Adjacent News

The afternoon sun falls across the hardwood of the Mabee Center in a manner that feels remarkably intentional, though one hesitates to ascribe too much cosmic weight to the way dust motes settle near the scorers' table. It is October, which means the season has not yet begun, leaving the arena in a state of suspended anticipation that some might find peaceful and others might find slightly nerve-wracking if they worry about whether the floor is swept properly. Down on the court, members of the Oral Roberts Golden Eagles are going through voluntary workouts, exchanging quiet passes under the watchful eyes of assistants who look like they would apologize to the basketball for bouncing it too hard. There is an inherent vulnerability in the way a college basketball player approaches an open jumper in an empty gym. It is just a young man, a sphere of orange leather, and an iron rim, yet it carries the invisible weight of every expectation whispered in campus dining halls. One player in particular, whose name we perhaps need not repeat aloud lest it draw undue attention to his personal free-throw percentage, has been working on his footwork with a diligence that borders on the devotional. He catches the pass, squares his shoulders, and elevates with a quiet grace that suggests he is trying very hard not to bother anyone in the tenth row. When the ball rattles out—as basketballs sometimes do when the universe wishes to test our collective patience—he does not curse or slam his fist against the padding. He simply retrieves the rebound with a soft sigh, offering a tiny, self-effacing nod to the empty rows as if to say he is terribly sorry for missing and will try to be much better coordinated the next time the opportunity presents itself. It is difficult not to project a certain spiritual anxiety onto these quiet autumn afternoons. One wonders if a botched defensive slide or a missed box-out is merely a lapse in fundamental positioning, or if it is perhaps a gentle reminder from above that we should all spend a little more time working on our weak-side help. The coaching staff stands near half-court, speaking in hushed tones that barely carry past the three-point arc, as if raising their voices might disturb the gentle equilibrium of the campus. It is a noble way to live, though one sometimes worries that the sheer politeness of it all might lead to giving up too many offensive rebounds on the baseline. Still, as the afternoon practice winds down and the custodians begin pushing their large gray bins across the concourse, there is a comforting sense of routine to the proceedings. If it is not too much trouble, and only if everyone on the athletic committee feels entirely comfortable with the suggestion, perhaps we could all take just three very small minutes before the next scrimmage to pause in the corner of the lobby and reflect quietly on our respective zone-defense assignments, with absolutely no pressure whatsoever, and only if nobody's schedule is disrupted in the slightest.