Ocular Fusion

When I woke up yesterday morning, I was just regular "Mike the Eyeguy." But then I went and wrote a post on Nancy Grace and the Church of Christ, grabbed my cuppa morning Joe, and settled into my usual rut and routine, expecting just another typical day.

Soon massive internet search engines kicked in, sorting through the roiling blogosphere for terms such as "Winkler," "Nancy Grace and the Church of Christ," "Church of Christ cult," and "Rube Shelly, psychology." By the dozens, they treked to my humble "basketball and life blog" which on a good day receives around 50 "hits," just enough to maintain a modicum of respectability and convince me that I'm not completely wasting my time.

But then I hit the motherlode. My playful jab at Ms. Grace was picked up and linked at "The All Spin Zone--Progressive Politics Writ Large" and at that point my stat counter went through the proverbial roof.

That site is run by a dentist (I kid you not) who felt that my post and others by Church of Christ members who took exception to Ms. Grace's antics were a sure sign that we had "gone ballistic" to the point that the entire Winkler family would be left all alone on the mourner's bench while the Church of Christ Nation marched on Atlanta and raided the offices of CNN, commando style.

I tried to assuage his fears in the comment section by telling him, that yeah, we're sounding off a bit (and that we're far from perfect), but, no, the Winkler family will not be left alone and in fact will continued to be "surrounded by prayer" and assistance for as long as it takes. I hope that helped.

Regardless, by the end of the day, after receiving more visitors to my site than ever before, I felt that I had been transformed from Mike the Eyeguy, college basketball pundit wannabe, to Dr. Eyeguy, Culture Warrior.

Personally, I would much rather get back to basketball. But I have always preached that Christians should seek out winsome and intelligent ways to engage the issues being debated in the public square and this seemed like a good time to try to put that into action.

As I told the SpinDentist, when "there are 'untrue assertions' being made, the public square is open to all (including Christians) to step up and attempt to set the record straight." I went on to say that "practicing discernment and debating in the marketplace of ideas are tricky at best, and none of us do it perfectly." That includes me of course, and I'm sure there are many Christians and non-Christians alike who feel that using a dash of humor and a pinch of sarcasm in order to write "for effect" is unseemly behavior for someone who claims to follow Christ.

I respect that opinion and recognize its merits. I also seem to recall a few episodes in the lives of Jesus and St. Paul when they spoke forthrightly to their opponents and were not above a snarky comment or two. A few hundred years before their time, there was another Preacher who, after looking around a bit, observed that "there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." He goes on to list such opposites as as "tearing down" and "building up," all of which have their place depending on the circumstances. Although they appear to be contradictory, together they make for a paradoxically balanced life in all its well-roundedness and complexity.

There may be a time and a place for a Christian to enter the public square and get into a scrap or two. But it should never be done so much that it becomes our trademark (and I fear too often it is). And never, under any circumstances, should it be done with a sneer or a scowl. If you're going to "fight," be a happy culture warrior, one who has a wry smile on his face and a song (and prayer) in her heart.

So there it is, my moment in the sun as a culture warrior--such as it is. Does anyone know what time the Final Four tips off?

The Church of Christ blogosphere has been abuzz the past week since one its own ministers, Matthew Winkler, was tragically shotgunned in the back by his wife in Selmer, Tennessee. She has confessed to the crime and a motive, but so far only authorities close to the case know what she said and to date they haven't shared that information with the rest of the world.

Of course, that doesn't prevent folks from speculating on the "why" (after all, these things must make sense, right?) and everyone from the greeter at Wal-Mart to such paragons of journalistic excellence and integrity as Nancy Grace has their own theory. Personally, I'll go with the greeter at Wal-Mart after watching Nancy Grace's spasmodic prancing and preening on CNN last night. You see, Ms. Grace has uncovered the titillating tidbit that is the lynchpin to this investigation--the Church of Christ is a cult and Mary Winkler is its mind-numbed pawn.

How this "fact" escaped the attention of authorities in Selmer is beyond me, but thank God Nancy is around to help move things along. Nancy featured a Baptist preacher on her show a couple of nights ago who indicated that yes, indeed, the Church of Christ does have "cult-like" characteristics, and Nancy left hanging in the air the insinuation that this somehow played into the tragic events in Selmer. Last night she had another Baptist, Dr. Bob Jones (president of fundamentalist Bob Jones University), who to his credit refused to label the Church of Christ a cult, although he did take the opportunity to say that he believed that some Church of Christ beliefs and practices are "unbiblical."

Enter our own champion and spokesperson, Dr. Rubel Shelly. Our family knows Rubel from our days in Nashville in the early 90s when he was the pulpit minister at the Woodmont Hills Church of Christ (he is now a professor of religion at Rochester College in Michigan). Rubel has a PhD in philosophy from Vanderbilt and is an intellectual stalwart and if anybody could give Nancy a run for her money, surely it would be him.

If he could get a word in edgewise, that is. Try as he might, he was able to do relatively little of that as Ms. Grace, her mind apparently made up before the fact that Rubel was the epitome of the stereotypical knuckle-dragging, wife-beating fundamentalist, dismissed him for the most part with the wave of the hand and a roll of the eyes. The transcript of the show can be found here, and an excellent analysis of the "inquisition" here.

One person whom she could not control as well was Mary Winkler's lawyer, Steve Farese. Mr. Farese is a dapper Southern gentleman with an interminable drawl who appears to be a barrister who just stepped from the pages of a John Grisham novel. Don't let the drawl and Southern vernacular fool you--this guy's got an assortment of long knives tucked away in that silk blazer of his and he knows how to use them. After watching him for a few minutes, I was convinced that if I ever got into a heap of trouble anywhere below the Mason-Dixon line, that he would be the "go-to-guy" of choice.

As to the charge of the Church of Christ being a cult, as a lifelong member I can say that yes, I have met a few of my brethren who were a bit controlling and walked around with a zombie-like stare and their arms rigidly extended looking for someone to choke. And yes, if you check the typical Church of Christ pantry, you'll find an ample supply of Kool-Aid, but I assure you that we only buy that in bulk from Sam's Club for the sole purpose of Vacation Bible School each summer.

The fact of the matter is that for the most part, we in the Church of Christ do much more good than harm (witness the grace-filled behavior of the Selmer brethren toward the accused murderer) and are much too loosely organized and disagreeable with each other to ever truly qualify as a cult. We can't even agree on one-cup versus many cups for communion or whether or not we should have paved parking lots--what chance do we possibly have of ever agreeing on who should be our "Grand and Glorified Leader?"

One thing folks in the Church of Christ will find themselves agreeing on in the next few days is that Nancy Grace is the epitome of a yellow journalism hack and a certifiable spaz. My three sons were howling in laughter at certain points in the show, and Number One commented, "She has way too many people on at once to ever discuss anything in a serious way."

Nice observation, Number One. CNN should be renamed ADDN (Attention Deficit Disorder Network). Nancy dear, I just have one word for you--Ritalin.

A while back in my post Hey Nike, I'm Your Man!, I made the case that large megacorporations such as the Winged Goddess of Victory should take a look at "Average Joes" (such as yours truly) instead of professional athletes when it comes to endorsements and ad campaigns. What better way to connect with the Common Man or Woman than to feature one of their own, struggling to balance their mundane, workaday duties with the ongoing obligation to fitness and athletic achievement?

Well, Nike still hasn't called me to endorse the Air Max 360, but apparently somebody's been reading my blog! USA Today reports this morning on the growing trend among corporations to seek out the input of average consumers in their ad campaigns, even to the point of featuring actual commercials created by Average Joes and Janes. And here's the kicker: they're paying people, sometimes as much as $10,000, if their ads are chosen!

So where do I go from here? Well, certainly my original idea of a middle-age jogger such as myself beating a Cold War Era Soviet Olympian in a foot race while my friends and neighbors cheer me on and shout "USA, USA" is one that has, well, legs. But my recent one-on-one "Duke vs. UConn" basketball grudge match with Number Three Son at the local Y has given birth to another idea that will no doubt be a slam dunk.

Picture this: a graying man with a receding hairline and the earliest signs of middle-age paunch is wearing a Duke ACC Championship Locker Room Tee (the only championship tee that he will purchasing this year, by the way) as he takes the court against a lean and mean 13-year-old wearing a UConn practice jersey. For the first few minutes, the 13-year-old eats his Old Man's lunch, leading the aging weekend warrior to call a timeout, even though everyone knows there aren't supposed to be any timeouts in one-on-one.

While taking a couple of hits off his inhaler and a draw or two from his oxygen tank, the Dookie wannabe looks up and notices Michael Jordan, who is in town for a benefit golf tournament and poker match, looking on in omniscient bemusement. He just happens to have the latest version of the Air Jordan MDCXVIII in a size 9.5 on his person and tosses them to the sweating, heaving hoary hoopster.

With the 13-year-old taunting his father mercilessly, the momentum of the game suddenly shifts. The Old Man is now throwing down reverse 360 jams, rainbow treys, and short fade away jumpers as the stunned son looks on helplessly. On defense, he is no less a terror as he makes his bulky presence felt in the paint and cloud dances above the rim, packing shot after shot. The Old Man then launches his wide body from the free throw line and rises like a Saturn rocket, finishing off the young Huskie rep with the business end of a rim-rattling tomahawk dunk--just like Dick Vitale in those pizza commercials.

If that doesn't get Nike's attention, nothing will. Hey Nike, I'm telling you again--Average Joes are cool!

When that "Other George" sliced through Michigan State and North Carolina--two members of last year's Final Four--in the first two rounds of the NCAA Men's basketball tournament, my first thought was: Oh, isn't that cute. Every March Madness has its Cinderella knocking at the door of the ball, but usually by the time the regional finals are over, she's lost her slipper and gone quietly into that good night.

Someone forgot to share that script with the "Other George"--that's Mason, M-A-S-O-N. In perhaps the most improbable run in tournament history, the George Mason Patriots have played through to the Final Four, yesterday dispatching everyone's bracket heavyweight the UConn Huskies 86-84 in overtime (with North Carolina, that now makes the last two national champions they have taken down). At a #11 seed in their region, GMU is the lowest ranked team to reach the Final Four since 1986 P.S.E. (Pre-Shaq Era) when LSU (also a #11 at the time) crashed The Dance under Dale Brown. They are the lowest profile team to make the Final Four since Indiana State and Penn made the scene in 1979, back when the Birdman was still "The Hick from French Lick" and real men wore their shorts "high and tight."

This also makes the first time since 1980 that no #1 seeds will be in the Final Four. While this is small consolation for Duke fans such as myself, there is a certain degree of satisfaction in seeing the Huskies sent home, along with Villanova and Memphis--at least my boys weren't the only ones who succumbed to upsets and the crushing weight of today's media hype and inflated expectations.

The Patriots and their charismatic coach Jim Larranaga on the other hand are as loose as a goose in a noose. They have players who cut up and sing during warm-ups and a coach whose trademark phrase is "Are we having fun yet?" Larranaga grabs the attention of his players with a shrill whistle which pierces the din of the crowd like a shepherd calling his sheep. They are clearly relishing their underdog role and screenwriters and authors are licking their chops at the prospect of telling the story of yet another David vs. Goliath, this time writ large across the expansive domain of the Hoosier Dome in downtown Indianapolis.

This year's March UberMadness has furthermore mangled the brackets and egos of would-be pundits and Packer wannabes across the land, including the Ocular Fusion Gang. There's not much to say here, other than none of us did very well and as leader of The Gang, I was the worst of the worst. Here are the current standings:

1. Number One Son 70 pts. 38 correct 70 max pts.
2. jasonbybee 64.5 35 correct 64.5 max pts.
3. itakeupspace 64 36 correct 76 max pts
4. House of Orange 62 36 correct 62 max pts
5. Number Three 57.5 34 correct 57.5 max pts
6. Mike the Eyeguy 50.5 32 correct 50.5 max pts

About the only drama left here is to see whether UCLA wins its semifinal game vs. LSU. If they do, then itakeupspace will overtake Number One for the "championship," so to speak. If not, then Number One Son will remain on top by virtue of his early round upset picks.

One person who is breathing a sigh of relief this morning is Number Three Son. Since the traitor's pick to win it all, UConn, was sent packing, that means I will spare you all the excruciating details of our one-on-one "Duke vs. UConn" grudge match which took place the other day at the Southeast YMCA in Huntsville. Suffice it to say, the old man's still got a little game left, if not a decent pair of lungs and legs. There have already been calls for a rematch--I'll be happy to grant that request as soon as my doctor allows me to check out of the hospital.

I think it's fair to assume that unless one is a diehard fan of one of the other Final Four teams, that most other noncommitted observers will latch on to the George Mason bandwagon and root for the underdog to pull off the Mother of All Upsets next weekend. This leads me to ask the question: why do we naturally pull for the upstart over the tried and true? What deep needs are being met by our affinity for the Cinderellas and Rockys in our midst?

I have my own ideas, but I'd be interested in hearing yours as well. In the meantime, work hard this week, thank your Creator for your moment in the sun and have a little fun--Coach Larranaga would certainly approve.

I hate basketball. In fact, I hate basketball so much that I've decided to join forces with these guys.

No, not really. But it's easy to see how I would feel that way after watching my Dookies bite the dust this week. If that weren't enough bad news, along comes an email in my box reminding me that the Ocular Fusion Gang basketball bracket standings have been updated. In the interest of full public disclosure, here are the current results:

Rank Atl Oak Was Min Pts No. Right
1 Number One Son Duke Gonzaga UConn BC 70 38
2 Number Three Son Duke Memphis UConn Ohio St 57.5 34
3 Itakeupspace Duke UCLA UConn Ohio St 55.5 35
4 jasonbybee Duke Kansas UConn Florida 55.5 34
5 House of Orange Duke UCLA UConn Villanova 53.5 35
6 Mike the Eyeguy Duke Gonzaga UConn BC 50.5 32

As you can see, by bracket is a train wreck and I am the mangled caboose. Why couldn't I have shown the Memphis Tigers a little more love? Why didn't I just go with my gut and pick Florida even though I can't stand the Gators? All the pundits said Villanova was the real thing, why didn't I listen? Why didn't I see George Mason coming? What am I, blind?

These and other questions are torturing me this morning as I gaze upon the smoldering shreds of my respectability and credibility and find myself facing the high probability of finishing dead last in my own pool. I have no Final Four picks remaining except UConn and everyone has picked the Huskies to make it that far and some have picked them to win. One of those is Number Three son, the traitor. Not only is he lurking around with a good chance to overtake Number One Son if UConn wins the title, we will all never hear the end of it if he does. So, for that reason, I hereby declare that in the short term my favorite team is whoever is playing UConn at the moment.

As for an overall favorite, I hereby declare that even though it won't affect my place in the standings and may in fact have the undesirable effect of aiding Number Three, my favorite team for the balance of this season and my pick to win it all is...the Memphis Tigers. In doing so, I apologize to Coach Calipari and his young crew because I have no doubt just sealed their doom.

If Number Three does win the pool, I'm ready. You see, I have a "little dirt" on him, and if UConn wins it all, I have no qualms about "going nuclear" and spreading it around. In fact, even if UConn doesn't win it all, I'm cranky enough that I may just tell all anyway.

I may be a little middle-aged and a terrible college hoops prognosticator, but I still "got game," along with a few long knives tucked away in various places.

"Let me just say first of all, it was a very physical game...we just never adjusted to their physicality."--Duke Coach Mike Krzyzewski following the Blue Devils loss to LSU

"Certain things are in your control and certain things are out of your control. I'm not a great athlete, and LSU has great athletes."--J.J. Redick in a postgame interview

Both Coach K and J.J. Redick, stunned following the Blue Devils 62-54 loss to LSU in last night's Atlanta regional semifinal, are speaking in code. Coach K and J.J. are much too classy to just lay it all out there, but I'm not Coach K or J.J. and I can say whatever I want since nobody cares what I think anyway, so allow me to translate:

Coack K: "Those guys were all over Shelden and J.J. like cats on a June Bug. In fact, Garrett Temple spent so much time holding J.J.'s hands that I could have swore he was J.J.'s prom date except for the fact that that he wasn't wearing a tuxedo. Unfortunately, once again we had the bad luck of drawing Bruce 'Dang it, where did I put my glasses again?' Hicks who, by the time he drags his aging carcass to the other end of the floor, doesn't have enough oxygen left to blow his whistle. Hey, but even when we did get open looks, we missed them, and although Shelden was magnificent, there was no one else stepping up to pick up the slack. Bottom line, we got beat by a very good team (not great, as will be proven in their loss to Texas in the next game) and we're going home. But you're not done with me, because you'll be watching my commericals all the way to Indianapolis--Ha!"

Redick: "I can shoot the lights out with only a fraction of available time and space, but tonight I had the leanest, meanest black dude that I've seen all season covering me. Dang, that was one quick brother! And then there was that other dude (Tyrus Thomas) who I could have swore had springs in his shoes considering how many shots he packed and alley-oops he intercepted."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not black and only 6'4", which means that I can barely dunk and was no match for this guy's "athleticism." Yeah, it cuts like a knife, and yeah, people will say I "choke" in the big games because I never won a title, but just let anyone of those naysaying jerks get their fat, middle-age arses out on the floor and try to do what I did over the past four years and then come back and talk smack to me. I know all the Duke Haters wanted me to start crying, and yeah, I got a little teary, but I kept up a stiff upper lip and shook everyone's hand like a classy guy should without giving my many enemies the satisfaction of seeing me lie down on the floor and pull my jersey over my head and cry like a baby as Adam Morrison did (poor guy, I know that had to hurt)."

"In a few months, I'll have a wheelbarrel full of records and personal honors, a Duke degree and a multimillion dollar NBA contract in hand. After that, I'll be able to spend the next decade raining down my patented treys all across this great country of ours because I guarantee you I'll never see defense like that in the NBA! Believe me, it could be worse."

Credit LSU with doing what no other team in the country has been able to do this year--solve the J.J. problem. And that, simply put, was the difference in the game. LSU employed a strategy that many soccer teams use when facing a high scoring, superior opponent--expend every ounce of energy on containing their biggest gun and pack it all in on defense in order to keep the score low and hope for just enough scoring opportunities of your own to squeak by.

LSU employed this strategy to perfection, taking Redick out of the game, so much so that even when he did get a rare open look he wasn't able to find the bottom of the net most of the time. Shelden carried the Dookies on his broad shoulders, but freshmen McRoberts and Paulus just weren't able to provide the necessary supplemental assistance to pull Duke through. And there was also the mysterious absence of both Sean Dockery and Lee Melchioni (come on boys, the two of you couldn't combine for nine measly points?) from the scoring column, with Dockery in particular passing up several open looks in the first few minutes of the game, earning him a quick trip to the bench. Add it all up and it comes to a trip home to Durham for the Dookies and a relatively easy waltz into the Final Four for the Texas Longhorns.

With Duke shooting a paltry 27.7% FG percentage for the game, a great team such as Memphis, Villanova or UConn would have put the Dookies away by 30-40 pts. The Bengal Tigers barely had enough to win, shooting only 39% from the field and less than 50% from the free throw stripe and were very careless in their ballhandling, none of which bodes well for an upset of Texas. Now that I've had the benefit of seeing who's hot and who's not, I would have to pick the Memphis Tigers at this point. I like their depth, balance and, ahem, "athleticism," and John Calipari is a great coach who is overdue for a title. There's still some great action and heartbreaking moments ahead and I'm predicting a typical Final Four photofinish.

As for my Dookies, their lack of balance and depth caught up with them in the end, but it may turn out that the nucleus of another championship team has already been formed in Durham, even with the disappointing finish. McRoberts and Paulus, who will be very "old" sophomores next year after their freshman-year baptism of fire, will be joined by yet another Blue Chip recruiting class. It probably won't happen next year, but in two years, after Boykin, Pocius, Boateng and the new recruits have developed as players, a team very similar in depth and appearance to the 2001 National Champions will have emerged. Still, I can't help but wistfully dream of "what might have been" this year had Luol Deng stayed at Duke (he would have been only a junior this year) and had Shaun Livingston not gone directly to the NBA from high school...

Yeah, I'm feeling a little Blue Devil blue this morning, but it's a pretty day outside and I have the day off. Like J.J. says, it could be worse.

If anyone showed up at my church last night thinking that there might be a little "praying and praising" going inside, they received a rude awakening when they were greeted by this sign. Who needs a funny church sign generator when you have the real thing right there in front of you?

OK, by way of explanation, "Praise and Prayer" is the name of our upbeat Wednesday night "Peak of the Week" style devotional designed to recharge our spiritual batteries so that we can run (not walk or crawl) past "Hump Day" and on through the rest of the work week. This week, area schools are on Spring Break and many folks are out of town, ergo, no quorum for "praising and praying." Still, you have to admit that this is at least as funny as some of these "Bulletin Bloopers."

I bet some of you have some stories to tell when it comes to inadvertantly funny church signs, bulletin blunders, and sermon slips-of-the-tongue. Let's stir up a little "holy laughter"--after all, it is "good for the soul."

"A cheerful heart is good medicine,
but a crushed spirit dries up the bones."
--Proverbs 17:22

Do you find yourself drumming your fingers as your computer ever so sloooowly grinds and cranks along like a freshly-salted slug on a sunny, Sunday afternoon? When you sit down for an online session, do you hear menacing noises rising forth from the bowels of your desktop? When you have friends over and one of them asks to look up something on the internet, does your web browser, which lately has had a mind of its own, take them, totally unprompted, to www.niceandnakedgirls.com?

If so, then your computer may have been hijacked by the latest breed of nasty virus, adware or spyware. My computer guru Ed has recently written Part 4 to his series "Practicing Safe Surfing," and it's chock full of helpful hints on how to disinfect your hard drive so that you control your computer and not some pimply-faced geek in Indonesia with too much time on his hands. I've had a couple of bad infections over the past year (there, I'm not too proud to admit it) and the techniques Ed writes about really do work (although, as he says, you may have to repeat these a few times to get rid of the pesky bugs).

The internet is an incredible communication tool, but there are many thugs and hoodlums hanging out in the shadowy grottos of the information superhighway just waiting for a chance to mug you and make your journey a little more miserable. Caution and preparedness are the bywords for the smart and savvy web traveler, and Computer Ed is just the guide to insure you of an uneventful journey.

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." Romans 1:20

For many years, physicists and astonomers have speculated that the universe experienced a cataclysmic birth and expanded very rapidly in the first moments of its existence. New data supporting the long held notions of a "Big Bang" and "Inflation Theory" has recently emerged from NASA's Wilkinson Microwave Anisotropy Probe (WMAP). Using words such as "stunning," "spectacular" and "amazing," astrophysicists have been waxing eloquently about these latest findings which demonstrate that the universe grew from the size of a marble to billions of light years across within a trillionth of a second.

USA Today recently headlined these findings as "Big Bang Unfolded In The Blink Of An Eye." Well, I hate to get picky, but a blink of an eye is on average about 300 to 400 milliseconds, which is a veritable tortoise compared to the Big Bang's hare. Still, the headline makes the point that it all happened, well, pretty darn fast!

Of course, all this begs the question of how this 13.7 billion light year sized elephant got into our living room in the first place. In other words, what force, or person, stood outside the embryonic, marble-sized universe and gave it the necessary "shove?" For Christians and other persons of faith, a "Prime Mover" is not too much of a stretch. Judging from the increasing number of astrophysicists who have converted to the Christian faith over the past few years, many of them are reaching the same conclusion.

One scientist is quoted in the article as saying, "We, and all we can see, are at most a tiny dot in an unimaginably large sea of space and time." A few years ago, I recall watching the movie version of Carl Sagan's novel "Contact." I always refer to that movie as Sagan's "Ode To Little Green Men." As it turns out, one of the most well-known and outspoken proponents of evolutionary theory and philosophical materialism "blinked" when it came to the notion that life on earth evolved without any "outside" assistance. Rather than allowing for the possibility that the a supernatural Judeo-Christian God may have had a hand in the process, Sagan defaulted to "under the sun" alien life as the intelligent source of the blueprint which started it all. In that movie, Jodie Foster's character Ellie responds to the question of whether we are "the only ones" in the universe. She replies, "If it is just us, it's an awful waste of space."

These latest findings affirm for me that there may be an alternative answer to that question. Rather than an "awful waste of space" as Ellie contended, perhaps what we are witnessing and experiencing is a most meticulous--and loving--use of space.

"By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things which are visible." Hebrews 11:3

As Duke dismantled GW in the second round of the NCAA tournament on Saturday, it really didn't take a rocket scientist (and believe me, in Huntsville those guys and gals are a dime a dozen) to figure out that the initials stood for that "Famous George" who helped found our nation and chopped down the cherry tree (although his descendents still insist he was framed).

However, that "Other George," was a little more difficult to place. George Mason is one of those guys who you know did something that you're supposed to remember, but you just can't for the life of you recall what it was. Chances are the masses will continue to live in ignorance of the fact that, along with James Madison (you do remember him don't you?), Mason was responsible for tacking the Bill of Rights (the first ten amendments) onto the U.S. Constitution.

Instead, they will most likely remember that the "Other George" was the one whose name was tacked onto that large, commuter school (29,600 students) in Northern Virginia--you know, the one who dismissed sixth seed Michigan State and the three seed and defending National Champion North Carolina Tar Heels from the 2006 NCAA mens basketball tournament.

The Tar Heel Nation is a little deeper shade of blue this morning, and the rest of the nation is now left to contemplate how a team with the nickname "The Patriots" ended up with green and gold uniforms. Moreover, how did George Mason, a member of the Colonial Athletic Association (read: minor league), manage to knock off two perennial powerhouses and members of last year's Final Four?

A week ago, the Billy Packer and the rest of the college basketball chattering class were lamenting the presence of mid-major reps such as George Mason, Bradley (Slayer of Jayhawks) and Wichita State (Shocker of Vols). This week, all eyes are focused on these three unlikely upstarts who have crashed this year's Sweet Sixteen party, joining all four #1 seeds in the regional showdowns leading up to the final stop in Indianapolis. Ohio State, a #2 seed, also fell to another DC area team, Georgetown (there's that name again--curious indeed). The Founding Fathers must be rolling over in their graves, delighted that someone will finally remember their names, if not their accomplishments.

As for the Ocular Fusion Gang pool, there was a bit of reshuffling in the standings as the tournament progressed, just as I predicted Friday morning (one of the few predictions I got right):

1. Number One Son, 58 pts, 35 correct
2. Mike the Eyeguy, 46.5 pts, 31 correct
3. Itakeupspace, 43.5 pts, 32 correct
4. House of Orange, 41.5 pts. 32 correct
5. Number Three Son, 41.5 pts, 30 correct
6. Jason the Youth Minister, 39.5, 30 correct

I should have warned you that Number One Son is a pretty smart cookie (or else, full of dumb luck). Not only did he get the most correct, but he also had the knack for picking the upsets, and as a result has put some distance between himself and the rest of the field. My first round upset picks and my affinity for Georgetown and their bopping of the Buckeyes has kept me in second after spending most of the weekend in third place. Everybody's bracket looks like a sea of red, though, as Kansas, UNC-Chapel Hill, Ohio State and Tennessee all fell unexpectingly to lower seeded teams. But that's what makes this tournament so great. March Madness is (as Forrest Gump would say) "like a box of chocolates"--you never know what you're going to get.

Apparently this year, among the surprising morsels, is a much needed review of early U.S. history.

That question came to mind recently as I read Bill Gnade's piercing Lenten reflection "A Eucharistic Chore, Trash Bags in Hand."

Bill's metaphorical montage serves to put mundane matters such as March Madness in their proper place--far behind getting right with God and cleaning out the spoilage and rot tucked away in the recesses of my soul.

Like Bill, I need to check the mental fridge and do a little spring cleaning. Unlike Bill, I'm afraid I may lack the courage to open the door and look inside.

Happy St. Patrick's Day and top of the morning to all of ye, whether ye bleed green or not. I've always wanted to be more Irish than what I am since things Celtic are viewed by many to be quirky, cool and hip. I have a pretty boring Anglo surname that doesn't evoke too many images of ethnicity. But on this day I'm thankful for the McGuire and Pasley blood which runs through my veins since that lends me license to lay claim to an Irish heritage and, like a wee leprechaun, to enjoy the day's mischievous festivities along with the O'Connors, O'Sullivans and O'Rourkes.

O' darn. I don't think I have a single green item to wear to work today. Some Irishman I am...

St. Patrick's Day also doubles as my mother's birthday. We have a little tradition to mark the occasion--I call her and say, "Happy St. Patrick's Day....oh, and what other day was it again?" She knows what's coming, but always laughs anyway like a good mom should. Although it's too lengthy to go into at the moment, suffice to say that having Mom around for yet another birthday is further evidence that miracles didn't end with the close of the Apostolic Age.

Some of you know her or her story and may have heard me refer to her affectionately as my "Hard Ass Momma." If you do, then you also know that I'm speaking out of admiration and reverence for her durability, not disrespect. For those of you who don't know her, the short version is she's had so many brushes with death over the years and survived that the Grim Reaper was rumored to be considering a career change. I just hope when it all hits the fan healthwise for me, as it surely will, that I will find that she passed on a few of those "hard hiney" genes to me.

In any case, Happy St. Patrick's Day Mom...oh, and Happy Birthday too!

This year, St. Patrick's Day also marks the second batch of opening round games of March Madness. For the most part, things went as expected yesterday with a few exceptions: UW-Milwaukee over the Sooners (got that one), Montana defeating Nevada (missed it) and Texas A&M over Syracuse (missed that one too, but probably should have seen it coming). The Vols went to the wire against 15th seed Winthrop and BC had to go to 2 overtimes to finish off Pacific, thereby averting two major upsets on opening day.

My Dookies played a little sloppy at times, but took care of business against a scrappy Southern team. Shelden and J.J. were great, like All-Americans should be, and Paulus and McRoberts looked a little wide-eyed and overwhelmed at times in their first NCAA tournament games. Since Duke only won by 16 points, expect the pundits and talking heads to prattle on all day long about a stunning GW upset in the second round.

As for the Ocular Fusion Gang Pool, here are the results after Day One:

1. Mike the Eyeguy, 17 pts, 13 correct
2. Number One Son, 16 pts, 11 correct
3. Itakeupspace, 13.5 pts, 12 correct
4. House of Orange, 12 pts, 12 correct
5. Number Three Son, 10 pts, 10 correct
6. jasonbybee, 9 pts, 9 correct

I received extra points for correctly calling UW-Milwaukee over OU and Alabama over Marquette. But we still have a long way to go, so expect some shuffling in the standings by this time tomorrow as Day Two holds the promise of some very intriguing matchups and possible upsets.

That's all for today, on this St. Patrick's Day/Mom's Birthday/March Madness Day Two. If you'll excuse me now, I've got to go rummage through my closet and drawers for something green to wear.

The clock is ticking and you have until 11:00AM CST to enter the "Ocular Fusion Gang" pool at USA Today's March Mania. The details on how to enter can be found here. So far, there's only me, Number One and Number Three sons, and some person named "House of Orange." I only know two people in my circle who would use such a moniker--Jason the Youth Minister and Jason the GynGuy, my brother-in-law. I'm not sure which one it is, but welcome nevertheless.

I've got news for you though. The Vols are overranked at a #2 seed, but I do have them making the Sweet 16 and falling to the team whose name we dare not speak (although I promise I will not be disappointed if the Big Orange prevails against the lads in those prissy, powder blue uniforms). You probably know that already, but you may have them going to the Final Four, and if so, that's perfectly ok--loyalty is a rare and valued commodity these days. More on that subject a little later...

Number Two son is out of pocket this week attending some kind of goverment camp (think Boys State) in Montgomery. He didn't have time to fill out a bracket before he left, but judging from the new Vols sweatshirts and t-shirts he picked up last week, I know where his heart lies. I'm not sure what he's doing down there, but he did call yesterday and told Eyegal that he was on his way to the capital for a meeting and didn't have much time to talk, but just called to say he was having a good time and that he loved her. This led me to think--is he in charge down there? If so, he might be an improvement over what we already have.

I have a feeling that Number Two's first act as governor of Alabama would be to have the state annexed by our northernly neighbor and to replace the St. Andrew's cross with the Tennessee State Flag. That would probably be followed by a move to play "Rocky Top" at all Crimson Tide home games. On second thought, he'd probably be impeached (or worse) before that would ever happen.

Watching Number Two parade around in his new Vols shirt reminded me that the Dookies in our house needed new tees for the tourney. Number One, who has converted completely to the Duke Way (and who has Duke winning it all--what a good boy!) has been rewarded with a new "Cameron Crazie" shirt. Number Three and I are still waiting for our 2006 ACC Championship Locker Room tees to arrive, but hopefully they'll be here by the second round on Saturday.

I've been listening to the pundits over the past few days, and almost to a man they have Duke losing to Texas in the regional final. Now that could possibly happen, but on what basis, pray tell, do they speak so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion? Has Duke become that much worse and Texas that much better since the Blue Devils hooked the Horns 97-66 in early December? No, I don't think so. If I didn't know better, I would swear that there are many who are discreetly (and not so discreetly) hoping that Duke will lose. This world can be a really messed up place sometimes.

Which brings me to my final point. It turns out that Number Three son has been listening to a little too much ESPN lately and has picked UConn over Duke in the final. To make matters worse, he even admitted to me last night that he almost picked #16 seed Southern over Duke in the first round (but then you picked them to go to the final? Okaaaaay...). The news shook me to the core, considering how the two of us have celebrated and rattled the rafters together during many Duke victories this year.

Et tu, Number Three?

I know, he's just going with his head instead of his heart, and I'm having a little fun giving him a hard time about it. But March Madness is about passion and loyalty--not coming out on top in some stupid pool. I think there's a lesson in all this somewhere. I just hope that it'll be Number Three who'll get schooled and not me.

And after Duke emerges from the fray on top next month, we'll just have to see if the traitor in our midst will be getting a National Championship Locker Room tee!

Bodily exercise profits a little, but godliness is profitable for all things. I Timothy 4:8

As you can see from the update at the bottom of my previous post, Lipscomb came up short in their game against UTEP in the first round of the NIT in El Paso last night. Nothing to be ashamed of there, though, as the Bisons still had a great year and their first invitation to a D-I post-season. I'm wondering how many of those visiting teams who had to make long road trips to play in the first round won their games last night? Chances are, few if any.

It seems I was right about David Lipscomb's attitude toward sports. Wikipedia, that "unimpeachable source" of everything under the sun, says this about Lipscomb:

"Lipscomb was also a pacifist. He did not believe in the use of violence for any reason (He was for this reason totally opposed to American football)."

It's probably not too much of a stretch to conclude that Lipscomb would have also been opposed to a hard slide into second and a body bruising intentional foul under the basket.

To be fair, it's worth noting that Lipscomb lived through a bloody war and an occupation of his hometown that most of us have not. That fact, coupled with his Anabaptist roots, no doubt helped shape his pacifism and self-imposed estrangement from other worldly concerns such as sports and entertainment.

It's also worth noting that in doing so, Lipscomb was merely following the example of most of the early church fathers who almost unaminously were opposed to military service, drama, entertainment, sports and sex (although most begrudgingly allowed for the latter in the context of marriage for the purpose of procreation). Here is a sample of some of their thoughts on sports:

"How idle are the contests themselves: strifes in colors, contentions in races, acclamations in mere questions of honor, rejoicing because a horse has been faster, grieving because it was more sluggish, reckoning up the years of the animals, knowing the consuls, learning their ages, tracing their breeds, recording their very grandsires and great-grandsires!" --Novatian, c. 235 CE

If I didn't know better, I would swear that he had read this. Good thing I'm off the hook since he was only talking about horse racing.

Here's another:

"You will never give your approval to those foolish racing and throwing feats, and yet more foolish leapings. You will never find pleasure in injurious or useless exhibitions of strength. Certainly you will never regard with approval the strivings after an artificial body that aim at surpassing the Creator's work...and the wrestler's art is a devil's thing." Tertullian, c. 197 CE

Keep in mind Tertullian was a real sourpuss. I'm sure he did some good things, but he also had a very low opinion of wives and sex, two things, that after 20 years of marriage, I'm happy to report I still value very highly. What does he know anyway, the old Montanist?! I have to admit, though, he sure nailed Barry Bonds.

Yet another:

"Those who come for the sake of beholding the spectacle actually display more of a spectacle themselves. I am referring to when they begin to shout...and to leap from their seats..." Lactantius, c. 304-313 CE

Sounds like somebody's been peeking through my window during a Duke game. I bet Lactantius wouldn't think too much of these guys.

Finally, a voice of reason crying forth in the wilderness:

"For men to prefer gymnastic exercises to the baths is perhaps not bad. For such exercises are in some respects conducive to the health of young men...Nor are women to be deprived of bodily exercise...However, do not let the athletic contests that I have allowed be undertaken for the sake of vainglory. Rather, they should be undertaken only for manly sweat...We must alway aim at moderation." Clement of Alexandria, c. 195 CE

Now Clement sounds like the kind of elder I can live with (one who apparently liked to read Ecclesiastes)! It just goes to show you that congregational autonomy was alive and well in the early church.

So there you have it Christian sports fans! Go ahead and enjoy March Madness, but stay cool and don't get too carried away. Bodily exercise apparently does profit a little, if not a lot. And on that note, please pardon me while I go run one of my blistering 10-minute miles and work up a couple of gallons of "manly sweat."

"They said we were going to play in our geographical area. I guess they meant the United States."--Lipscomb University basketball coach Scott Sanderson

Heh, that's pretty funny, just the kind of quippy soundbite you might expect from the son of colorful former Crimson Tide basketball coach "Wimp" Sanderson. Don't be fooled, though. Although there won't be much purple and gold in the crowd, Coach Sanderson is still happy to be taking his Bisons to their first post-season appearance as a Division I team--even if it does mean traveling over 1300 miles from Nashville to El Paso, Texas to take on the UTEP Miners tonight in the first round of the National Invitational Tournament (NIT).

Had it not been for a heartbreaking 74-69 overtime loss to the cross-town rival Belmont Bruins in the Atlantic Sun Conference Tournament Final, the Bisons might be headed to "The Dance" to face an early demise at the hands of either U.C.L.A. or Duke (a story, I'm sure, that they would have enjoyed telling their grandchildren). Instead, they are off to the scenic, West Texas desert to face UTEP (of "Glory Road" fame) in the house that Don Haskins built.

If they do manage to get by the Miners, the cross country road trip would then boomerang back to Ann Arbor where the Bisons would face the Michigan Wolverines on Friday. Talk about serving as cannon fodder! Oh well, it still beats sitting at home watching all the action, and Sanderson and the Lipscomb crew deserve a hearty congratulations for earning their first D-I post-season birth. Crawl, walk, run, right?

My younger sister is a 1993 Lipscomb grad, and one year for Christmas she gave me a button-up Lipscomb baseball shirt. Because of the buttons running through the middle of the shirt, the "Lips" was on one side with a small separation from the "comb" on the other. I was wearing the shirt one day when I noticed a friend of mine staring at the shirt with a perplexed look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Mouthing the words slowly, she replied, "Lips....comb. Lips...comb. I don't get it!"

Hopefully after tonight's game, the Miners will remember that Lipscomb is one word and won't forget a surly bunch of Bisons who were forced to trek across the country on two day's notice to play an opening round game in their "geographical area."

Oh, by the way, if you're planning to watch the game on EPSN in the Huntsville area, think again. It looks like they'll be broadcasting Virginia vs. Stanford instead. Nothing against the Cavs and the Cardinal, but really, how many grads do they have in this area? On the other hand, how many Lipscomb grads live in North Alabama and Central Tennessee? I rest my case.
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Which brings me to my final point (such as it is). This whole Lipscomb post-season thing has me thinking: What would the "old man" say about all this?

Neither David Lipscomb, nor James Harding for that matter, strike me as guys who would have been very pleased with all the attention given to sports these days. I remember studying in the library at Harding and staring up at the portraits of these two founding fathers (especially Harding, with his ZZ Top-style beard hanging down to his belly button--doesn't he realize that would get him kicked out of school?) and thinking: these guys seem pretty serious. Neither, to me, appear to be the type who would have approved of "amusements" in general, or sports in particular--especially at the institutions which they founded.

Anyone out there who is familar with Restorationist history have any Lipscomb anecdotes or quotes that might shed any light on my musings? When you get right down to it, does what Lipscomb would think even matter anymore?
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Update 10:25PM

Lipscomb Wins Second Half of Game Against UTEP 43-41

Unfortunately, UTEP won the first half 44-23 for a final score of 85-66. Hey, at least the Bisons stepped it up a bit after halftime! Here's hoping they got a nice goody bag and a t-shirt for their trouble.

March Madness has descended upon us in all its wild and wooly fury. I've filled out my bracket--have you?

If not, then I invite you to join the Ocular Fusion gang pool at USA Today's March Mania. Just register and then go to the "join an existing pool option." The name of the group is "Ocular Fusion Gang" and the password is "2eyesarebetter." You have until noon on March 16th to join and make and/or change your picks, and after that time you'll be able to view everyone's picks and progress as the tournament progresses. Those who are adept at picking the upsets in the first four rounds will be rewarded with bonus points and the winner will receive, well, nothing actually, except maybe bragging rights until next year.

A few of my thoughts at this point:

• A week ago, the talking heads had written Duke's obituary after their end of the season skid and were talking about UConn as if the tournament was theirs to lose. My, how things can change in one week. Today, Duke is the number one overall seed after having continued their annual domination of the ACC tournament and UConn mysteriously checked out in the first round of the Big East. Granted, UConn is deeper and looks better on paper, but the Dookies have found a way to win the close ones all season and my heart, if not my mind, must go with my boys in blue.
• Gonzaga must feel like the Rodney Dangerfield of college hoops this morning. After going 27-3 with player of the year candidate Adam Morrison leading the way, they ended up with a disappointing #3 seed. Tennessee (21-7), on the other hand, was a surprising #2. Although the Vols had a breakout season, I don't think anybody saw them ahead of the Zags. Gonzaga's strength of schedule was a drawback for them, as well as the fact that they struggled to win their conference tournament. But I believe the Bulldogs are going to be carrying some very large chips on their shoulders and several teams are going to feel their bite before the tournament is over. My dream matchup: Duke v. Gonzaga in the semifinal with Redick and Morrison settling the player of the year on the debate on the floor in the Mother of all Shootouts.
• I'm going with an all-Alabama sweep in the first round. The Crimson Tide over Marquette and UAB over Kentucky would only qualify as minor upsets, but the University of South Alabama over Florida? Hehe, I know it's silly, but what would March Madness be without a few fun picks along the way?
• The Minneapolis regional, I feel, is going to be where the major upsets occur, including Villanova's fall against Boston College, followed by an Eagle victory over the Ohio State Buckeyes. BC is only a #4 seed, but I was impressed with their effort in the ACC Final against Duke and I think they are this year's charging dark horse that will go riding forth into the Final Four.

Of course, I could be wrong. Finding out is half the fun though, and I invite you to join me along the treacherous and twisting road to the Final Four.

Let the madness begin.

Those of us who live in Alabama have cringed recently at the spate of church burnings in our state over the past month. We know full well that such news draws the wrong kind of attention to the Yellowhammer State and stirs up ugly memories from our racially-tinged past. Although authorities felt that the recent incidents were not racially-motivated hate crimes, their investigation focused mostly on rural residents who might have special knowledge of the backroads and backwoods where the church burnings took place. In other words, they were looking for stereotypical, Alabama "rednecks."

However, yesterday's arrest of three upper-middle class Birmingham area college students caught everyone--victims, authorities, family members, teachers and classmates--by surprise. The three, two students at Birmingham-Southern College, a reputable private liberal arts school and the other a former BSC student who had transferred to UAB, were deer hunting in rural Alabama when they experienced what was likely an alcohol and marijuana-enhanced collective brain-lock and decided to burn five churches as a "prank." A few days later, presumably after they had sobered up a bit, they decided to burn four more in an effort to throw investigators off the trail.

Prior to their arrest, the three were active and well-regarded members of their university communities. Now they are accused felons, each facing up to 45 years of prison, and their families, friends and victims are reeling from this latest news.

It's difficult to make much sense out of situations like this. Why would three students who had so much going for them and looking ahead to a bright future throw it all away for a spree of destructive revelry? The president of Birmingham-Southern College, Dr. David Pollick, has been searching his soul and asking that same question, and this is what he had to say:

“These cruel and senseless acts of destruction have profoundly touched our college community. Where there once existed such a clear line between the harmless and playful and the harmful and cruel, we increasingly see young adults throughout our nation incapable of distinguishing between healthy and destructive conduct. Boundaries are all too often exceeded. The social use of alcohol moves easily and too frequently to dangerous irresponsibility. Innocent and healthy stages of interpersonal social encounters too frequently degrade to violent and personal acts of violation. We see symptoms of a culture of personal license so powerfully magnified in the actions of these young men."

This latest incident is a clarion call for all of us who have passed through the difficult and dangerous years of adolescence and young adulthood to step up and model the kind of behavior and provide the kind of guidance that will help young people navigate these treacherous times. Too often, though, we fail in this regard, either through our own sins or through neglect.

I have already talked with my three sons about this latest incident and once again warned them that even good people can allow themselves to be trapped in circumstances which can quickly escalate out of control. I'm hoping that they'll take this lesson to heart, and I pray for the victims and these young men and their families, that they all may be able to heal and discover a path to redemption through the difficult times ahead.

Yet, there is hope that something good and lasting will come of these dark events. Once again, to quote Dr. Pollick:

"The entire community of Birmingham-Southern College—students, faculty, and staff—pledges to aid in the rebuilding of these lost churches through our resources and our labor. Together we’ll stand as a reminder of the strength of communities that transcend the differences of religion and place, as well as the effects of mindless cruelty.”

Perhaps this lesson-- that together we must work to make things right--will be the most important lesson that will rise, like a phoenix, from the ashes of this tragedy.

I held my breath and walked through the door as a small bell tingled, announcing my arrival. I’d never set foot inside a pawn shop before, but the place fulfilled my stereotyped expectations. The walls were lined with shelves filled with discarded televisions, stereos, power tools, and once treasured trinkets, many pawned in last-ditch, desperate moves for quick cash.

The pawnbroker sat behind a glass display case lined with cheap handguns and gaudy costume jewelry. He was reading The Decatur Daily and nursing his morning coffee as the smoke from his cigarette curled lazily upward toward the tobacco stained ceiling. He eyed me warily as I approached the counter, feigning my best business-as-usual look. He knew better, that someone in a dress shirt, tie, and slacks wouldn’t be his typical customer. But then again, this would be no typical transaction.

“Do you have the ring?” I asked. Before the words had escaped my mouth, he began to reach beneath the counter, removing a small, yellow envelope—he knew why I was there.

“Yeaaaup, suuure dooo,” he replied in an interminable, Alabama drawl. He removed the academic-style class ring and placed it on the counter. It was as I remembered it: white gold, BA 1984, a charging bison, a school seal—Truth, Knowledge, Freedom. Only now the deep-red garnet was chipped in several places, and the ring had been resized, a crude jeweler’s cut running through the bottom like a fault in the earth’s crust. I tried it on the ring finger of my right hand and it was a little snug. Fifteen years and thirty more pounds make their presence known.

“Looks like it still fits—sort of!” the pawnbroker laughed.

I handed him a $20 bill. “This is what we agreed upon.”

“Yeaaaup,” he replied. “Covers my cost. I don’t want to make any money on your stolen ring.”

I turned and left the shop. Once in my car, I sat for several minutes, turning the ring over in my fingers, still pondering its improbable return. I was transfixed by its beauty and the flood of memories it evoked. Once again I was wearing my Harding class ring, which, though once lost, now was found.

The odyssey of my 1984 Harding class ring began in September, 1988 while I was a student at the University of Alabama at Birmingham School of Optometry. We’d just finished listening to an ocular disease lecture when I was approached by the school’s telephone operator. I knew by the worried look on her face and the fact that she left her post to find me that something was very wrong.

“Mike, the Homewood police left a message. You need to call them right away.”

“Anne, do you know something?” I pleaded.

“No, they didn’t tell me anything, only that they need to talk to you immediately,” she replied.

I sprinted for the nearest phone and frantically dialed, imagining the worst. My wife, who was several months pregnant with our first child, was working as a C.P.A. putting me through school. It had been a very stormy day, and I knew that she had been traveling rain-slickened roads to visit clients. Please God, not that. A couple of classmates who’d overheard Anne joined me by the phone. They reassured me that my wife was probably fine, but they stayed by my side, just in case.

After several frenzied minutes trying to find someone who knew what was going on, I finally reached the officer who’d called. “Sir, your apartment has been burglarized,” he stiffly reported.

Only a burglary! What an odd sense of relief I felt. I started for home, thankful that my wife was fine, thinking that things couldn’t be that bad. I figured the electronics would be gone, and they were. I was more disappointed to learn that the thieves had also rifled through our jewelry box. The Rolex knockoff which my father-in-law bought for me on a business trip to Tawain was gone but not a problem--I smiled at the prospect of the thieves' disappointment when they learned its true worth.

Of more concern was the fact that our high school rings had been stolen, along with two pairs of earrings—one pearl and one diamond—that my wife's parents gave her on the occasion of her college graduation. My Harding class ring was also missing. I almost always wore it, but for some reason that day I hadn’t.

Later that evening, the initial relief gave away to anger, grief, and the penetrating ache of violation. True, it was only a ring, but not just any ring. It was a symbol of four very good years spent coming of age “near the foothills of the Ozarks.” Hidden within the deep-red garnet was a mine filled with precious memories of good and caring professors, close friends, challenging classes and my pursuit of a career and my future wife. Reflected in the white gold had been the faithfulness of a patient and loving God who listened to my questions and doubts during a period of deep skepticism and guided me along toward a faith that I could call my own.

Life moved on, of course. The insurance settlement compensated us well, but I never replaced the ring. As “poor students,” we opted to use the money for groceries.

It is now June, 1998, and my family and I are visiting my mother in Virginia. I’m sitting at her kitchen table, going through the usual routine of calling home to check the messages on our answering machine. I listen to several and then come to one which stops me cold.

“This is Marilyn from the Harding University Alumni Relations Office," the voice said. "I recently received a call from a Detective Ward at the Decatur, Alabama Police Department. He found a class ring in a local pawn shop which he believes may be yours and he would like for you to call him.”

I sit stunned, trying to digest her words. My class ring? Stolen items don’t just turn up years later, do they? Soon I’m chattering away, more excited now and more hopeful. I tell the good news to my wife, my mother, and my sons. I go for a walk along quiet, country roads and I pray to God. What does this mean? What are you teaching me?

Recovering my ring sounds easier than it turns out to be. The statute of limitations has expired and the ring is no longer technically “stolen property,” so the police cannot seize it. Since the insurance company paid our settlement, they are the “rightful owner.” They quickly relinquish their claim however.

“We don’t want the ring,” the agent explains. “I talked with the pawnbroker this morning, and he says he will sell it to you for $20, the amount he loaned the woman who pawned it." I’m now filled with anger, and foolish pride darkens my mind. The very idea of paying a pawnbroker $20 for my stolen class ring sickens me.

“Forget it!” I tell my wife. “I knew it was too good to be true!” I’m glad that she doesn’t forget, that she knows what my need is even when I act childishly. She goes to the pawn shop and attempts to buy the ring.

“Weeell nooow Maaam,” the pawnbroker drawls, “I’d looove to sell you this ring, but Alabama state law says I got to hold it 30 days so the woman who pawned it has the right to come back and claim it.” I’m deeply disturbed that the woman who pawned my stolen ring has more rights than I do. I begin to imagine that she’ll return and steal it from me again. I begin to hate her and all the hands that have held my ring over the years.

But as time passes, I start to reflect and wonder. Who is she and how did she get my ring? Does she know the person who has apparently been wearing it? Why would anyone want to wear my class ring? Did they use it for a job interview or maybe to impress a girlfriend? Was it someone who had always wanted to go to college and just never realized the dream?

I begin to consider the dire straits which sometimes drive people to steal and deceive, and an odd thing happens. My anger and resentment are replaced with compassion. I begin to pray for the woman and all the hands that have held my ring, that their hurt, their poverty and their thirst for recognition and significance may be met with God’s healing grace and abundance. It’s not my natural prayer (only the anger is truly mine). The prayer is His, and His alone.

The woman doesn’t return, and once again I’m wearing my class ring. Recently, as a 20th wedding anniversary present, my wife sent the ring back to the manufacturer to have it repaired and resized and to replace the chipped garnet with a black onyx encrusted with a silver "H."

The ring still symbolizes for me the many fond memories of my Harding years. But now it stands for so much more. For me, it is a sacrament given to me out of the blue, totally unexpected and undeserved. The deep ebony stone is a visible and tangible token of the rich and unfathomable love of a God who enumerates the hairs of my head and showers on me his sweet, amazing grace. In the white gold, I see the reflection of a prodigal son who wandered the mean streets and blind alleys of doubt and disbelief and was soiled by many hands, but finally returned to the house of his Father—The Rightful Owner.

We've been traveling to soccer tournaments for many years and if there's one thing we've learned it's that it has to be about more than wins and losses. Soccer is a beautiful but fickle mistress--one moment she'll treat you like a king and in the next instant turn her back on you in the cruelest of ways. No, it's got to be about fun, good food and the fellowship of a band of brothers who give their last full measure of effort on the field of battle, and come what may, stand or fall as one.

Of course, winning is also nice. And when everything goes your way, as it did this weekend with the Grissom Tigers winning the Island Cup Championship in Orange Beach, Alabama, you find yourself especially grateful. Grissom defeated a fine squad from Union High School in Tulsa, Oklahoma (ranked #3 in the nation in 2005) 1-0 in a hard fought final. The tournament started off with an 11-0 blowout of local favorite Foley (the game was mercifully called at halftime), and the Boys in Orange then went on to defeat two other tougher Alabama teams, Albertville and Cullman, both by 1-0 scores.

The final match saw a smaller, but skilled and tactically sound Grissom side facing off against the speed and bulk of the Okies from Tulsa (what do they put in the beef out there to grow boys that large?). It was a fast and physical rumble which saw both teams come up short on several good chances in the first half. Early in the second half, the Tigers drew first blood off a well-placed header taken off a corner kick. Union then picked up the pace and pressed hard but the Tiger defense held fast and fended off several dangerous attacks. We countered with some charges of our own, and were it not for some fine saves by an aggressive Union keeper, we could have very easily score two or three more.

When the dust settled, Grissom was the last team standing and the Island Cup Championship was ours. There's still a long road ahead to the state championships in May, but a tournament championship and a win over a nationally ranked team is a great way to start down the path. In the meantime, Orange Beach is now a little oranger. In fact, now that the Tigers have blown through town, it could be said that they don't call it Orange Beach for nothing.

There is a favorite thing that I'm supposed to give up for Lent, but blogging, soccer and trips to the beach are not on the list.

This weekend I have the tough assignment of carrying Number One son and one of his Grissom High Tiger teammates down to Orange Beach, Alabama for the Island Cup Soccer Tournament. I know, I know, it's a sacrifice--very much in keeping with the spirit of Lent--but somebody's got to do it.

We have two matches today and hopefully a semifinal and final tomorrow. If we make to the final Saturday night, I'll be facing a dilemma considering how it's scheduled at the same time that J.J. Redick and the other Duke seniors will be playing their last game at Cameron Indoor Stadium against the team whose name we dare not speak. I'll just have to cross that bridge when we I get to it, but Number Three if you're reading this, please be sure to set the DVR to record the game--thanks.

It has been almost two years since I've been to Orange Beach and about a year and a half since Hurricane Ivan ravaged the city. The denizens of this resort community have done a great job of cleaning up and rebuilding, but the project is still ongoing--utility and construction workers speaking mostly Spanish filled the lobby of my hotel when I went down to get my morning coffee and banana nut muffin. There are essentially no dunes, and the beach is now a broad plateau and much easier to traverse, evidence of the extensive erosion and subsequent dredging post-hurricane. Overall, I'm impressed with the look of the city and the resiliency of the people here to reconstruct both their buildings and their way of life.

Granted, there are tougher Lenten tasks than standing around Orange Beach, Alabama in seventy degree weather without a cloud in the sky watching the Grissom Orange play "The Beautiful Game." I'm thankful this morning for the grace of a God who calls us to a season of repentence, but does not begrudge us a little fun, sun and soccer along the way.

Lectionary readings for Ash Wednesday 2006:

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 or Isaiah 58:1-12

Psalm 51:1-17

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21