The Sacrament of a Championship

Tonight Texas A&M played Notre Dame for the NCAA national championship.  It was a great game - in fact the best game I've seen on t.v. all year, men's or women's.  The game was well played and well coached; the athletes played with remarkable a combination of athleticism and fundamental skill.  At least one of them, Skylar Diggins, will be one of the greatest to ever play the game and may be one of those players who elevates the quality of the sport as we know it.

Yet what matters most tonight is not the significance of the championship or the thrill of victory and the agony of loss.  It wasn't how far the teams had come or how many others they'd defeated or their will to win or the most valuable thirty points of Danielle Adams.  All in all winning or statistics are not so important and is never what's moved me about this game.

Tonight the liturgy of sport was on display in layers beyond the obvious. 

We saw and celebrated many shapes and sizes of women there on the court, bodies and abilities to be celebrated whether wide or skinny, stocky or thin.  We saw and honored a vast array of personalities - fiery and fierce and cool and unemotional.  We saw small kindnesses like a Notre Dame player helping up a fallen Aggie and young women trying to get their old coach to dance on national t.v.  We saw the integrity of two first rate coaches and players who were articulate and available. 

We didn't see families or early morning workouts or teams sitting in study hall, but that's all part of it too, whenever the ball goes up at center court.  Persistence, belief, community, ritual and the diverse beauty of these young women and the people who love them, that's what mattered most tonight.

Our sport is not yet so tainted by scandal and money.  It's empowering little girls and offering life-long lessons on strength and work ethic and belonging.  It's crossing all kinds of lines - race, gender, sexual orientation, economics.

Texas A&M won tonight, their first championship ever in women's basketball.  Coach Gary Blair was a class act, Texas accent and all.  They'll be remembered longer on those lists of champions, but that's almost besides the point.  A liturgy like this is never about outcomes.  It's the work of the people, and its power transcends the championship ritual itself. 

How could you not love this game?  How could you not want every little girl you know to catch a piece of such a sacrament?

Upset

Today the Kansas men's basketball team lost in the NCAA tournament to end their season.  It was an upset.  They lost to a team that perhaps they should have beat, a team who played well beyond their statistical capabilities, a team who almost didn't make it into the tournament and is now Final Four bound.  Perhaps if they played again, the outcome would be different, but that's the beauty of the tournament: Virginia Commonwealth can go on a run and play better than the body of their work.  Many congratulations to them.

In fact, that's the beauty of this game, for it reminds us that our potential is well beyond the ruts that tend to guide our common living.  It also reminds us that we can be worse then we usually are, and there, perhaps, is humanity in sum.  And that is the good thing with sports. 

I didn't watch the game.  I live on the west coast and the first half was during Sunday school and during the second half I took one of our precious teenagers out to lunch.  We talked college selection and art and music, and I didn't think much of missing the game.  When I got home I saw the score.  I talked to a couple of folks who watched the game, and I read some good analysis about three point shooting and personnel mismatches and the style of officiating.

Then I read some fan comments, folks who were incredibly supportive, and I was proud to be a Kansas fan.  People wrote about how hard the boys played and how much heart they had and how grateful they are for another successful season.  People encouraged these young Jayhawks to keep their heads up, to be proud of themselves.  These are the good things about the game. 

Then I read on, folks saying the boys choked again.  Folks calling into question the coaching ability of Bill Self, the talent of the Kansas guard play, the shooting ability, the heart.  A few conversations devolved into placing blame for the loss or into criticizing individual players or mocking the Kansas basketball program.  This is the problem with the game.  This is upsetting.

Maybe it seems like friendly banter, these criticisms that come with this kind of loss, all part of the game.  And no doubt these precious young men will bounce back.  After all, they are strong and resilient mentally, physically, and emotionally.  You have to be to do what they do, but this blaming is upsetting.

There's a fairly heartbreaking clip of Marcus Morris trying to respond to reporters in the locker room this afternoon.  He doesn't have a lot to say, except that he feels like he let everybody down.  And no wonder - he put his heart and soul into it.  Here we could say a lot about the consumerism of sports, the waste of money, recruiting violations, academic fraud, etc., and we are right to be critical about our participation in these unjust systems.

But Marcus Morris is twenty-one years old.  Some student-athletes aren't role models; some are.  But they are all young adults, growing and changing, seeking and learning while their lives are full of pressure imposed by self and others.  They and their programs should not be criticized or blamed or mocked.  They, like each student-athlete, should be celebrated for they gifts they have and the joy and heartache we have the privilege to share with them. 

The best advertisements of any tournament are the ones produced by the NCAA itself.  You know the tagline: "There are over 400,000 NCAA student-athletes, and most of us will go pro in something other than sports."  Likely, Marcus Morris will go on to the NBA this year or next, but Tyrel Reed and Brady Morningstar and so many will be professionals in other ways.  Yet they've granted us the privilege of journeying with them, and it is indeed a privilege for which we owe them and their programs our gratitude.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk.