Body, Soul, and Basketball
When my schedule allows, I play basketball with a group of guys over the lunch hour on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The caliber of the basketball would most certainly not be confused for that of the KU Jayhawks, or even that of KU’s intramural squads. But we set screens, cut towards the basket, and play at least a modicum of defense. Our games offer an entertaining alternative to running the treadmill and a great competitive outlet—the somewhat-civilized fight club.
The games are often a highlight of my week. I say that without any complaint about my job, which encompasses many responsibilities I enjoy. Despite my job satisfaction, my wife often chides me when my answer to “how was your day” includes references to basketball. And I can’t blame her, as there seems to be a disconnect between having a great day that includes at least eight hours of meaningful work, yet choosing to lead the story with a recap of basketball games.
The obvious answer is that lunch-hour basketball indulges an interest that gives me satisfaction. Another answer is that of camaraderie. The men who play our game are talented in their professions and offer good-natured conversation about a myriad of topics. I believe both explanations are true, but I have long thought that the afternoon game offers something more.
This idea came to mind as I was reading Michael MacCambridge’s analysis of “Federer as Religious Experience,” a David Foster Wallace exposé on Roger Federer. In his essay, Wallace briefly mentions the beauty of the human body in sport, while referencing that this is not a traditional beauty. MacCambridge then offers his comment on the writing:
There's a great deal that's bad about having a body. If this is not so obviously true that no one needs examples, we can just quickly mention pain, sores, odors, nausea, aging, gravity, sepsis, clumsiness, illness, limits — every last schism between our physical wills and our actual capacities. Can anyone doubt we need help being reconciled? Crave it? It's your body that dies, after all.
There are wonderful things about having a body, too, obviously—it's just that these things are much harder to feel and appreciate in real time. Rather like certain kinds of rare, peak experiences ("I'm so glad I have eyes to see this sunrise!" etc.), great athletes seem to catalyze our awareness of how glorious it is to touch and perceive, move through space, interact with matter. Granted, what great athletes can do with their bodies are things that the rest of us can only dream of. But these dreams are important—they make up for a lot.
I believe that MacCambridge’s words encompass the heart of joy in a basketball game. It offers the brief moment to feel your beating heart, to use your legs and arms until exertion makes the body yield. I love to win almost as much as I hate to lose, but as another birthday draws near, I am simply thankful to have a body that can move—perhaps not with the agility and power of a professional athlete, but my body works. The games I play offer a regular reminder that the body is an incredible gift meant for use and appreciation.
The next time I play basketball, I will likely take a shot that would make any of my junior-high and high-school coaches angrily yell, “nooooo!” But in the rare instance that the unexpected shot falls, it is another reminder to appreciate that the body—with every movement from head to toe—is worth celebrating.
