I like sports, both to play ’em and to watch ’em. Those who know me consider me a fan of all teams Philadelphia. I’ve been a Phillies fan since 1963 when Richie Allen won “Rookie of the Year.” I’ve been an Eagles fan since Tommy McDonald demonstrated that little guys can play a big man’s sport – and play it well. I’ve been a Sixer’s fan since their 1966-67 season that is still viewed by basketball analysts and aficionados as one of the three greatest teams in NBA history. And I’ve been a Flyers fan since the mid-70’s when the “Broad St. Bullies” took Lord Stanley’s Cup in back-to-back seasons.
But on Oct. 30, 1988, something little precipitated a big change. The Atlanta Falcons had traveled up to Vets Stadium to play my beloved Eagles. The kickoff was scheduled for 1pm – always a problem for a pastor, and especially one whose morning worship hour began at 11am and who lived 8 and one-half minutes from the church – assuming adherence to the speed limit. So you know on this particular Sunday, it was going to be a shortened service. (Yes, pray for me.)
I did my best not to be rude as I shook people’s hands and exchanged pleasantries. But as soon as I possibly could, I raced home, flipped on the remote and caught the kickoff mid-flight. Atlanta was receiving – and their guy fumbled! Eagles recovered!! My two dogs never did. For in my un-restrained enthusiasm, I threw my fist into the air – and into the rotating ceiling fan. The blades splintered, the globes shattered, and glass was raining down throughout our den; but mostly onto my two spooked Spaniels.
It was then that I finally got it: sports had become a surrogate god in my life. Might you have a surrogate god in yours? Why not come this Sunday as we begin to look at the first of the 10 Great Commandments in a sermon entitled, “No Other Gods”.
