Football and Idolatry

Last spring, Ian (our then 10-year old son) eagerly announced that he desired to play youth tackle football in West Chicago. Having played myself and delighting in our shared enjoyment of the sport, I enthusiastically affirmed Ian in his excitement. We attended the informational meeting, raised funds, and eventually picked up his pads. When Ian first strapped on his gear, I'm not sure I'd ever seen him so excited. He looked great in pads!

As summer wore on, the football season went from something of an after-thought to an immediate concern--far before I had football on the brain. By mid-July we found the summons to attend a "volunteer-however-mandatory" conditioning camp at the end of the month. I thought this odd, that there would be a conditioning camp in July for ten-year olds. Aren't most ten year old kids playing outside, swimming, exploring, hiding-and-seeking throughout summertime? My sense of foreboding increased.

The first day of conditioning drills arrived. Ian was feeling good, however nervous, in his new cleats. It was hot. Amazingly hot. I did a slow burn as the coaches took the kids through two hours of conditioning drills in 95 degree heat. Ian did fine. I was incensed. These kids are ten and twelve years old! The next two nights of conditioning were cancelled, and we took a family trip downtown on the last night. For the record, I felt slightly guilty about Ian missing this last day of conditioning camp until it occurred to me how insane such a feeling was...what was the alternative? Keeping the family home from a fun day out because of our ten-year old son's conditioning camp? In July? He's 10!

The following week found us vacationing as a family in Iowa, just as football practice was beginning. Again, there was that slight pang of guilt, not so much in missing practice, but in that Ian would immediately be behind the other kids. Upon returning home, his coach graciously invited Ian to attend the team's first scrimmage on Sunday afternoon. Despite the fact that he had not yet attended practice, he thought it would be good for Ian to get to know the kids, coaches, and system. That's more like it, I thought! Let the kids play; coach them; ease them in.

Sunday rolled around, and because the scrimmage would be played in South Elgin, Julie and Ian left worship early to get geared up and make the trip north. After worship, I hustled the little kids into the car, and we too traveled to the stadium to cheer Ian on. I was so proud of Ian. He stuck his nose in and played hard. His coaches were gracious and encouraging.

By the time we'd come back home, Julie had spent four hours in traveling and watching the scrimmage. A scrimmage! It was early August. August! As I laid down in bed that night, a disturbing thought occurred to me: how many of God's commandments did I break today through youth football?
1) "You shall have no other gods before me" (Exodus 20:3). I'm pretty sure football became much more important than God to me for at least a few hours.
2) "You shall not make for yourself a carved image...[you] shall not bow down to them or serve them" (4,5). A carved pigskin became the focal point of our day; the point by which everything else was measured and driven.
3) "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy..." (8). A day of worship and rest turned into a day of hustle, anxiety, and (at least for Ian) work.
4) "You shall not steal" (15). I'm pretty well convicted that we stole a day from Isaiah, Annie, and Sophie, whom we dragged along with us.
5) "You shall not covet..." (17). Doing even a cursory assessment of why we were engaged in this exercise of youth football, it occurred to me that I was, indeed, coveting. Coveting what, you ask? I'm not even sure, and even what I propose here is not grounded in reality. Prestige for Ian? A high regard among his peers? The pride of a father seeing his son engage in sport? A future college scholarship?
Half of God's commandments I violated, and a strong case could be made that I transgressed the other half, as well.
What in the world?
The next morning, Ian approached Julie and me with an obvious burden on his heart. He explained his position: "Mom and Dad, I have band and orchestra, school is beginning, and the coach told me yesterday that we have practice every night for two hours until school begins, and then practice three nights a week during the school year with games every weekend. I'm just wondering: when will I have a chance to just play outside with my friends?"
Can a ten-year old soon-to-be fifth grader be over-taxed, over-scheduled, and over-engaged to the point that he seriously wonders when he will have a chance to actually play? And can his sometimes clueless however well-meaning parents claim naivete in such an instance? The answer to both questions is yes.
We hugged Ian, told him how proud of him we are, and assured him that not only could we affirm his decision to retire from youth tackle football, but that he showed more wisdom than his Mom and Dad.
The next night, I dropped off Ian's pads to his coach at the practice field, and there was greatly affirmed in the decision after hearing the following conversation between a father and his son:
Dad (dragging his young daughter along with him) in the grill of his boy: "I want to see some serious concussion blows out there tonight."
Son (looking about as miserable and disheartened as you might imagine a ten-year old boy to look on a beautiful August evening before a two hour football practice): "Uh-huh."
End of conversation. (Heart-warming, isn't it!)
What are we doing?
I have no responsibility for that father and his son (and daughter). However, I can with some degree of accuracy predict about what is going to happen in that family's life: Dad is going to continue to push; son is going to a) become a narcissist as he quickly finds that his family's universe revolves around him and his football career, and b) quickly grow tired of football and either quit or become very resentful; daughter is going to quickly tire of getting dragged around the suburbs and state for her big brother's games, become disillusioned just as she becomes increasingly marginalized in the family; mom is going to exhaust herself getting to practices, games, and dealing with the anxieties and tensions of a over-scheduled life; the family is going to go bankrupt financially as they seek to underwrite their kids' increasingly expensive activities, and/or they will become bankrupt relationally as they work more to afford the activities and in any case will sacrifice time together as a family in order to traipse around the country watching football games, together but separate.
That sound a little pessimistic and harsh? Perhaps, but I see it unfold like this all the time.
Education may or may not be sacrificed in any of this.
Family probably is.
Training in godliness most definitely is.
Teaching our girls how to cheer and our boys how to tackle over-rides the necessary catechesis of our young people. My concern here is, obviously, not directed at non-Christians, but at those who call themselves followers of Christ. (A brief caveat: I understand that there are parents and families who do wisely discern their use of time, and find ways of managing their children's involvement in activities; the above comments are not intended to be a blanket statement directed towards all whose children are involved in such activities.)
What are we teaching? Certainly there are good lessons in discipline, hard-work, and teamwork. There are myriad reasons while I love sports, and football in particular!
But these lessons are lost pretty easily as we push Billy and Betty to achieve and succeed. "Why, Billy might get a scholarship to Notre Dame!" "If Betty keeps at soccer long enough, I know she could play at the U!" And then what? They get a degree, get a job, maybe start a family...and do they know anything at all about what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ?
A friend back in Iowa just got drafted by the New York Giants. He will likely have a long, successful career in the NFL as a defensive back as long as he stays healthy. The money and prestige will be enviable. But will it be good for him? For his body? For his soul?
I want to close with a something of an mock-up of the idolatry of football. This is somewhat of an exaggeration (but based primarily on a recent Iowa State football game):
A Worship Order for Saturday, October 29
Fellowship time (beer and brats in the parking lot)
Call to worship (teams prepare on the field, coin toss, etc.)
Praise and worship
Rise Sons of Iowa State
Fighting sons we sing to you,
Keep you spirit ringing true;
Make our valor carry on,
And you'll see the battle through,
Chorus
Rise sons of Iowa State,
And proudly raise our flaming banner to the sky;
Lift our ringing challenge valiantly,
Let our fighting war cry ever be "Victory!"
Bold sons of Iowa State,
keep marching onward ever near the vic'try gate;
There to consecrate our everlasting loyalty.
Rise! Iowa State.
(Creepy, isn't it?)
Sermon--(the battle on the field)
Communion--"Eat this hotdog...take a shot from your flask..."
Song of Response
Iowa State Fights
Oh, we will fight, fight, fight for Iowa State
And may her colors ever fly.
Oh, we will fight with might for Iowa State
With the will to do or die!
Rah, Rah, Rah
Loyal sons forever true
And we will fight that battle through.
And when we hit the line we'll hit it hard,
every yard for I-S-U!
Benediction--"Everyone drive home safely..."

Go to any football game this fall, and you will see something very similar if you look hard enough and are paying attention at all.

Again, I love football (and sports in general) in the best possible way--not idolatrously, but genuinely. Perhaps all of this is to expose the ease by which we slide into idolatry. John Calvin once said (and I'm paraphrasing here): the human heart is an idol-making factory. Yeah, even football.