I caught a snapshot of perfection while walking my dog tonight, as the sky turned a brilliant shade of blue and the pond near our house was crystal clear like a mountain lake. I’m sure God stepped back from His canvas and said, “Yep, I did it again.”
The sight reminded of a night in February 1977 when, not for the first time and certainly not the last, I realized I was nowhere close to a snapshot of perfection. But, like many difficult experiences, there was a lesson in it for me.
Monroe was in town, and the Franklin gym was packed before halftime of the junior varsity game. Our coach, Marvin Sands, was forced to take Steve Dalton out because he was called for two quick fouls in a matter of minutes. Though I was supposed to get a breather for a little while longer, Coach turned to me.
“Get back in for Steve,” Coach told me. “And don’t go be making two quick fouls in a couple of minutes.”
Yes sir. I went back in, determined not to disappoint my coach. I was going to be perfect in every way — like Pistol Pete Maravich on offense and Dr. J on defense. Channel 7 would cut into its regular programming with a news bulletin: “An all-star is born. Film at 11.” I had it all planned out.
I didn’t make two quick fouls in a matter of minutes.
I made three.
This did not make Coach Sands happy. I’m not sure I remember exactly what happened next, but I could almost swear he sent the ball boy in to replace me. At that moment, I was anything but his all-star.
…
AN HOUR LATER, after we had won the game and Coach was more relaxed, I apologized for making three stupid fouls in a matter of minutes, right after he had told me not to do such a thing.
That’s when Coach Sands gave me the lesson that I have remembered my whole life.
“Jeff, don’t apologize for making three fouls,” he said. “You apologize when you don’t make ANY fouls, because no fouls means aren’t playing defense. You’re not being aggressive. If you’re playing hard and you’re doing all you can, you’re bound to make some mistakes.”
Well, wouldn’t you know that light bulbs went off when he said that.
I went home and told my dad, who was a trial lawyer, and he agreed. “I hear lawyers brag all the time how they win all their trials,” he said. “It makes me wonder, is that because you’re that good? Or are you just being overly cautious and overly selective in taking only sure-fire winners to trial?”
It got me thinking. Maybe it’s okay I’m not perfect. Maybe that’s just part of being human.
Surely not by coincidence, the message at church that Sunday morning was all about forgiveness — not just of other people, but of myself. In Matthew 11, Jesus said: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” In other words, God made me an imperfect person, which constantly invites me to walk with Him. That’s where I can find my strength.
Well, well. I didn’t see that coming.
In life and in basketball, the only way to play a perfect game is to sit on the sidelines. But if I am in the game, doing my best, trying to make things happen, making choices, I have to remember I will make a few fouls along the way. Excellence is a realistic goal, but perfection is impossible.
That’s so comforting to know. I still struggle to believe that applies to me, but it’s always comforting to hear. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels that way.
…
WE PLAYED AT WEST CARROLLTON after the win against Monroe. Coach put me in the starting lineup that night, and I appreciated his faith in me.
I walked over to him just before we took the floor. “So I should play defense the way I did the other night?” I said.
“No, I want you to play aggressively. Some of your play the other night was just plain sloppy.”
Ah. Got it. Another great lesson.