Adjacent News

It is, of course, entirely understandable if everyone is simply far too busy with various autumn garden preparations or perhaps checking the weather seals on their storm windows to think very much about the basketball arena at the moment. One certainly does not wish to be a bother, particularly when there is no actual game on the schedule this weekend, but perhaps it would not hurt—only if it is truly no trouble for anyone, mind you—to spend a brief moment in quiet, reflective consideration of our defensive rotations, or lack thereof.

The officials, one assumes, are enjoying a restful Friday afternoon somewhere pleasant, perhaps catching up on their mending or enjoying a light biscuit with their tea, free from the heavy burden of blowing whistles and wondering if everyone is getting along out on the hardwood. There is a peaceful sort of grace in an empty building, a gentle reminder that we are all simply visitors passing through, trying our best to set good screens and avoid stepping out of bounds on the baseline of righteousness. Or, at least, that is how it feels when one sits quietly in row twelve of the press box with a lukewarm cup of instant decaf and a slightly damp pocket handkerchief.

Looking over the depth chart for Oral Roberts during this quiet stretch, one is struck by a profound, trembling sort of humility. We are all flawed vessels, prone to turning the ball over against a full-court press or perhaps forgetting to box out on a crucial defensive rebound when the temporal anxieties of the world crowd in upon our spirit. One hopes—quite timidly, of course, and without wishing to dictate terms to anyone above—that the upcoming weeks might bring a renewed commitment to spacing on the offensive end, or perhaps just a deeper appreciation for the simple gift of a successfully executed inbound pass under pressure. It is never truly too late to seek a better path, provided one is willing to listen for the still, small voice of the coach during a twenty-second timeout.

Of course, if anyone finds these spiritual parallels regarding the pick-and-roll to be overly forward or perhaps slightly inappropriate for a Friday morning bulletin, please do not hesitate to let me know by sliding a small, neatly folded note under the press box door. I should be only too happy to pack up my typing machine and sit very quietly in the corner, contemplating the infinite mercy of the universe while watching the dust motes drift across the center-court logo. Until then, let us perhaps remember to smile at one another in the concourse, keep our elbows down during box-outs, and walk gently upon the earth.