more sports

Mark Galli has written the article I'’ve been waiting a long time to read. In the latest issue of Books and Culture his piece, "“On a Pass and a Prayer: Why we no longer believe in sports but should,"” lucidly explains why we need sportswriting, or what he calls "“stories about the games themselves, and their heroes, when men and women act out great dramas, games of tragedy and hope, meaningful precisely because they transcend the usual social calculus."

Full disclosure: I'’ve harbored dreams of being a writer for Sports Illustrated since I was old enough to read the magazine. I love the drama and mystery of sports, punctuated by glimpses of unmitigated grace cutting through our obsession with justice and getting what we deserve (what else can you call it when your winning goal comes from an unintentional deflection off the opposing defender?). Don't get me wrong -– when my Dodgers or Nittany Lions play better than their opponents and still lose I get as mad as everybody else. But that'’s the nature of grace -– our conceptions of justice must always be tempered by humility because God'’s grace means people don'’t always get what they deserve. As an admitted devotee of sports and sportswriting I knew I would like this article going in.

Galli works on a few important themes, starting with the idea that the often miraculous nature of sports is good for us as people who suffer from "“a widespread loss of transcendence."” I don'’t use that word miraculous lightly. It'’s easy to explain away just about everything, but what else do we call it when something entirely unbelievable happens? Sports is one realm where things that have absolutely no business happening take place with some regularity!

When my Dad and I watch sports we have this reccurring conversation: when the situation gets dire (down 3 games to none in a best of seven series, down 5 points with 15 seconds left and your best three-point shooter fouled out, backed up on your own 30 yard line with enough time left for just one play, etc.) Dad declares with certitude that the game is over. I predictably respond by calling him a pessimist and running down the possibilities for a comeback, far-fetched may they be. He then claims he'’s not a pessimist, but a realist. Of course, he'’s almost always right. But those exceptions (most notably the Saturday afternoon Kordell Stewart and Michael Westbrook broke hearts all over the Great Lakes State) are enough to remind me that these things do happen. In response to Al Michaels'’ famous question from 1980, yes, I do believe in miracles. As Christians we have to answer yes.

But sports? Aren'’t we getting a tad too excited about them here? Galli says it better than I can: Â"what goes on between the foul lines or end zones is real, and that the symbolic participates in a deeper reality... sports are a dimension of play, and play an expression of Sabbath, an activity that cannot have any socially useful purpose lest it become just another bit of work. Play is a celebration of the seventh day of creation, an activity in which we live out the imago Dei and create our own bounded but free worlds. Play points back to the culmination of creation and forward to the time when all existence will be nothing but a Sabbath."

If, as Galli suggests, in sports we are reflecting our creator by creating our own worlds -– worlds with joy, grace, pain, miracles, and tragedy, just like our own world -– sports do matter. I love trying to view social issues through the lens of sports (which Galli argues is the direction most sportswriting is going), but we can also appreciate sports and the stories of sports on their own merit. It's popular in some circles to talk about God'’s relationship to this world in terms of a story. I love the idea (of course I do -– I'm an English major), and look for connections between our stories (in literature, film, life, and, of course, sport) and The Story. It'’s those connections that give the drama of sports so much value.