Field of grace

This is a painful column to write, and not for particularly spiritual reasons. I broke my right hand in a semipro football game recently.

Which brings us to a junior high school football stadium in Little Rock, Ark. I am 49 years old and have “retired” from football probably a dozen times, but I keep playing in semipro games every year. I have played in Europe, in dingy arenas in a low-rent indoor league, and in “stadiums” all over the North and the Midwest. I have broken every finger on both hands, a couple of ribs, a collarbone, and a fibula. There have been a couple of concussions. Now, the hand. It’s just the cost of doing business.

I’m playing for a team called the Mississippi Dawgz, which is ridiculous because we’re wearing Jacksonville Jaguars–inspired uniforms. My jersey number is 71 (Tony Boselli’s number—cool), but it’s emblazoned with the name “Martin” on the back. Martin, whoever you are, thanks for the jersey. I’m the only guy on the team over 33 and a college professor, but none of the Dawgz care about that. Nor do they care about books I have written or the fact that I helped kill the Emergent Church (which just re-spawned as “deconstruction.” Sigh). They care that I am playing right guard.

My thing is, I love playing right guard. I love my hand in the dirt. The weight of the helmet on my head. The challenge of a perfect pass set. I love riding home in the dark, sore, and stopping someplace for a burger sporting a black eye.

I love surviving the game, and then assessing the damages back home. Playing right guard in the internet era is essentially the same as it was in 1964 when Jerry Kramer played guard for the Green Bay Packers, and I’m drawn to things that are the same now as they were then. Things like that are few and far between in our culture.

Psalm 62 teaches us that we have nothing to fear from man, but nothing to gain from him either. When I line up against a guy who played college football, who is bigger than me, stronger than me, and two decades younger than me, that is fear of man in the purest sense of the word. Unlike the psalmist, I don’t have to worry about that man slandering me later or oppressing me with his wealth. I do have to worry about him putting me in the dirt and rebreaking my collarbone.

I have nothing, tangibly, to gain from this. I won’t post pictures of it online. I won’t make a penny from it, and if we’re being honest, it’s not making me healthier. Probably the opposite. It is a thing done in private, but hopefully to the glory of God in terms of how it’s done (to the best of my ability) and how I use it to relate to others in it (in ways that honor and reflect my commitment to Christ).

In my work with ESPN and in my book career, I have met some of the most celebrated, wealthy, and successful men the sports world has to offer. Some of them are interesting, some of them are mind-numbingly boring, and most of them miserable and paranoid. I’ve spent many a ride home wondering why. They had everything I thought I always wanted.

It has taken me nearly a half-century to think about why a theology of sport is so important, for me, and perhaps for others. To my shame, I have seen my sin nature blossom in sport as an athlete, a parent, and a coach. I have nearly ruined sport for both of my sons, but have apologized, been shown grace, and (thankfully) didn’t ruin their experiences. But the impulse was there. By God’s grace, in recent years especially, I have used sport to give and receive grace, and have seen “created in God’s image” all over the landscape. It’s a life-­giving antidote to all the “total depravity of man” I used to bring with me to stadiums and practice fields. The Lord has been kind.

Ultimately, like the famous Arlington Hotel in Little Rock where we had brunch the morning after the game, my grandeur has faded. But I thank God for the broken hand, and that He gave me the right number of snaps instead of the perfect snap. Even in my suffering, He is good.

—Ted Kluck is the award-winning author of 30 books, including his football memoir, Paper Tiger: One Athlete’s Journey to the Underbelly of Pro Football. His journalism has appeared in ESPN the Magazine, USA Today, and many other outlets. He currently serves as an associate professor of journalism at Union University in Jackson, Tenn., and coaches long snappers at Lane College. He and his wife, Kristin, have two children.