Rip's Roundball and Redemption

Psalm 71:17

O God, You have taught me from my youth,
And I still declare your wondrous deeds.

My Hallowed Ground

Often I find my thoughts will drift back to the earlier years in my life. A time when the “road of life” with all its ruts and bumps seemed to be a little smoother. Invariably my mind recaptures the hours I would spend on what I considered my “hallowed ground;” that piece of terra-firma I felt God had made specifically for me, my own paradise on earth.

My “hallowed ground”, measured approximately 25’ by 25’and consisted of a partially graveled driveway and lawn. The lawn over the years had deteriorated to clay, which when rain was added, turned to mud. Anchored into that ground was a scraggly old elm tree and attached to that old elm, approximately 10’ off the ground, was the basketball hoop. The hoop was attached to the elm tree by a conglomeration of 16 penny spikes. This oval-shaped piece of iron held me like a magnet stuck to the refrigerator door. It was here on that muddy, and sometimes slippery, icy patch of ground that I visualized and worked toward my basketball dream.

I know most kids have dreams, but it seemed like my dream was all consuming and it kept pulling me day after day. It seemed like this dream drew me in and wouldn’t let me go. I don’t know the reason why I had such a strong desire to shoot a ball through a round piece of iron, but the craving to do so was overwhelming. I was never able to completely understand this desire, yet it burned within me constantly. This thirst for the game I have never been able to fully quench. Little did I realize, at the ripe old age of 8 that this game of basketball would mean so much to me. I believe that every child at one time or another dreams of accomplishing great things, whether they dream of becoming a doctor, farmer, fireman, plumber or teacher. It is our dreams that motivate everyone of us to try. My dream was to become the best player at my school. I know it wasn’t a big dream, but it was my dream.

Basketball in the late 1950’s and through the 1960’s has sometimes been referred to as the “Golden Age” of basketball by basketball historians. In other words many basketball historians believe that during this period of time the game of basketball:

1.         had the greatest number of great players.
2.         had the greatest innovations to the game.
3.         had the highest competition level.

It was during these early years, as I practiced day after day in the heat, the cold, the wind, and the rain, my dream seemed to come alive. This continuous regiment of almost daily practice was allowing me to develop outstanding eye/hand coordination, which in the future would serve me well. This faded, worn-out and discolored ball of leather seemed to become a part of my hand and each day after school and all summer long I would pick up that ball and practice on my “hallowed ground.” Alone, I would dream of a time to come. I didn’t have a coach, a court, a backboard, or a league to play in. I had no uniform or ever received any type of trophy or award. I played for the shear enjoyment and love of the game. This game of basketball served to inspire and motivate me every day of my youth. This game of basketball helped me to understand and relate to others, as well as instill hope within me. My dream pushed me towards its’ destination, much like the wind propels a sailboat. This dream, I believe, also prepared me to receive Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.

Of course having a dream and achieving that dream are at two different ends of the spectrum! Your dream must be able to motivate you through all the hard work to its’ intended conclusion. The engine which powered my dream was an innate hatred for losing. Don’t misunderstand me, I know that someone must lose; and to be honest, I never got any big thrill out of winning. I am not saying that the teams I played on won every game because that certainly did not happen. What I’m saying is I just had a very hard time to swallow a loss. I hated that feeling and was determined that whatever I could do to avoid that feeling I would do. It took me many years to come to the realization that not everybody I played with felt the same way I did. I couldn’t understand how some of my teammates could so easily accept losing. I was forever asking myself, don’t they care or what is the matter with these guys? I always felt the game gave me an opportunity to show everybody how much I loved it. I was willing to practice 18 hours a day if it would insure a victory on game night, and I had made up my mind to be the best teammate I could possibly be. I wanted to lead the team to victory!

Later on I came to realize basketball also motivated me in many other areas, including keeping good grades in the classroom. Of course, I got into my fair share of trouble, but the love of basketball kept my nose fairly clean and my grades enabled me to compete.