Confessions of a “Sports Agnostic”

My journey on becoming a full-fledged “Sports Agnostic” began with Little League baseball in the early seventies as a ten-year-old. Maybe it was my less than athletic prowess or the fact that I never developed the skills many of my friends achieved with such admirable effectiveness.  The basics, hitting, running and ball catching eluded me as I learned to be quite the bench-warmer in my early youth.  I think back to my schoolyard days and the regret and shame I internalized of not being good enough to be selected for either team for the lunchtime slap ball game. Numerous rejections relegated me and a couple of the boys to the sidelines until we finally accepted the fact that being one of the chosen athletes was in the statistical category of “slim to none”. I could blame my dad for not taking the time to help me hone my skills, or I could blame my flat-footed feet or even the childhood asthma attacks I endured, but for some reason, I never got the hang of being a full-fledged, team player or star shortstop. I guess it was never in the cards for me. 

Fast forward to the early eighties and our local weekend ritual of meeting up with the guys at our favorite watering hole, the Branding Iron Bar to shoot the shit, catch up on each other’s dreams and aspirations. As I understood the nuances of the scrum of conversations, it all started with a common denominator: “Sports talk”.  Sure, I had the basic rules of the games down, professional football and baseball being the required course study for any hormone-infused boy-man from the age of eighteen on.  The one thing I did lack was the depth of knowledge to engage in the sports talk debate.  Comprehension of stats, rosters, the coming games, the breaking news and the art of speculation. Not to mention, the lack of sports history and the impact of the greats on the games, the saintly stories of “The Babe”, Mantel, Namath, Seaver, Munson were required academics to insure creditability in an attempt to join the conversation. 

I was left with a choice, warm he bench of the barstool or risk entering the huddle, the court of sports exchange. As a young knucklehead, I figured, I got this, I’ll do some homework, which meant reading the back page of the Daily News, and boom, I’m in. I’m on the team. I’ll take the leap. 

There they stood, my good friends in the circular exchange where the conversation would start off with some jabbing of pleasantries on which team had the upper hand in the weekend’s coming contest or turn on the dime as one buddy might exert the assuredness of his argument and how his prediction would prove to be right.  This was no circle for the weak, and yet I had to take the leap and insert my “two-cents”.

I don’t even remember the conversation, only the look on their faces as I attempted to dupe my way into the debate.  As I laid out the formation of my insight and waited for their reaction, I could only describe their look like one of collective confoundedness. The disbelief was broken up by one clear and decisive statement, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about”. And then, in that moment of make or break, I was once again relegated to back to the bench, the sidelines, the fence of agnosticism, never to return. Well until recently. 

My definition of a “Sports Agnostic” is one who claims neither faith nor belief in the glory of sports. I had wallowed in my agnosticism for decades until I had an epiphany of sorts this past Saturday.  Fast forward if you will from the barstool of shame to the St. John’s basketball game at the Garden, Madison Square Garden, that is.  This was the second year I was able to attend “Buckleyfest”.  

“Buckleyfest” is an amazing event sponsored by the brother’s Buckley of Wantagh, NY, whereby through their collective generosity, they have been able to gather over two hundred family members and friends for a pregame, game, post-game celebration.  The Buckley family history with St. John’s goes back to 1909 when their Grandfather (Peter McCormack) graduated St. John’s University. Many families today are more mobile, as they extend their reach outside of the home neighborhood to cities abroad. With this new mobility,  many discover a need to celebrate the connectivity of family and friends and be present to each other at celebrations like Buckleyfest. What began as a CYO Basketball field trip to the Garden, became an excuse for a cousin’s party in the past eight years. 

Let it never be said that I’d allow my agnosticism to get in the way of a good party!  We had a great time both pre and post-game, but something hit me as I watched the Red Storm engage Seaton Hall in this contest. Something piqued my curiosity. This was not the CYO basketball contests of my youth.  There was as Rock-n-Roll flamboyance as the team entered the court, but that just got my attention. What brought about my epiphany out of agnosticism was the passion of the fans. Fans from each side cheering with encouragement and sighing with each disappointment. Maybe there was something here for me to transport me from the mundane to the ethereal. I realized that it was my participation as a new “fanatic” that transported me into the game and to an otherworldly place.  Maybe just maybe this unlikely fan could believe in the glory. 

The experience this past Saturday led me to parallels in my own spiritual journey and the road from agnostic practice toward moments of epiphany. The playground and the hard macadam of Church practice formed me in my early years grounded in fear and obligation progressing to enlightenment and freedom. Sunday and sacramental rituals swayed between boredom to solemn participation, from joy to disappointment.   The ongoing search for encounter, for growth, for answers will continue. 

Since the recent pause in my ministry, which I recognize as a surprise blessing, has brought me to chance encounters with those who are open to confess their own abandonment and “benching” from their experience of “church”. The sadness of exclusion, of not being on the team or invited to the conversation swelled up in my memory.  It seems the wounds earned through experience can set us on a course either of apathy or investigation. The inquisitive soul seeks understanding, and so the search continues.

I recently discovered the writings of Fr. Richard Rohr, as I have found healing in his most recent book, “The Universal Christ”. I became obsessed with his message to explore the Good News of the Gospel for me in a new Light. Drawing from my project on Ecumenism while in the seminary studying for the Permanent Diaconate, I found myself on the first steps on a journey of freedom, exploring the joy of worship in my own Catholic tradition as well as opening my eyes to the joy found in other Christian traditions.  So for now, I’m refocusing on the three “P’s”: Prayer, Participation, and Practice. My own path to Ordination is a personal testimony to prayer, specifically the welcome prayers of family and friends for my benefit and the effects of prayer for my continued transformation. Participation, that is, active participation in thanking God for all the blessings I have received, and a renewed focus on participation, being in the moment anytime I have come to worship. Finally, Practice, that is the hard work of bringing the Good News to the actions of all that I do. To recognize that being present in the moment to whomever I encounter, is the moment to listen and become a “fan” of the other in my presence.  As I sit here preaching to myself, I understand that there are no shortcuts here, no quick catchall Daily News back page bible verses. Just the rededication to delve deep into Word, and listen for God’s direction in my life.  

Fr. Rohr had an analogy on moving forward. He speaks of a tricycle, three wheels to move us forward on our spiritual journey.  Experience, Tradition and the Scriptures.  Experience is the front wheel that drives and steers us on the ride. Tradition and Scripture to provide the balance. 

The wheel of experience on a tricycle can move us forward or backward. As for Tradition, it directs my mind to the early Church and the first Christians who had a passion for their encounter with Christ. Then scripture, which can balance our ride and provide us the stability of revealing God the Divine Source of Love in our lives and in each other.

At “Buckleyfest” I was greeted with kind words on my writings and this blog. Although I may hear the occasional words, “You don't’ know what the hell you’re talking about”, I’m ever emboldened by your encouragement. Thank you.

Now standing on the sidelines, and familiar with being "benched", I have a newfound appreciation for the disenfranchised, the "un-churched" and those continually seeking.  Thank you for the courage to relate your hurts, your concerns, your wants, and your desires. Through this experience I take solace in that I believe God is fanatically in love with the very person we are and calls us to a deeper relationship.  Psalm 121 says: "I raise my eyes toward the mountains. From whence shall come my help? My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.

There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong.
- Hindu Proverb

As I retire the moniker of “Sports Agnostic” and look forward to the glory and insight found in sports, and the loving insight found in being present, no matter which team you cheer on!