God, He's a Huge Sports Fan

Ever since King Saul successfully sent up David to pinch-hit for the Israelites against Goliath and the Philistines, players have been pointing skyward after an individual athletic accomplishment.

Nowadays, it’s commonplace to see a player hit a home run, score a touchdown, or slam home a dunk and then gesture to the heavens—or at least to the top of the dome or arena. But before David, who knew that God was such a sports fan? 

I once asked the writer Frank Deford about that.

“Well, [God] is,” Deford said. “And we should all know that. He takes time out from his busy schedule to root for various teams. And those teams that pray the most, I think God favors. Now, it’s always tricky when two teams that pray equally meet each other. This makes it very tough for God. And sometimes he just doesn’t know what to do, and so as a consequence, he turns his back and lets the athletes decide without him getting involved.”

You mean God’s indifferent at that point?

“He’s neutral,” Deford said, “but most of the time, as any sensible person knows, God determines what happens on the field. And I think that’s the way that it should be. It’s foolish for us to think that we should play these games without spirituality mattering more than athleticism.”

You have to feel for God, what with all the demands on his attention in the sports-mad world he created. Someone’s always giving a shout-out to him, and not necessarily at climactic moments.

“I can’t imagine in this day and age that God actually cares when Barry Bonds hits his thirteenth home run of the year,” ESPN sports columnist Rick Reilly once told me. “I don’t know…maybe he does. What I like are the guys that make a tackle and stop someone for a one-yard loss and point to God. And even God goes, ‘Come on. It’s still second-and-11. So what!’ ”

It seems only sporting to allow God to kick back in his skybox, at least on his traditional day of rest, and take a timeout from worldwide strife, the foibles of Wall Street and the GOP, and the ineptitude of the Yankees with runners in scoring position. Still, who could blame him for pulling some strings and exerting his influence on some personal favorites? The Angels, for example, whose ascension owes at least an assist to the grace of Mike Trout. And heaven apparently can wait for the Devils, eliminated in six games by the Kings.

Surely it’s no coincidence that the fortunes of the Rays took a turn for the better once the Tampa Bay franchise dropped “Devil” from its nickname. Then again, God seems to have turned his back on the Saints after the revelation of their ugly bounty program.

Late last September, after the Red Sox were eliminated from contention in the American League, first baseman Adrian Gonzalez said, “God has a plan. And it wasn’t God’s plan for us to be in the playoffs.” Who knew that God had a sense of humor?

But to be fair, Gonzalez might have been thinking of Zeus, who in fickle moments would throw down a thunderbolt on the hapless mortals.

And just last month, in a conversation with Susan Slusser of the San Francisco Chronicle, Manny Ramirez reassured the fans of the Oakland A’s, his newest team. “The thing people don't understand is that God didn't bring me to Oakland to fail,” Manny said.

“No, God sent Manny to Los Angeles for that,” said Slusser’s colleague Scott Ostler.

Perhaps it’s best to attribute everything in sports, as in life, to predestination. You know, the outcome of all the games having been ordained from the beginning of time. Takes everyone off the hook of individual responsibility and allows God to be a fan, just like the rest of us.

Father's Day Gifts

What’s everybody doing for Father’s Day, I asked the second graders today. Is anyone planning something special for dad?

“I’m taking him to Florida,” said Ashley.

“I’m getting him a pet,” said Eddie.

What a surprise that will be for dad, I thought.

“Both grandmas and grandpas are coming,” said Joey. “We’re going to Long Beach Island tomorrow, and then they’re all going to sleep over.”

You guys are too much, I told them.

“That’s what my mom always says,” said Kira, who has two siblings in the same elementary school.

“We’re going swimming,” said Emma.

Do you have your own pool, I asked her.

“No, we’re going to the town pool. But guess what? I’m getting a pool next year. My dad said he is going to dig one for us.”

In the back yard?

“Yes. And you know what the best part is?”

The possibilities there were endless.

“It’s going to be right next to the trampoline.” Her excitement was palpable.

Oh, so you can bounce right into the pool then. I bet you can’t wait for next summer.

“I know.” Accompanied by an ear-to-ear smile.

But I hope you are all going to take it easy on dad on his special day, I said. You know, give him a break, do something nice, maybe bring him a cold drink when he’s in the hammock (wondering at the same time if dads anywhere ever spent time in a hammock and if any of the children even knew what a hammock is).

Part two of that was quickly answered. 

“We have a hammock,” said Eddie, “but it’s broken because we were all playing in it.” 

Youthful Introspection

With the last day of school looming, the first-graders turned introspective. Their two-part assignment called for an honest self-appraisal in which they were asked to list (1) their strengths and (2) areas in need of improvement. Their priorities revealed an emphasis on sports and an overall blithe innocence.

Things I’m Good At:

Speling

Resling

Rok climeing

Soker

Holding breth in water

Drawing picktchurs

Resuling

Hoolahoopeing

Boling

Telling time

Jumpropeing

Hopping

Base boll

Twrling

Things I Need to Work On:

Wrasling

Han spring

Counting money

Hooiopeng

Gymnaskx

Redeing books

Playing tag

Making cupcakes

Reeding

Helping cook

Blowing bubbles with gum

Bacin cucese [baking cookies]

Sokr

Lisuning

Lost in Translation

Subbing for the Spanish teacher at the elementary school, I played “Stuart Little 2,” as instructed. There was some initial complaining from the students when they realized that the movie was neither in English nor included English subtitles. So, to make it interesting, I assigned them to write down as many Spanish words as they could identify, with the corresponding English translation alongside.

“But they talk too fast,” said Mackenzie.

Do the best you can, I told them. You know more than you think. As an incentive, I offered a prize to the student who recognized the most Spanish words.

“What’s the prize?”

A hundred dollars.

“What?” This was too much for Anastasia, who came to the front of the room to verify for herself what she had just heard.

“Really?”

No, I don’t have that much money with me, I confessed.

“What’s the prize then?

How about a pen?

“Can we see it?” asked Daniel.

Sure, I said, extracting a TD Bank ballpoint. It’s practically brand-new, I said. That was true. Good enough. More than half of the students started paying close attention to the soundtrack.

At one point early in the movie, the husband (Hugh Laurie) and wife (Geena Davis) kiss at breakfast. It drew a predictable response from third graders: “Ew, gross!”

Mairead was having none of that. “Uh, you’ll have to do that some day when you’re married,” she advised her classmates, giving them perhaps their first hint of matrimonial bliss but for now seeing the kiss more as obligation than desire.

Fast forward to the end of the period. We tallied up the recognizable Spanish words, and the pen went to Daniel, who listed an impressive 92 words in about 30 minutes.

Second Grade but First-Rate

Second-grader Sean told me this morning, “If I knew you were going to be here today, I would have worn my ‘Dude’ T-shirt.”

Too bad for me, I said. I wish I could have seen that.

“I have two of them: one long sleeve and one short sleeve.”

The short-sleeved one is to show off the guns, right? 

“Oh, yeah!” he said, flexing.

“Mr. K., I’m drawing a picture of you,” announced his classmate Anthony. “You can have it when I’m done.”

How flattering, I thought. And then I saw the drawing. Do I really bear such a strong resemblance to SpongeBob SquarePants, I wondered.

“I’m giving you a six-pack,” said Anthony, joyfully pointing to his illustration’s abdomen. O.K., that is about as close to six-pack abs as I’m ever going to have. And as Anthony proceeded to add details to his composition that enhanced the value of the artwork, he unremorsefully reconsidered his pledge. “Take a picture of it, Mr. K,” he said. “I’m going to give it to my father next week.”

I regret that I did not have a camera to record for posterity the finished product, which was inscribed “To Dad: Happy farthers day. From: Anthony”