Memory #17: Thunder
Sometime in February of 1998, about half way through our first year serving as missionaries in Jamaica, the good people at Grace Missionary Church in Kingston decided it was time to host a basketball tournament on their new basketball court. So we put together a 3 on 3 tournament, invited teams, and roughly thirty teams showed up. The tournament lasted three Saturdays, and culminated in a grand party and feast with food and drink and gospel reggae.
I treasure this picture above. I can't stop myself from staring at it. They called themselves the "Tower Hill Thunder"--Tower Hill for their neighborhood church in Olympic Gardens. Thunder for no other reason than that I suggested it and everyone liked it. They called me "Coach."
Andrew (they called him "tall-ite"--don't ask me how that's supposed to be spelled) holding the ball in one hand near his head had one of the ugliest jumpshots you could ever imagine. He could dunk the ball ferociously for someone who was 6'5" and an unhusky 180 pounds soaking wet. But anything outside of five feet from the basket was an adventure.
So as the clock wound down in the championship game that day, with the Thunder losing by two, I was on the sidelines, trying to look impartial in my role as tournament director. But I was of course hoping that Andrew (tall-ite) would take the ball to the hoop and try to get a lay-up or a foul. Instead, he launched a twenty-five footer from just left of the top of the key that floated ludicrously high in the tropical breeze, paused for a second at its peak, and then fluttered basketward. It clanged violently against the backboard.
And then swished through the net.
You ever wonder what the angels do when some sinner comes home? I like to think it looks like grown boys wildly dancing, hooting and chanting, with the sheer ecstasy of the impossible shot that somehow found its mark.
I cheered too. There was a relatively small cash prize awarded to the champions--the equivalent of 100 U.S. dollars. Divided five ways, that's not much.
Though none of them at that point was a Christian, the next day they appeared in their neighborhood church--Tower Hill Missionary--and presented their trophy to the congregation. And half their cash prize.
Picture:
top row: Andrew Bloomfield; Bullah; Lionel Lamont; Cephas Miller
bottom row: Coach (me); Andrew Lamont
Not pictured: The angel that redirected that shot through the hoop.
5 comments:
Wow, am I right in thinking that's the court we painted the lines on?
Remember how we used string and rocks to guide us? And we used our best guesses to get the dimensions of the free throw lane (the trapezoid). That was another day when an angel must have stopped by that court and helped us do a pretty fine job lining that court despite our lack of equipment and knowledge!
Also Not Pictured: the guy who threatened to shoot us for making bad calls so that Olympic Gardens would win.
Or the naked madman who regularly trekked up and down West Avenue.
Now how am I supposed to get any work done if I'm spending time reading all these memories? Your mom tipped me off. You are currently my favorite author other than the apostle Paul and John Eldrige.
Brent,
I wonder about the factual accuracy of memory #2. But not very much. There's history and then there's memory, and memory has its own story to tell.
R-
p.s. Good company, but shouldn't a good Anabaptist mention Matthew (sermon on the mount) and John Howard Yoder? :-)
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