Each season I look forward to football season. So call me a testosterone addled idiot. Worse, I’m a Giants fan. I have a strange relationship with this
enthusiasm. The team has always been a
strange mixture of clumsy and sad stirred in with amazing miracle workers. They seem unable to be consistently good, but
have been known to pull off impossible victories against a seeming landslide of
impossible opponents. It’s hard to watch
some of the games. Moments of victory
turn into moments of tragedy. And then
back again. It’s probably not that good
for the adrenal system. I know some
people who refuse to watch the games. I
can understand that. But Big Blue is my
team.
Such loyalty is a strange thing. But it is instructive. It allows me to understand the value of
identity more clearly. It has little or
nothing to do with success. It has more
to do with a consistency, a willingness to be faithful in the face of even embarrassing
defeat.
I would hate to be predictable. But, by claiming some bits and pieces of
reality as ours and sticking to them, we establish a home in this here and now,
which is mostly defined by change. The
question is, what bits and pieces will we choose? Some of that decision must be carefully
weighed, ethics and practicality, spiritual truths and the hope of the Kingdom
of God, not to mention how it touches the least of these are all critical. And then there’s the extra wing nut that
doesn’t seem to match the functioning of the machine. It’s part of who we are.
Call me what you will, I’ll still be a Giants fan. And someday, against impossible odds, we’ll
be stunned to watch them win another super bowl. For whatever that’s worth.
Go Big Blue!
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