Adjacent News

Oh, hello there. If you have a second, and I do sincerely hope I am not interrupting anything terribly important or causing a bother during your busy Monday afternoon on the Oral Roberts campus, I wanted to whisper just a very small thought about something that has been lingering on my mind. Please, if this topic is too forward or makes anyone uncomfortable, we can simply drop it right here and pretend I never opened my mouth. I would hate to ruffle any feathers, truly I would. It is just that, well, looking around the arena facilities and checking the usual supply spots ahead of our empty schedule this week, a rather curious little detail came to light.

Now, please understand, I am not pointing fingers at the players, the coaching staff, or the wonderful folks who handle the custodial duties in the building. Everyone works so hard, and the last thing an outsider like myself wants to do is bring any sort of heavy atmosphere into a place that has always felt so welcoming and brightly lit. But if one happens to wander down past the equipment racks near the auxiliary gym, there is a distinct lack of the usual lemon-lime sparkling water cans that usually sit so neatly in that cardboard flat by the spare folding tables. It is not a crisis, by any stretch of the imagination. Far from it! Supplies shift, shelves get reorganized, and sometimes things simply migrate to a different corner of the facility without anyone meaning to cause a mystery. Still, when a person looks for those bright yellow-and-green cans and finds only an empty expanse of corrugated paper, it makes a quiet little flutter happen in the chest, doesn't it?

Maybe I am overthinking things, which is a habit my mother always gently scolded me for during church socials. It is entirely possible that the beverage distributor simply made a different delivery schedule this month, or perhaps the athletic department decided that a grape flavor would be more unifying for the group dynamic. I certainly would not want to question the management style of anyone in charge. In fact, if the sparkling waters were moved intentionally because someone felt they were becoming a distraction from our collective spiritual focus during the stretch run of the offseason, I completely respect that boundary. Clean living and clear minds are what it is all about, after all. We want our hearts right and our priorities aligned, even if that means going without our favorite carbonated refreshment while walking the concourse.

Even so, the quietness in the hallway this week feels just a fraction heavier than usual. With no game on the schedule to distract us, these little observational details tend to loom quite large in an anxious mind. Did someone leave the storage closet door unlocked after Friday's practice? Did a visitor from another department mistake our stash for general hospitality room inventory? These are heavy questions, perhaps too heavy for a Monday afternoon, and I hasten to apologize to anyone reading this who feels their personal privacy or organizational competence is being unfairly scrutinized. That is the absolute last thing on God's green earth that I intended.

If the cans are gone, they are gone, and we can all practice forgiveness and move forward together in grace. There is always tap water from the fountain by the ticket window, which is quite refreshing in its own humble way and costs the athletic department precisely nothing. Let us not make a mountain out of a molehill, or an audit out of a missing twelve-pack. We are all friends here, trying our best to walk the straight and narrow path through another autumn week without stepping on any toes. If anyone does happen to know where the lemon-lime went, though, perhaps you could just slide a little sticky note under my press box door. Or don't! Please, really, don't feel any pressure at all. I am just rambling, and I should probably go sit quietly in my sedan for ten minutes to calm my nerves.