The non-sports fans out there won't understand this, but tonight I realized that the Tourney started and I didn't catch a single game on day one, round one. In fact, I didn't fill out a bracket either. Who am I? I mean, I thought about filling one out--it's been my annual routine since I discovered my love of college basketball in 1995 via two of my favorite high school teachers--the men's and women's basketball coaches. I never quite got into the women's tournament (sorry Bartok and every female out there who cares deeply about the women's side), but absolutely fell head over heels in love with the men's games. I'm human, okay? Regardless, I considered filling out my bracket and then I let the idea slip away into a sort of non-existence this year.
When I think about basketball and the way it's shaped me, I feel a bit surprised by the weight of the influence. I discovered the Tourney at a time in my adolescence when I was running away from God and escaping the pain of some wounds inflicted by high school friends--Christian friends from my youth group at that. I already liked the sport by the time these particular events played out--perhaps that's why it was natural to step more deeply into community surrounding it.
I won't unpack the specifics here, but in the midst of the hurt I experienced I made two significant vows that followed me for years to come: "I will never be hurt like that again" and "I will make new friends, better friends." The latter carried with it a determination that those who injured me would regret their choice for letting me go. I was on a journey to prove my worth and value by what I might obtain through effort and investment. I'm sure we all recognize that this storyline wasn't going to make life any easier. And it didn't, but it certainly numbed my pain for a while.
Not all of it was bad, of course. As I ran, I encountered a group of people that genuinely cared about me. The guys on the varsity team became some of my closest friends my junior and senior years. I sang the anthem at a bunch of their games. Their coach, Mr. Main was such an encouragement to me in that process--upon learning that I sang, he persuaded me to sing for a game the guys had at the sports arena in Denver. The "big time", you know... In fact, I remember being so nervous about singing at that first game--I practiced for the audience of a wall off to the side of the arena for the better part of thirty minutes (I'm amazed my voice was still in tact for the actual singing...); after I finished the last note and replaced the microphone, I walked past the guys huddling up and my friend, Matt stuck his hand out of the circle and squeezed mine. I felt so seen and known.
There were things like that about this community that shaped me in the best ways--those guys just let me be me and they liked me for it. They didn't mind that I was more book smart than street smart or a little naive about the world (or maybe a lot). I didn't have to try with them and I guess I didn't realize that I felt I had to try in my life before them.
I baked chocolate chip cookies for those guys every week and we ate them during this thing we called "Advisement"--a weekly study hall of sorts. We'd all show up in the classroom of either the girls or guys coaches (which were connected by an inner door) and spend the 90 minutes catching up on homework, talking about the last games, whatever. Those were some of my favorite days. Mr. Main always tried to give me advice about one of the guys (I liked one of them in particular and they all knew it). I even babysat for he and his wife that year.
Our senior year, his appendix ruptured and he almost died. I remember going to their house to visit him and talking to him about Jesus. I wasn't exactly walking well with God (there was a lot to that at the time), but I knew I needed to tell him about my faith. It was a sweet conversation and I was so glad he was okay.
My first year of college, I came back and sang for one of the guy's games during my Christmas break. I hadn't really talked with the guys much since we all graduated and seem to think that a few of us were there that night. There was another girl sitting near the score-keepers area who I knew from choir the year before. She thought she was on deck to sing that night. Mr. Main kindly asked her to let me sing instead since I was visiting which she agreed to, but the act caused a little high school drama to unfold as I watched her head back to the student bleachers where she proceeded to tell her friends what just happened in an animated fashion. I hugged everyone goodbye that night and not long after, headed back up to school for spring semester.
Spring break came and I found myself at home again. I'd just filled out my bracket for the Tourney and kept thinking about Mr. Main and the guys. As I drove through town for this or that errand, I kept thinking of he and his family and thought I should pop in to show him how well I was doing that year (to date, I think it's still the best bracket I ever had). Well, I never got around to it. My break was nearly over the morning my friend's mom called me to say that Mr. Main had died suddenly after a pick-up game at the school. My mom handed me the phone while I sat in her kitchen.
Regret. Sadness. Shock. I began analyzing how many opportunities I had to visit him that week. I went to the high school that day and just sat in his classroom, staring at the chalkboard and crying. I even looked through his desk drawer and found some of our senior pictures--a few of the guys on the team, a few of my girlfriends and mine. Later that day, I called his wife and told the person who answered the phone that if she wanted me to sing at his memorial service, I'd be more than happy to do so... I just wanted to help in some way. Once the details were together about the service, I tracked down the guys who were on the team from my class, calling each of them to tell them the news.
His wife had called me back personally to say that she'd love for me to sing. She wanted me to pick the songs, but had one request. I learned that song. The others were hymns I picked with the help of a friend that told about Jesus. I had been on a journey back to Him myself that year. The memorial service found all of us clumped together, dressed in dark colors, talking, but not talking in rows of the church he attended. We told stories and I had the chance to talk about hope in Christ. After, I drove one of the guys home and we talked in depth about God's love for him. I still don't know if that conversation ever changed anything for him, but I pray that it did.
I kept the bracket. I still have it somewhere. There's more to this story, but I'll end there for now. March Madness has a significant place in my life because of these events. Each year I think of the guys and Mr. Main. It seems strange to let it go a little this year because it feels like I'm letting them go. Perhaps that's part of a bigger story that God's been leading me into regarding my past. Maybe I'll understand that better not so long from now.
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