I am beginning to write this article on my way back to Kansas City. If you hadn’t heard, I made a quick get away from the Sunflower State because my friend Larry gave me a ticket to see his favorite team (the Boston Celtics) play a basketball game. Well, not just any basketball game, the NBA Finals basketball game. All I had to do was get to Boston. Here’s where the story gets even better… my father-in-law heard about the offer from Larry and said he would pay for my airline ticket. So except for some meals, I went to the NBA Finals for free. One word: SWEEEEEET!!! And now, I am writing about the whole experience from 30,000 feet in the air somewhere between Boston and Minneapolis.
There are a lot of great things that happened in the game—especially if you are a Celtics’ fan. Boston won something like 496 to 27 (and it wasn’t that close!). Larry bought me a “Beat L.A.” t-shirt to wear to the game so I would look like I was a real Celtics fan. (I think he was worried I’d be wearing a Pistons shirt, and he didn’t want to be responsible for me getting beat up). I am not really a Celtics fan (I usually root for those Detroit ballers), still one couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement of the evening.
The fans in Boston know how to cheer their team to victory. Besides the expected chants throughout the game of “Beat L.A. Beat L.A.,” “Defense. Defense.” and “Seventeen! Seventeen!” (a reference to the number of championships that the Celtics have won), the fans were quite creative in their chants and songs (many of which I can’t write about in this family friendly little prose). For instance, whenever a referee whistled a foul against the home team the fans always (I mean ALWAYS) took exception to the “bad” call and shouted a reference to a male bovine’s bodily function. And when one of the opposing players stepped to the free throw line to attempt the shot, the crowd would chant something about a past indiscretion in the opposing player’s life. One player apparently had a problem with an illegal weed that some people have been known to smoke and the crowd chanted “Reefer! Reefer!” (Only in their New England accent it sounded like: “Reefah. Reefah.”). One player‘s only “sin” was that he was born in Spain, and when he stepped up to shoot the crowd chanted “USA. USA. USA.” Some of their other chants were not as nice and definitely not as “G” rated. Still, all in all, it was a fun, once-in-a-lifetime type of event that I was very glad I could attend.
As the game was winding down, I even joined in the singing of “Na, Na, Na, Na. Hey, Hey, Hey, Good Bye,” and when it was all over I sang “We are the Champions.” Maybe the leprechaun on my T-shirt was having some kind of effect on me or maybe it was my Irish heritage coming out or maybe it was the thrill of seeing so many people so happy. After the game was over with confetti flying and music blaring, the crowd was ecstatic. They were jumping and shouting and hugging complete strangers-- you would have thought a war had ended or a cure for cancer had been found. I can’t imagine euphoria any greater.
Maybe I’m goofy (OK I know I am goofy), but I kept thinking about the referees and the opposing players and their life’s indiscretions and sins and mistakes open for all to mock and question. I know taunting and teasing are a part of the game. I’ve done it myself. (I think I yelled to an umpire following what I believed was a blatant missed call: “Hey Ump! If you had one more eye we could call you Cyclops!”) It’s all in good (although as the Boston fans demonstrated, not always clean) fun. Still, I would not want my every sin shouted from the top of 20,000, beer saturated sets of lungs. I wouldn’t want my every decision scrutinized and jeered.
Well get a load of this-- the One whose opinion matters most, the Lord, has promised to throw our sins into the “sea of forgetfulness” and not hold them against us any longer. Once we seek his forgiveness, the Bible tells us “that he is faithful and just to forgive anyone who calls on His name.” In other words, you’ll never hear the Lord rehashing your past forgiven sins. The angels aren’t pointing at you and taunting about a bad decision. I am glad that when I step up to the line—he doesn’t view me as the guy with all the problems or the guy born in the wrong place or the guy who stumbled and fell—but rather He views me as the one that He loves. The one He has forgiven. The one for whom Jesus went to the cross (you are that one too, by the way!). He views us as His children!
There are a lot of great things that happened in the game—especially if you are a Celtics’ fan. Boston won something like 496 to 27 (and it wasn’t that close!). Larry bought me a “Beat L.A.” t-shirt to wear to the game so I would look like I was a real Celtics fan. (I think he was worried I’d be wearing a Pistons shirt, and he didn’t want to be responsible for me getting beat up). I am not really a Celtics fan (I usually root for those Detroit ballers), still one couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement of the evening.
The fans in Boston know how to cheer their team to victory. Besides the expected chants throughout the game of “Beat L.A. Beat L.A.,” “Defense. Defense.” and “Seventeen! Seventeen!” (a reference to the number of championships that the Celtics have won), the fans were quite creative in their chants and songs (many of which I can’t write about in this family friendly little prose). For instance, whenever a referee whistled a foul against the home team the fans always (I mean ALWAYS) took exception to the “bad” call and shouted a reference to a male bovine’s bodily function. And when one of the opposing players stepped to the free throw line to attempt the shot, the crowd would chant something about a past indiscretion in the opposing player’s life. One player apparently had a problem with an illegal weed that some people have been known to smoke and the crowd chanted “Reefer! Reefer!” (Only in their New England accent it sounded like: “Reefah. Reefah.”). One player‘s only “sin” was that he was born in Spain, and when he stepped up to shoot the crowd chanted “USA. USA. USA.” Some of their other chants were not as nice and definitely not as “G” rated. Still, all in all, it was a fun, once-in-a-lifetime type of event that I was very glad I could attend.
As the game was winding down, I even joined in the singing of “Na, Na, Na, Na. Hey, Hey, Hey, Good Bye,” and when it was all over I sang “We are the Champions.” Maybe the leprechaun on my T-shirt was having some kind of effect on me or maybe it was my Irish heritage coming out or maybe it was the thrill of seeing so many people so happy. After the game was over with confetti flying and music blaring, the crowd was ecstatic. They were jumping and shouting and hugging complete strangers-- you would have thought a war had ended or a cure for cancer had been found. I can’t imagine euphoria any greater.
Maybe I’m goofy (OK I know I am goofy), but I kept thinking about the referees and the opposing players and their life’s indiscretions and sins and mistakes open for all to mock and question. I know taunting and teasing are a part of the game. I’ve done it myself. (I think I yelled to an umpire following what I believed was a blatant missed call: “Hey Ump! If you had one more eye we could call you Cyclops!”) It’s all in good (although as the Boston fans demonstrated, not always clean) fun. Still, I would not want my every sin shouted from the top of 20,000, beer saturated sets of lungs. I wouldn’t want my every decision scrutinized and jeered.
Well get a load of this-- the One whose opinion matters most, the Lord, has promised to throw our sins into the “sea of forgetfulness” and not hold them against us any longer. Once we seek his forgiveness, the Bible tells us “that he is faithful and just to forgive anyone who calls on His name.” In other words, you’ll never hear the Lord rehashing your past forgiven sins. The angels aren’t pointing at you and taunting about a bad decision. I am glad that when I step up to the line—he doesn’t view me as the guy with all the problems or the guy born in the wrong place or the guy who stumbled and fell—but rather He views me as the one that He loves. The one He has forgiven. The one for whom Jesus went to the cross (you are that one too, by the way!). He views us as His children!
Let the confetti spray and the music blare….that’s worth shouting from the top of our non-beer saturated lungs, “We are the children of the King!”
1 comment:
Ummmm... as a REAL Celtics fan i think you should have given me the tickets! So unfair!!! I can't even IMAGINE how amazing that must have been! That might have been the biggest moment in sports history since i have been alive, you lucky dog, you!
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