WHO'S TEAM IS GOD ON?

I watched most every game of the Women's College Softball World Series. It is a thoroughly enjoyable sport to watch; especially when the teams from your state's largest universities are in the tournament.

It's over for 2024 and the Oklahoma Sooners won their fourth championship in a row. That's never been done before and it's the cherry on top of mountain of firsts for this team. The Texas Longhorns were rated #1, but the Sooners beat them in the first two games of the best of three.

Many of the Sooners when asked about this phenomenal run, thanked God.

photo source unknown

That seemed to bother some folks.

• Do they think God actually cares about softball?

• Do they think that God favors one team over another?

• Do they really believe that if one player has a quick prayer with a team mate before she goes up to bat that God will somehow energize her and/or her bat so she hits a walk off home run to pull victory from a must-win game situation where the other team might have actually played the better game?

Time out. Let's do a closer review.

A lot of people don't like the Sooners (especially those that wear burnt orange and people who were regular orange and columbia blue and clap their hands by extending their arms and moving them together and apart vertically.) A lot of people feel like the Sooners are cocky and show-offy.

Did I mention that this team has been weirdly and wildly successful? "So are you saying that they have some sort of divine anointing?"

If God loved Oklahoma better than Texas maybe he would nudge tornado alley a bit south, say below the Red River, instead of the heart of it going right over Norman, Oklahoma, home of the Sooners.

Here are some thoughts about these holy name-droppers, for what they're worth:

Maybe there is actually an innocent, and maybe, naive humility among these super Sooner softballers. It is from that place that gratitude can spring. I'm sure these girls are grateful to their parents and grandparents for their support and sacrifice and sportly genetics. I'm sure they are grateful to their coaches--who apparently are some of the best to be found. I'm sure they are grateful to their fans and friends. But there's more gratitude to go around. Gratitude is one of those things that must be expressed. When a person or a team has worked so hard and accomplished so much there is lot of it to be expressed. There is also a lot of exuberance among this team. That's another thing that demands expression--in proportion to the depth of it.

It's easy (at least for me) to see that these young women find themselves at a sort of pinnacle so that there must be something at play here that is, well, beyond/Beyond. What I'm saying is that maybe they haven't become so jaded yet, so arrogant to be blinded by the wonder of the whole experience. What does it hurt for them to find a way to express all that gratitude and exuberance?

The words of G.K. Chesteron come to mind:

“The worst moment for an atheist is when he is really thankful and has no one to thank.
I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. The aim of life is appreciation; there is no sense in not appreciating things; and there is no sense in having more of them if you have less appreciation of them. When it comes to life the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.”

A BLOG POST ABOUT (DOING) NOTHING

"Here is a book that you should read!" The enthusiastic recommendation came from an always smiling lady who worked at a christian bookstore in the town where we lived. Her zeal came from a place deeper than a motivation to be a good salesperson. She held it out to me lying on her open palms as she might if she had been offering a Gutenberg Bible.

The book was "Search for Significance".

Honestly I said, "Thank you Mary. I'm glad the book has meant so much to you but, for me, I'm searching for a lot things, but I don't think significance is one of those."

Honestly, I still feel like that's true for me. Then and now, I search for peace, contentment, meaningful relationships, purpose, humor, creativity, open-minded conversation, honest faith, deep personal spirituality, solitude, and slow observation.

POPS AND JEREMIAH

Slow observation? We just returned from a trip with our boys, our beautiful daughters-in-law, and the magnificent seven: Karlee, Harper, Haddi, Nora, Everly, Malachi and Jeremiah. We stayed together in a floating cabin on Lake Murray near Ardmore, Oklahoma. My role was sitting on the dock, eating no-bake cookies, drinking coffee and watching the kids fish and beg to swim in the frigid waters. I excelled in my duties.

All I had to do was buy the train tickets, rent the cabin, buy some groceries and be otherwise insignificant. It was sublime.

I have a little book where I write down words that are new to me and intriguing. There are three that seem to fit together. I've heard them all spoken among the younger, hipper crowd. Even though I'm now neither of those, I can still get on board with these: niksen, hygge, and fika.

Let's start with Niksen. It looks like it could be a phonetic guide to pronouncing the name of another former president facing a well-deserved reckoning. But no. According to an article in Time magazine: Niksen “literally means to do nothing, to be idle or doing something without any use.” Practicing niksen could be as simple as just hanging around, looking at your surroundings or listening to music — “as long as it’s without purpose, and not done in order to achieve something or be productive."

Next up: Hygge. I didn't make note of my source on this Danish word, my notes say: hygge isn’t just a word; it’s a concept, and as such, there’s really no direct translation. Hygge is about cosiness and surrounding yourself with the things that make life good, like friendship, laughter and security, as well as more concrete things like warmth, light, seasonal food and drink.

How about Fika? It’s a moment to slow down and appreciate the good things in life. From the book, Fika: The Art of the Swedish Coffee Break, “Functioning as both a verb and a noun, the concept of fika is simple. It is the moment that you take a break, often with a cup of coffee, but alternatively with tea, and find a baked good to pair with it. You can do it alone, you can do it with friends. You can do it at home, in a park or at work. But the essential thing is that you do it, that you make time to take a break: that’s what fika is all about.”

THESE DAYS I SEARCH for niksen, hygge and fika. Significance? I can take it or leave it. Now if you'll excuse me; My Amazing-Missus has made a strawberry ice cream pie. I'm going to brew a cup of dark roast and watch some Women's College World Series action.

SHOOT LIKE A GIRL

I NEED TO WRITE THIS NOW while things are good. The OKC Thunder won the NBA Western Conference regular-season crown, the youngest team to do so, then went on to sweep the New Orleans Pelicans in four games.

The last game was close all the way. At one point one of the Thunder players shot a long, long three-point attempt, and the clock wasn't even running out. I shouted at him through the TV, "Who do you think you are? Caitlin Clark?!"

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like since the women's NCAA tournament, men, both college and pro, have been attempting shots from farther out, almost like there's a subliminal dare to try to do what the girls are doing.

I like boys. I really do. I have two sons and two one-of-a-kind grandsons. I like watching the NBA, the NFL, the NHL, and MLB. But I really like watching women's sports like college softball and basketball. There's just a certain finesse and smartness to their games that make them fascinating and compelling.

My college journey started at Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee, Oklahoma, in the Fall of 1969. After my freshman year there, (surely we're past the statute of limitations) I transferred to Tulsa University. I wouldn't have imagined at the time that five decades later I would somehow end up living in Shawnee, but here we are.

Although I was at OBU for only two semesters, the experiences there were varied and significant, stong enough to create memories that percolate up when I'm on the campus these days.

A lot has changed. For example, while walking on campus one morning I noticed something; there were young women on the track, and on the tennis courts. Hanging on the walls outside the sports complex were huge banners with the pictures of the women's volleyball team and basketball team. Back in the day, there was none of that, except maybe in a casual, "Hey want to play some tennis?" kind of way. At the time I thought nothing of it.

One day I ran across my yearbook for my freshman year. Thumbing and strolling through, I noticed there were photos of men's basketball, baseball, golf , tennis and track and field, but NO women's sports at all. Today, according to sports listed on OBUBison.com, women have more offerings than men: basketball, volleyball, cross country, golf, soccer, track & field, softball, and stunt. I'm not sure what stunt is but I think it has something to do with hurling smaller girls into the air. I may have been on the stunt team back in 69-70. I'm pretty sure I remember the Dean asking, "Just what kind of stunts are you trying to pull here Mr. Fuller?!"

BREAKING NEWS (April 29, 2024): THE OBU STUNT TEAM JUST WON THE 2024 NCAA D2 NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP.

I should mention that for those who advocate for cheerleading being a sport [and as the proud Pops of a high school "Pommie" count me in that group], there is a picture of the cheerleaders in that old yearbook.

If this blog was about hard-hitting journalism or something written in pursuit of a Pulitzer I would probably do the research to write about the evolution of women's sports at OBU. But a quick read of any of the nonsense I write and post here will quickly reveal this blog is really about fluff and stuff. A quick note: as we're learning there is apparently money to be made in the area of seedy/sleazy "journalism" and something called catch & kill... Let's just say, I'm open to making a little extra cash.

Maybe the paradigm shifted a bit with the passing of Title IX in the summer of 1972. Not sure. Maybe I should do the research. Nevertheless, I'm celebrating the rise of women's sports both at OBU and beyond.

BREAKING NEWS (April 29, 2024): OBU's 4x800 relay squad: Zoee Weaver, Shayna Hendrix, Kaylen King and Mekenzie Connell ran the fastest time (9:01.56) in NCAA Division II this season to win the Drake Relays title in the event.

While progress is obvious in the field and on the courts of women's sports, regress is still too heavy and real in too many areas of our culture and life for women. There is so much more I would like to say, but I'm trying to be civil and constrained until I can find a way to be useful. At this point, my best attempts would be a long shot. What would I do if someone yelled, "Who do you think you are? Caitlin Clark?"

With a Little Help

“You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind. And, love your neighbor as yourself.”

“And who is my neighbor?”

Jesus tells the story we call "The Good Samaritan", recorded in Luke 10, then asks this:

36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
37 The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

But, from whose perspective? I've always heard this "Good Samaritan" story told as if our neighbor is the guy that got mugged and lies along the road. He's the guy that we're supposed to be neighborly toward--loving him as we would love ourselves.

But wait a minute. Look at Jesus' question: "Which of these was a neighbor to the man?" Imagine for a second that you are the one left banged up and broken in the ditch. Along comes a guy, let's call him Mr. Rogers. You're surprised that he has humbly stopped to help. You say, "Won't you be my neighbor?"

My point is that maybe, just maybe, what Jesus is saying is that our neighbor is the person(s) we allow to help us, the one we become very vulnerable to. Seems to me that can be pretty challenging. I find it easier to be the helper than the helpee.

If you're still with me on this circuitous path of Pops' strange logic, let's take the next step. Let's assume I'm reading Jesus correctly and my neighbor is the person that I allow to offer me aid, then to love myself in that neighborly way means letting my inner Mr. Rogers be kind to myself, to give myself an occasional break, to lay a cold rag on my forehead, to bandage up even the occasional emotional booboo. It takes being a bit vulnerable.

That last sentence was so hard to type. I don't like the idea of vulnerability, of people seeing me in need of aid. I don't like admitting that sometimes I'm not okay, that maybe I need a little help from my friends, trusting the ones who wouldn't stand up and walk out on me even if I sang out of tune.

I just bought an e-bike. It costs more than my used VW Bus did back in 1970. The hardest part of buying an e-bike though wasn't the cost. It was admitting I need help. I've tried riding my single-speed cruiser bike around town, but there are some hills that I just can't make it up. Sometimes (almost all the time) the winds are too stout for me to peddle against.

With e-bikes there are two varieties: peddle-assist or throttle. If you choose the throttle model, you can actually ride with no assist at all, like a moped or scooter. Just get on and twist the throttle and off you go. With peddle-assist, you have to actually pedal, the motor just helps a little, sort of flattens out the hills a bit.

Salesman: "Do you want a throttle model?"

Me: "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm only 70-something. I just need a little help."

Still, I imagine that when people see me riding they may think, "Look at the old man go. He must be in excellent shape. Wait a minute! That thing has a motor!"

This post isn't an endorsement for e-bikes. It's a metaphor.

I read a column in the New York Times written by a young lady who, along with her husband, had suffered a horrible tragedy. They lost their little girl, Lucy, shortly after her birth. In the article she talked about her lifelong love of bicycling and how in the trauma after their loss she never rode. She also talked about their grief and the people who, with all good intentions, sought to offer aid. The article ends with this paragraph:

"Now with spring in like a lion, I’m back out riding. When hills come up on the horizon, I don’t let pride stand in the way. I crank up the electric-powered motor a couple of notches and allow it to give me a boost. Slowly, through every swerve and switchback, grief has given way to gratitude. But only because I have help moving through it."
-- By Jess Mayhugh April 18, 2024. New York Times.