The Briefest of Theological Notes
You'd think that, when playing a school like Greensboro College (as opposed to, say, Holy Cross), Catholic University would have a leg up, Godwise.
Earlier today I sat in the shiny new grandstand in the shiny new Catholic University stadium (perhaps too grand a word--stadium) thinking about this very matter while freezing my ass off. Literally. Man, it was cold. And there's almost nothing colder to sit on than those aluminum bench seats in stadiums. So part of my thinking went something along the lines of: You'd think God would have made it a little warmer.
By this time, I had already gotten to the stadium, stayed ten minutes, returned to my car to add a layer of upper body protection, upgrade my gloves, and pull the floor carpet insert out from behind the passenger seat, then returned to the stadium. The idea of the carpet was to use it as sturdier buffer between my ass and the aluminum than my jeans had proven to be. I eschewed the hat because I didn't want to have hat-hair for the after-game party.
And voila, I was then merely unbearably cold. And with only 50 more minutes to go! Alleluiah!
My father likes to reminisce about a cartoon--Charles Addams perhaps--which features a man recoiling from a dentist holding a drill. The dentist is saying something like: "Oh come on. Surely a grown man like you isn't afraid of a little excruciating pain." It was a version of that.
Here, by the way, is my daughter, sporting her trademark #11, wheeling to do battle with the opposition. That slash of red is either the CUA logo emblazoned on the new Astro-turf (which probably isn't the correct brandname for the synthetic turf that covers the field, but which I have nonetheless capitalized as a nod to Tom Wolfe), or a pool of blood.
So I was sifting through the current popular range of theological perspectives, trying to make sense of it all, when it occured to me. That old business about the Lord moving in mysterious ways. You've heard that one, surely. Then, moments later, Meaghan saw fit to deck her opponent with what she later described as an accidental, glancing blow to the head but which might be described, had it been written up in something like Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight as:
Anyway, all I can figure is that God decided that this wasn't very Christian behavior from one of his favored few, so he punished us all, in advance, with blistering winds and cold stadium seats.
Because what, really, is time to God? It must be quite a plastic notion from His standpoint.
Meaghan was additionally punished by the referee with a yellow card and thus banished to the bench. Her coach was so annoyed (I can only assume), that that was the last we saw of #11, on this day at least.
Still, she looks good in the photo. I wish I had a better zoom.
The final score: CUA 11/Greenpoint 8. So He couldn't have been too pissed.
Earlier today I sat in the shiny new grandstand in the shiny new Catholic University stadium (perhaps too grand a word--stadium) thinking about this very matter while freezing my ass off. Literally. Man, it was cold. And there's almost nothing colder to sit on than those aluminum bench seats in stadiums. So part of my thinking went something along the lines of: You'd think God would have made it a little warmer.
By this time, I had already gotten to the stadium, stayed ten minutes, returned to my car to add a layer of upper body protection, upgrade my gloves, and pull the floor carpet insert out from behind the passenger seat, then returned to the stadium. The idea of the carpet was to use it as sturdier buffer between my ass and the aluminum than my jeans had proven to be. I eschewed the hat because I didn't want to have hat-hair for the after-game party.
And voila, I was then merely unbearably cold. And with only 50 more minutes to go! Alleluiah!
My father likes to reminisce about a cartoon--Charles Addams perhaps--which features a man recoiling from a dentist holding a drill. The dentist is saying something like: "Oh come on. Surely a grown man like you isn't afraid of a little excruciating pain." It was a version of that.
Here, by the way, is my daughter, sporting her trademark #11, wheeling to do battle with the opposition. That slash of red is either the CUA logo emblazoned on the new Astro-turf (which probably isn't the correct brandname for the synthetic turf that covers the field, but which I have nonetheless capitalized as a nod to Tom Wolfe), or a pool of blood.
So I was sifting through the current popular range of theological perspectives, trying to make sense of it all, when it occured to me. That old business about the Lord moving in mysterious ways. You've heard that one, surely. Then, moments later, Meaghan saw fit to deck her opponent with what she later described as an accidental, glancing blow to the head but which might be described, had it been written up in something like Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight as:
...and she smote her fiercely, and her brainpan was split asunder.I was also reminded of that bit about Beowulf ripping Grendel's mother's arm straight out of the socket. Likewise, Pat Riley's Knick-driven theory that no man shall procede to the basket without encountering physical harm.
Anyway, all I can figure is that God decided that this wasn't very Christian behavior from one of his favored few, so he punished us all, in advance, with blistering winds and cold stadium seats.
Because what, really, is time to God? It must be quite a plastic notion from His standpoint.
Meaghan was additionally punished by the referee with a yellow card and thus banished to the bench. Her coach was so annoyed (I can only assume), that that was the last we saw of #11, on this day at least.
Still, she looks good in the photo. I wish I had a better zoom.
The final score: CUA 11/Greenpoint 8. So He couldn't have been too pissed.
posted by Geoffrey at 8:22 PM
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