Addiction

My name is James... 

and I have a problem...

I am a sports addict...

We all have our vices. You have areas of addiction or, at the very least, guilty pleasures too... yours may not be the kind that warrants multiple cable channels or endless hours of AM Radio, but your thing steals your time, brain cells and affections just like mine.

Yours may be a usual suspect like alcohol or pornography (if so, talk to someone and get help), or it may fly under the radar in the form of reality TV or Dawson's Creek re-runs (seriously, if that's you, you need help). Your addiction may resemble working really hard at your craft, an instrument, hobby or job. As a Youth Pastor, I would be remiss to not recognize that your addiction could masquerade as the line item unlimited texting on your cell phone bill. 

Whatever the case, we think of addictions as having a negative connotation. We spin addictions as "hobbies" and "interests" or even "callings" and "passions". I would argue that the label "addiction" is a euphemism in itself. If I am honest... and if I were to pair that honesty with biblical thinking, which some might suggest is right thinking, I would have to acknowledge that sports hasn't just been an addiction most of my life... sports has been an idol. Sports, for me, has spilled over into idolatry. It is hard to know where the line is between interest and idolatry, between passion and worship. But the line became clearer for me this NCAA Tournament season.

March Madness followed by the Master's is the Yom Kippur of the Sports calendar. If you fill out less then 6 brackets and don't take sick days on the Thursday and Friday of the opening round, you are really just fooling yourself and the truth of sports addiction is not in you. But as you get older and take on more responsibility, anything you are into can be judged as addiction based on the same factors. 

Just like drinking is simply fun and cool when you are with your buddies at a party in college and not necessarily an addiction, watching sports with your friends all weekend when you are in college and have nothing else to do was innocent enough. But if you are still drinking with your buddies every weekend, tailgating at every game, showing up late to work or not coming home to your family because of your appetite for partying, than this begins to smack of something more like addiction. If alcohol or pornography, for example, dominate your thoughts, plans and conversations... if they destroy your marriage, family, relationships, job, career or health... if they deeply impact your time management, spending habits, sleep patterns or overall stability... well, these are the things addictions, idols and functional saviors are made of. 

It is not hard to see how something as seemingly innocuous as sports can produce the same net effect as more obviously unhealthy addictions. So, I am a perpetually recovering sports addict.

Much of my married life, as a result of this, has been spent pruning my proverbial sports tree and like people being liberated from other addictions, I am finding freedom in experiencing the reality that there is more to life than a 6 overtime thriller, or a 19-hole playoff in the U.S. Open. 

Like everything else, I am learning this from my kids. Dylan is 7 and in his third season of baseball. He has been a pretty average player to this point in his life, though it seems he is starting to take big strides. Having him in baseball has been fun, but at the end of the day, they are only 7 to 8- year-olds. Naturally, it was frustrating to have a rainout game rescheduled for a Friday night that happened to be day two of the NCAA Tourney. I had to leave near the beginning of the early tip games to get him there on time and I despaired at the idea of missing a couple of hours of action. Round two started on Saturday of course, but to my dismay, the schedulers gave protocol the finger and Dylan's team was playing a saturday evening game rather than the early morning first pitch parents are accustomed to. 

I could stay home from the baseball games and enjoy basketball, but then I would incur the wrath of the household commissioner and I didn't want to be in violation of league policy and subject to a fine or other disciplinary action. You may roll your eyes, but make no mistake... I have made the wrong choice before. Having been cajoled into the coaching circle, I had the necessary impetus to leave the couch to fulfill my commitments. I did this begrudgingly to be sure.

To make matters worse, Dylan's team was getting beaten like a drum for four innings on Friday night. Then something happened. Dylan was playing the pitcher position in the field (he is playing coach pitch still). And in the top of the fourth, down 12-6, and he fielded two ground balls and threw some young punks out. They went three up, three down, and after the third out, made by Dylan, he was fist pumping like dang Rafael Nadal... I couldn't help but listen for him to yell out "vamos!" They spent the next couple of innings closing the gap and then taking the lead 13-12. 

Top of the 6th, with the time limit expired, the other team scored the one run to tie, but no more. Then, with 2 down, bottom of 6 and a runner on first, mighty Harrison, sprinting in from the cinder-block restrooms, fresh off a number two, came to bat. He spent the first three pitches catching is breath, while his parents did the same, and then he took that swing we have been working on with him... If you haven't experienced a walk-off home run with 7-year-olds, well... you just haven't lived. Harrison through his hands up as he watched it go and then he rounded first base, where I was coaching, giving me a high-5 and conjuring up images of Kirk Gibson... Un-believable. Harrison got the dinger and Dylan got the game ball for his two doubles and... count 'em... five put outs in the field. 

The next night, in similar fashion, coming from behind against the undefeated Blue Jays, who might have several Danny Almontes from the look of things, they scored in three in the bottom of the 6th to win it with 2 outs. No walk-off homers, but still, riveting action nonetheless.

I missed much of the NCAA tournament action, but I tell you, you and so many millions of others missed those two baseball games, and you are the ones who got cheated. You may be thinking that I am in denial, having simply fed my sports addiction with a new brand. I would argue, instead, that a rather profound paradox took place. I would argue that an exciting sporting event worked toward curing my sports addiction.

If you are addicted to anything at all, if you have appetites, longings and cravings that are unhealthy in any way, it's crazy how watching your 7-year-old son experience pure joy is a compelling distraction, and ultimately, it will compete for all of your affections. My only regret that weekend was my own internal conflict at the outset... March Madness has got nothing on what I watched. 

I have spent less time watching the tournament this year then any year I can remember. It's not that I don't like to still. It's just that I've realized that I had a worship problem... an idol problem. When things get hard, I want to retreat and watch a good sporting event. I would rather watch sports then spend time with my family. I would rather watch sports then go to church. I would rather watch sports then get sleep. I would rather watch sports then go to work. Sports was my passion, my escape, what I knew I could count on. Sounds stupid I suppose. Sports has been a functional savior. My guess is you have little saviors not named Jesus too.

I found something to combat my appetite for sports... something that gives a better high than an epic game... something that beats an upset or come-from-behind win... 

Children are the best teachers. 

My name is James... 

and I have a problem...

I am addicted to seeing my kids come alive... I intend to do my best to feed this addiction.