The Championship Myth

by Ben Howard

Even though I grew up in central Ohio about an hour outside of Columbus, I've had a circuitous root to my Ohio State Buckeyes fandom. When I was little (read: until college), I was defiantly anti-Ohio State. I mean, everybody at school was a fan of the Buckeyes. Everybody at church was a fan of the Buckeyes. Everybody in my family was a fan of the Buckeyes. I had to be an individual. So I told people I rooted for Michigan, but I actually just rooted against Ohio State.

You must be saying to yourself, “I can't believe it! I've never known Ben to be calculatingly opposed to something just because it's popular. I've never known him to be stubbornly iconoclastic! This must all be balderdash!” It's a surprise, I know, but it's true.

I didn't really start rooting FOR the Buckeyes until I went to college. Somehow through a combination of reactionary state pride (Oklahomans and Texans are crazy annoying about college sports) and trying to find a reason to hang out with a girl from Ohio who happened to be an Ohio State fan (I have done many stupider things for a pretty girl's attention), I became a real true Ohio State fan.

I'm glad I became a fan, because this season Ohio State has made me realize something that's fundamentally true about sports. Championships don't matter. At least, they don't matter as much as you think they do or as much as you're told they do.

You see, this season due to a scandal involving players exchanging memorabilia for tattoos (a NCAA no-no) and a respected head coach then lying to cover it up (a major NCAA no-no), the Buckeyes find themselves banned from the postseason. However, I still find myself finding a way to watch the game every Saturday and I'm still enjoying watching my favorite team go undefeated to this point in the season. According to what I've always been taught by sports writers, announcers and the like, I'm supposed to care less because my team can't win a title.

But it's just not true. I care the same amount.

In fact, I assume most people who watch sports really only care about the one game they're watching. They want their team to win that game. They want to be entertained and happy about that one game. For instance, the Premier League is huge in England. 44 teams compete in the two highest levels of English soccer. 20 of those teams compete in the highest level, which is one of the most popular and lucrative sports leagues in the world. Of those 20 teams, 6 have won a championship in the past 20 years and maybe only 3 or 4 teams are legitimate threats to actually win the title on a year to year basis.

If the myth of the championship holds true, then the fans of all those other teams shouldn't care at all because they can't win the league. They can only achieve different levels of mediocre.

But that's not why fans watch the game. They watch to see their city, state or alma mater represented. They watch because they enjoy the style, the strategy and the athleticism of the game. In the same way that you don't read a novel or watch a movie because it has a good ending, you don't root for a sports team because they win a title. You enjoy the story, the thing itself.

The Christian story falls victim to this myth of the championship, this myth of victory. It's not just the conservatives or the liberals, it's everybody. Whether the “championship” in question is saving the lost, getting to heaven, eliminating poverty or maybe destroying some disease that causes suffering all over the globe, the church has become obsessed with winning. We have to achieve the “big goal” at the end of the road.

Here's the problem: that understanding of Christian achievement, of winning, fundamentally misunderstands the reason for faith and the reason for the church.

Faith isn't about winning. It's about the process of belief and doubt, the ebbs and flows wherein we encounter God and then find ourselves at a distance. It's about the dynamic relationship with the God who created us, whether it's good, bad, or confusing.

You see, there's another flaw to the championship myth. It ends. And as St. Benedict so beautifully said, “Always we begin again.” There is always another season and another champion.

I'm not saying that we shouldn't aim for these lofty goals, but I am saying they do not define our faith. We are simply called to do our best in the next play, the next game, the next season. We are called to encounter the task set before us. If we win, we learn and if we fail, we learn as well. The process is not about being perfect, though it is something we hope to achieve and something we aspire to, even if only for a moment.

So dream your dreams and aspire to your goals, but if you find that you cannot reach them, do not fear. Your live is not measured in your championships, it is measured in your quests.

Peace,

Ben

You can follow Ben on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

Also, you can subscribe to On Pop Theology via RSS feed or email on the top right corner of the main page.

Playoffs, Drama, and Jesus

by Ben Howard

I’m going to say something really controversial. I mean this will be more controversial than anything I’ve said about any topic since I started writing this blog. Prepare yourself.

I think playoffs are stupid.

*watches a beer bottle flash by his head and crash against the wall*

Yeah, I know, pretty shocking. That’s the kind of thing you might hear on an ESPN show that was being needlessly provocative, but unlike Stephen A. Smith, I actually believe it.

You tell which of these options sounds like a more reasonable way of determining a champion. A team plays each other team in the league, once at home and once away, at the end of the season the team with the best record wins the league.

Or, a team plays 162 games a season, most of them against teams in the same division, the rest against teams in the same league, except for 12 scattered around to random teams in a different league. Then the best teams, provided they win their division, or win a wildcard spot which includes another one off game, play in a 4 week tournament in which they have to win 11 games in order to be champion.

Pure simplicity and reason points towards option one, European club soccer, over option two, Major League Baseball.

So why do playoffs persist? Why are sports fans adamant about adding playoffs to college football? Why is the college basketball tournament a billion dollar enterprise?

I have a theory.

Playoffs exist for the same reason that romantic comedies and action movies exist. We don’t just want champions, we don’t just want heroes, we want dramatic champions and dramatic heroes. We want champions who go the very brink of defeat only to stare defeat in the face and laugh at it.

We thrive on the drama that shapes the event even if its manufactured.

Since the church is made up of people, it operates the same way. Conversion stories are dramatic, being raised in the church is boring. Soaring emotional ballads where we tell Jesus we love him are dramatic, hymns are old and boring.

In manufacturing the drama we miss the point that while there are certainly ecstatic highs and lows in life, they are not the thing that defines our existence. Beauty and peace and contentment are things we find in the everyday, not in the so-called “mountain top experience.”

We are not a people in search of a faith and a tradition that provides us with thrills, but instead a faith that shapes us into humans the way we were created to be human.

We focus so often on the drama of Christ, the violence of the crucifixion the crescendo of the resurrection, that I wonder if we miss the deeply profound simplicity of Jesus as human. The Word made flesh who dwelt among us.

There is nothing wrong with the soaring heights of a dramatic story, but it does not define the story. The story is the whole, not just the ending. Jesus is the entirety of his life, the incarnation, the teaching, the parables, the prophecies, the love, the crucifixion, the resurrection and the ascension. None of those is a microcosm of the story, they all work together.

The story of the church is the same. It is every bit and every piece. Not just the big moments, but the little ones and the average ones as well. Every bit is part of the story, not just the memorable parts.

A season makes a champion, not just a game.

Peace,

Ben

When he isn’t railing against the implications of playoffs and drama, Ben likes to watch playoffs and drama. I mean, seriously, its exhilarating. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

Also, you can subscribe to On Pop Theology via RSS feed or email on the top right corner of the main page.

Super Mario and Me

by Hannah Sigmon

For the past 8 or 9 months, I've been harboring a not-so-secret fascination with the Italian footballer (that’s soccer player to all you non-fans) Mario Balotelli. For those of you unfamiliar with him, which I assume is most of you, Balotelli is a striker for Manchester City in the English Premier League. Manchester City recently won the League Championship for the first time in 44 years with Balotelli playing a large role for the team. He also plays for the Italian national team, which as some of you may know, just suffered a crushing defeat to Spain in the Euro 2012 final.

Balotelli is a very highly valued player. He's 21,scored thirteen goals for Manchester City this past season, and is known to be a technically gifted striker and a formidable penalty taker. This season in the European Championship, he put on a dazzling performance against Germany, scoring both of Italy’s goals in the 2 to 1 victory.

There is more to the story though than just soccer. Balotelli was born to Ghanaian parents in Sicily, and at age 3, he was sent to live with wealthy Italian foster parents. After a while, his biological parents disappeared from his life, not returning until he became famous. Balotelli was never adopted by his foster parents and did not become an Italian citizen until he turned 18. He is Italy’s first widely known black player, and he continues to be the subject of racist abuse by Italians and foreigners, something he has dealt with his entire football career. Despite being a world famous multi-millionaire now, Balotelli has had it rough.

However, Balotelli has a reputation for being wild, unpredictable, and immature. In many ways, he has the right to be immature as he is only 21 years old, and competing with many footballers who are several years older. On the other hand, Balotelli often comes under criticism for actions that are not only immature, but inappropriate, dangerous, and stupid. One of the myriad antics Balotelli's been involved in since the beginning of his career involve crashing a car while carrying £5000 cash on him. When questioned by police about why he was carrying so much money, he responded, “Because I am rich.” In addition, Balotelli once drove to a women’s prison just to “have a look round”, and set his house on fire after shooting off fireworks inside his bathroom during a party (afterwards he was named the Fireworks Safety Ambassador in the City of Manchester). Other notable acts range from blatantly disregarding rules (breaking club curfew, being repeatedly sent off for aggressive play in games) and simply appearing stupid (not knowing how to put on a bib correctly before a Dynamo Kiev game – see video below). Simply put, Balotelli is a gamble. He was signed by Manchester City for €30 million, yet manager Roberto Mancini seriously considered selling him after only two seasons due to his uncontrollable behavior. 

Following his career, as entertaining as it can sometimes be, often makes me wonder why he continues to, as one headline read, go “from Super Mario to Stupid Mario.” Over-analyzing him, as I am wont to do, has prompted me to more seriously consider my own behavior and its causes. I am fascinated by behavior, and I am constantly trying to understand why people of at least average intelligence choose to knowingly make poor decisions. I am a prime example of this. I’m a responsible adult, and yet I have and continue to damage my body with alcohol, drugs, and bad food. I have lied to family, friends, and employers. I have stayed in negative, harmful relationships much longer than I should have. I have been ugly and spiteful to people I love. I, a rational, functioning human being, have the capacity to sit down and think long and hard about my actions, past and future, and typically I can determine the more righteous action to take – yet when the time comes, I often find myself “incapable” of doing what is good for me and others, and I don’t know why.

This is at odds with what I do everyday, because my job, which I am becoming ever more disenchanted with, involves identifying, understanding, and changing behavior. I work with families and youth with so-called “negative” behaviors and I am supposed to help them process through and change these behaviors once discovering the root causes and triggers. Yet I constantly find myself wondering how I am supposed to help my clients change if I cannot even change myself. I often wish I could subscribe to some idealistically Socratic “Know thyself” mantra, but yet these days, I find more and more wisdom in the words of Romans 7:19. Most of you probably know that I do not profess to practice the Christian faith, but Paul’s words, “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do” are becoming increasingly poignant. My sorely lacking knowledge of history and human biology leads me ever more to doubt the existence of free will, and this poses a serious conflict for someone who not only earns her living from attempting to help others realize their free will, but also assumes that she is in control of herself, or at least desperately hopes to be.

So this is the basis for my admiration and identification with Balotelli, the enigmatic firecracker. Would I act any different than he does if I were in his shoes? Would he act differently than me if he was in mine? I have no doubt that Balotelli, like me, recognizes his own poor decision-making, but is that recognition alone sufficient?

This entry really has no conclusion, for which I apologize. But whether or not you believe in free will, I hope it prompts you to consider yourself and your own actions. How much are we in control of our behavior? To what extent can it be excused and/or understood by our past and present environments? How much does attempting to learn more about yourself actually help you change? Or is there an aspect of you that acts beyond what you can consciously control?
(Thoughts welcome).

Hannah