For two straight years Duke was the ACC basketball champ. They were ranked #1 in the nation. They were seeded #1 in the NCAA Tournament. They had big leads and almost seemed to be cruising toward a national championship and then … Yep. Two straight years. Last year Duke had a nine point lead with 1:21 to play and suddenly lost their magic. Today was the same. Big lead. By all observations, they looked like the superior team. And then with a second or so to play, once again the magic switched sides. Earlier in the day our excellent women’s team had a lead against UCLA and lost, as well. Those young ladies are terrific. Now both our men’s and women’s teams are returning home.
I think I should be more despondent than I feel. I mean, I’ve been a lifelong Blue Devil fan. I have a degree from there. Right now I should be disappointed, even depressed. But there are a few things that keep swimming around in my head.
First, it’s been a great year for both the men’s and women’s teams. A superb year! The men were #1 in the Conference and the nation. A 35-3 record. Both squads have wonderful coaches. Most universities would change places.
Second, as my wife reminded me, a lot of those young men weeping in the locker room are going to perk up soon when they sign multi-million dollar pro contracts.
Third, had we won either the men’s or women’s games, the people from UCLA and UConn would be feeling just as down as I do. Why is my happiness more important than someone else’s?
Fourth (and far more importantly than anything else), it is, after all, a game. Just a game played by teenagers throwing a ball in a metal hoop. It’s a fun game. An exciting game. A play for keeps game. But … a game.
Look at our world where it is not a game. Consider, e.g., the wickedness of Putin as he brutalizes Ukraine. Then there’s the madness in the mideast, propagated by old men in safe places who send young women and men to die, while civilians who don’t want war get bombed along with their children. Young women who were sexually abused as teenagers currently have to endure a second kind of abuse when they are shamed and chastised for speaking up. The poor get poorer. Attempts are made to rewrite history in order to soften crimes against humanity (like slavery and the Holocaust). Neighbors, former friends, and family members are estranged because of political allegiances, forsaking that which should be lasting for that which is temporary. Even religious leaders sometimes appear to forget who the actual Messiah is. Alzheimer’s. Cancer. Birth defects. Crime. Grief. Depression. Loneliness. None of that is a game.
I write this on Palm Sunday, remembering the story of the One who rode a donkey into Jerusalem not with power, but as a “Prince of Peace” … not with a sword, but with a prayer … not with hostility, but with humility … experiencing momentary cheers, but facing eventual betrayal, denial, and crucifixion. It was not a game. It was his life that was on the line, and his death appeared to be the final result. But in his dying, with one of his last breaths, he offered a prayer: “Father, forgive them ….” Forgive who? Forgive the ones who betrayed and denied him, who accused and convicted him, who beat him savagely before driving the spikes through his flesh, who gambled for his garments, who mocked and made fun of him as he died. They were the political leaders and the soldiers of Rome as well as the religious zealots of Jerusalem. They were people like many of us – broken, confused, self-serving, greedy, angry, driven by fear and suspicion, hanging onto hatred because it is easier and less demanding than love. “Father, forgive them” he prayed for people like us. In fact, not just for people “like” us, but literally “for us.” For you and me. It was not a game. But at the end, because one Man stood for love in a world of hate … we won.