Competitiveness and Girl's Basketball

"It's only a game." I tell myself that all the time. I really want to believe it, but I just can't make myself believe it. I have been coaching my older daughter, Maylee's basketball team for five years. We are a part of this program called Upward Basketball which is a Christian sports ministry. It's meant to reduce competitiveness and make it more about the kids having fun. I know some people aren't into that, believing that we need to teach kids that losing is part of life. I get that. I think it helps me more than them. I want to win so badly. They only start keeping score in third grade, so this is the third season we've kept score. Lauren's team starts that next year (sigh). During that time we put together a 17 game win streak. Two undefeated seasons and one win this year, before the streak ended. (We've won 2 in a row since then, even though it doesn't matter, right?)

Anyway, I get so worked up. I want our team to win. I stand there and stew on the sidelines wanting to say something to the ref, but I can't. I can see the headline now, "Local Pastor Ejected After Tirade at Christian Basketball Game." That would not be good.

I have spent so much energy in my life, trying to not be competitive or to be less competitive. I wonder if this is like putting up fans to blow on the sun to keep it from rising. What I am coming to realize that this is how God made me. I am conqueror. What I do, I want to do well. Being second best at something has never been ok, whether it's sports, school, work/church, I want to be the best. Is that necessarily sinful? I don't think so. I think if it leads us to cheat, to covet, to wish harm on others, to anger, then it becomes sinful. The drive for excellence was placed in me. The desire to win or conquer is what makes me a man. This is what we are.

Rather than trying to stop the inevitable, I need to soften the rough edges, and channel this energy in the right direction (Like next week's game, where we get a rematch against the "1" in 19-1)

Later,
Charlie