Wams, Evan W., Burkett and Zee
Boys. You're welcome. You and any other friend or fan of Joe Jarvis. I'm a friend and fan of Joe Jarvis.
I'm sitting listening to Midnight Vultures (the Beck album, it's 9:16), smelling like a Kenyan who named his first born son after me. I've taken my shirt off in an attempt to smell more like me, but I'm only courting mosquitoes to give their best shot at fever-ing my mefloquine-girded blood. I still smell like Frank.
Tonight at practice we went white against dark. I had on a white Coca-cola shirt I'd picked up at a San Antonio Salvation Army so I traded shirts with Frank Ochieng, the only husband and only father and only Theology student on our team (6' 6" Kenyan who used to be a bouncer and is now a Sunday School teacher). I didn't play, I blew the whistle. I'd been running the ladies practice, with only six girls (five of our 8 ladies are all-stars in the league, the other three couldn't square dance with seventh-grade learners at Jane Macon Middle School, much less play basketball until a month ago) at the other end of the court, the guys were down doing ball drills at their end. They'd been going pretty hard. I let them get a drink of water (poured from a 5-gallon plastic yellow jerry can into aluminum cups) and then I split them up and traded shirts with Frank and they played. After practice, we met in a huddle at mid-court, all hands in on top of mine--like always I said, "Good work, thank you. Someone say a prayer." Frank gathered breath and prayed. I thought about the backseat of the landcruiser while he prayed. He said "Amen." We all leaned into the center toward our hands, Robert counted 1-2-3 and we said, in a quick crescendo, "ooooOOOOO CANONS!" (Canons as in the distinction of an ordained priest, or canons as in canon laws of the Church)(but, even though we don't have two N's, we'll still gun down anyone standing between us and big African over-priced but not over-valued trophies).
Immediately after the "CANONS," I said, "Everyone at the car. Hurry!" I hit the disarm button on the alarm remote (an unlocked Landcruiser is too much of a temptation for the dozens of barefoot village kids who flock to the court everyday in rags to watch us practice). I opened the back door and pulled out two basketball rims. It was dark, but could see by the light of the moon and the light from the court what they were. I didn't have to tell them, everyone gathered around and grabbed a piece of rim as I held them both out in front of me. I hate ... HATE it when I hear anyone praying for victory. God wants to purify hearts as they pursue him, if winning helps, fine--if losing helps, just as fine. I had no idea what I wanted to do or say, but I knew it was right to pray.
"God," I said, "you're giving us a unique opportunity. These rims will be used in the most important games this team has ever played. You've allowed us to have access to them now. We're not asking you to do any magic, we're not asking for you to favor us over anyone else. We're asking you to make us fully aware of the opportunity we have every time we play, and especially this weekend at University Games, to show this country that we're serious about basketball and winning. I pray that they also see that we're serious about trusting and honoring each other and and serious about trusting and honoring and following you. In Jesus name, Amen."
Tomorrow morning, I'm going into Kampala to talk to the marketing manager of Nile Breweries about the possibility of Club Pilsner taking over sponsorship of the semi-pro League next year. Friday morning, I'm gonna jump in the car with Frank and another player, Sam (the only two guys who don't have final exams--Frank because the theology students are having their semester break right now, Sam because he doesn't have enough money to pay tuition and has been sitting out for a year-and-a-half), and we're gonna grab a drill and a few bolts and drive two hours north to Luwero to put those prayed-over rims up at the court at Ndejje Secondary School, where the University Games Championship will be decided.
Two years ago, the University Games were held at Mandela National Stadium in Namboole--the stadium is for soccer--there's an outdoor court on the perimeter. I spent five hours in the rain working with another coach and a couple other players replacing the shattered fiberglass backboards that were on the arena-style goals that had been left out in the African rain and equatorial sun for five years--the counter-weights in the back of the goals had been removed at some point, and the backboards nose-dived to the pavement, disfiguring the rims and shattering the backboards. That was probably three years prior. The morning the games were to begin, I walked from the bus to the court and found a ref standing around. I asked him who was going to fix the backboards. He said, "No one." The rims were up at a 45-degree angle. Mark Bartels, a buddy out here, will tell you that was my moment of self-actualization. My heart and soul and whatever else is inside, turned green, and I became an incredible hulk of a justice-hound. I"ve since realized that it's better to hunt some problems down and solve them before everyone has to see you turning green.
I hope the last two posts on the Joe Jarvis blog (http://joejarvis.typepad.com/)(I'm not up with all the link-ing junk) have lit a bit of a fire in me to write more. If you folks threaten to return, I'll have a reason to tell more. But first let me warn you--the magnificence ascribed to me by Joey--I've gotta accept it as genuine because I accept everything that accompanies Joe Jarvis as genuine--hair cuts to Har Mar to his being annointed with Mazola by African refugees in his boyhood Pentecostal church to his first theological comment to me, stepping out of Clark St. slush into my '85 Wagoneer, "The first thing I'm gonna do when I get to heaven is kick Paul's ass." I've gotta accept it as genuine, but I can't accept it as realized. I can only pray I remain worthy of such esteem, and that that esteem helps build the will necessary to strive like Jacob for more and more Blessings--to own and to share.