth, and throwing dust over my head, turning to my friend, and shouting, “You are absolutely right. It was a travesty, surely one of the worst sports calls in the history of humankind.”
But I didn’t.
I recomposed myself, quieted my spirit, and reminded myself: “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
It helped, because it’s true.
Even on days when our teams lose.