Mr. Basketball
Dave Faust
I was a pretty decent athlete when I was young. Not great, but decent. I loved playing softball under the summer sun, pounding my fist into my leather glove, chasing fly-balls in the outfield, and swinging the bat from the left side of the plate.
My favorite pitch to hit was chest-high on the inside corner. That was my sweet spot. I loved to see that pitch coming, then feel the satisfying impact and hear the crack of the bat when I “got all of it” and drove the ball hard into the right-field corner.
I still play softball once in a while at a church picnic or a family gathering, and I’m still a decent athlete for a guy my age. Not great, just decent. It’s hard to judge a fly-ball when you wear trifocals, turning the double play makes me reach for the Advil, and a head-first slide would send me to the emergency room.
When I was a boy I enjoyed basketball even more than softball. I grew up on a farm, so in the summer my brothers and I practiced our hoops outside in the driveway, and in the winter we played on a rugged indoor court. Out of love for his boys, Dad built a wooden backboard in the barn. Once in a while he complained that our noisy sessions practicing jump-shots and free-throws disturbed the cows while he milked them, but most of the time he didn’t seem to mind. The only spectators were some calves grazing in their stalls, but to me our family’s gym-in-a-barn rivaled the finest arenas anywhere.
When I was 15 and a sophomore in high school, I won the Mr. Basketball award for my reserve team. I remember how proud I felt at the athletic banquet when the coach announced my name and handed me the tall, shiny trophy. I put it on a shelf in my room and dreamed about the records I would set as an athlete.
After graduating from high school, I quickly discovered that in the adult world it’s hard to find time for softball and basketball. I’ve never lost my love for sports, but now I view them from a different perspective. Do even the biggest games have eternal consequences? Usually not. Winning a Super Bowl or a gold medal couldn’t compare with the significance of knowing Christ.
My Mr. Basketball trophy eventually found its way into a cardboard box my wife stacked in the basement along with some other keepsakes from years gone by. I got the trophy out the other day to show some friends so they would know I was a decent athlete when I was young. When I opened the box, I found the trophy was badly tarnished and dented. Even the little silver man on top with a basketball in his outstretched hand had broken off. So much for Mr. Basketball.
Earthly treasures and human accomplishments quickly fade away. I hope the young men and women who graduate from high school and college this year will remember what really matters, and what doesn’t—what really lasts, and what doesn’t. And along the way I hope they get to experience the exhilarating feeling of swinging at a pitch right where they like it, chest-high on the inside corner.
This column first appeared in The Lookout on May 30, 2010.
Moving
As the sun set on a quiet evening not long ago, I grabbed my hoe from its familiar hook on the garage wall and walked to the backyard. It was time to plant my garden—the last time, as a matter of fact. After 11 years in the same house, my family had decided to move.
Much to Gain
The apostle Paul faced a difficult dilemma. Although his letter to the Philippians contains many references to joy, Paul wrote it from prison where he was suffering for his faith and facing the possibility of martyrdom.