My second road trip is concluded -- my team won, which sends them into another game on Friday. Tuesday's game was held at a neutral site half way between each school. I managed to see two games that night, since the girls' team of the school I follow also played (but, alas, lost).

I followed my usual pattern -- stopped at the school just after lunch for a ticket (these playoff games can sell out, even for small schools), visited some of my historical haunts (I'm told I'm possibly the only fan of any schoolboy sport who does academic research on her way to a game), stopped at the Lehigh Valley Mall (they have a Macy's AND a Strawbridge's and a kiosk with the best selection of Beanie Babies in eastern Pennsylvania) and then headed up to the game.

I saw my friend and his family come in. I was sitting up high and in the middle -- they took seats down front behind the bench. The stands were crowded, so I didn't move out at halftime for fear of falling in the bleachers and looking like an idiot. At one point I thought he saw me -- he was looking up my way and smiling, so I smiled and waved. I learned Wednesday, however, that he hadn't seen me -- he said when he enters a gym his eyes glaze over and he becomes "one with the religious experience of hoops."

Later Wednesday night I found myself sitting in mid-week Lenten bible study where we're discussing the history of the Temple at Jerusalem. The pastor is a dedicated hoops aficionado, so basketball metaphors are not uncommon in his lessons. But I think I figured this one out on my own. Following Prep Hoops, especially into March Madness, IS a religious experience.

First, there's the Temple itself -- a room set apart in the building where only sporting events take place. (The analogy gets a little wobbly here -- there is  gym class, which is mostly basketball, and wrestling, an exercise in pseudo-violence which is beyond my ability to enjoy or understand -- but we won't get into that.) Worshippers give their offering at the ticket booth and are admitted only if they are not carrying a sign, a noise-maker, or a pom-pon. Temple guards maintain security, keeping locker rooms and ungated hallways free of intruders.

Only members of the priestly class -- the players and the referees -- are allowed both to walk on the court and handle the sacred object, the ball. Vestal virgins (cheerleaders) are allowed to walk on the court to lead the prayers, but they can't be out there at the same time the priests are. Worshippers must take care to stay off the court at all times, even half-time. In some temples this can be tricky, since the space between the sideline and the first pew can be very narrow.

During the service there are special rituals -- handshaking and back slapping among the priests and  chanting among worshippers. When two Catholic schools play, as was the case Tuesday night, there can be a lot of extra private prayers at the foul line, although this activity seems much diminished now from its heyday thirty years ago.

When my friend spoke of hoops as a religious experience, he was undoubtedly making a joke, and this extended metaphor is meant as humor. But in a way, it's not so far off. In the games I've attended this season, and in the years I followed the teams in the high school where I taught, I experienced many of the things churchgoers seek in corporate worship.

High school sports, especially at the state playoff level, show us the very best that young America has to offer, giving us hope for the future. As part of the crowd, I've been among people who share my values and dedicate their lives to educating and helping youngsters. I've remembered what it was I loved about the career I had to leave, and I've given thanks for the positive experiences I got there. I've made new freinds and strengthened bonds with old ones. I've been thanked by players, coaches, and parents for my attendance and support, leaving me feeling good about who I am.

Basketball as religion? I don't think this is blasphemy.

 

 The contents of this page are © 1999 by Margaret DeAngelis.