Last week I got to play on the Phoenix Suns court. It was an awesome experience, one of the coolest things I’ve ever gotten to do. Huge shoutout to Robert, his wife Brooke, and Blake for making it happen. We got exclusive access to the court and were able to play pickup for three hours. Well, some of us were able to play for hours… more on that later.
Some basketball thoughts from playing on a real NBA court.
First, those lights are bright. When I’d shoot from the corners, if I watched the ball arc up before it got to the rim, I’d be blinded by the lights. If I looked up unconsciously while playing, I got blinded. Never thought about what it would be like to actually play under the “bright lights.”Speaking of the corners, it is a tight fit. Shooting an NBA three from the corner gives barely enough room for your feet. If you take a step back at all to try to explode toward the hoop, you’re stepping out of bounds. I have size 10 shoes. I don’t know how the size 20s even do it.
Speaking of the lights, part of the package with getting to play on the court was we got to watch the Suns play that night against the Orlando Magic. We got to watch from the suite level with food and drink included. I’ve been to many Suns games, but this was a unique game to watch due to having been on the court just hours earlier. These things I mentioned like the lights and the tight space from the corner were things I considered more than I ever had before. The other thing that stood out to me that I’d never thought about before was how hectic an environment this was for NBA players to play basketball in.
Basketball is a refuge for me. It’s therapeutic. Playing on an NBA court with thousands of people watching cannot be therapeutic.
An NBA game is a chaotic and hectic experience. Of course, there are the thousands of people watching, yelling, and trash-talking. That’s crazy in and of itself. But what struck me the most after having played on the court was how loud the music was. While we played, we had a pretty chill March Madness game playing on the big screen with the volume on what I’d guess was around medium. It was still distracting. Watching that game later against the Magic I was focused on the NOISE, the MUSIC, and the BASS.
It is pandemonium at an NBA game. For some reason I’d always thought the NBA players were a bit sheltered from the noise. After playing on the court, I realized it’s the opposite. They are at the bottom, center of a dome. All the noise and chaos are amplified on the court. It gave me my first true appreciation of home-court advantage. That chaos is one thing, but when it’s a chaos you’re not used to, (on the road visiting another stadium) with fans heckling you the whole time, it’s complete sensory overload.
So, back to my time on the court, unfortunately I got hurt the beginning of the second game. I was running and just stepped wrong and twisted my ankle bad. It actually happened at almost the exact spot where Kevin Durant twisted his ankle while doing a routine warm-up layup a couple weeks earlier.
After I rolled my ankle, I at least got to see what it was like to be treated like an NBA player for a moment. Multiple trainers checked on me and brought me ice. It was a bit embarrassing. I got to spend the rest of the pickup session jealously watching with ice on my ankle from the sideline.
Here’s the part where I insert what I learned spiritually from this experience.
I’ve twisted that ankle at least 3 dozen times, not exaggerating. It’s never fun. It’s always painful.
That night, I was laying in bed with my ankle propped up on pillows. I’d already discarded the ice that was on it. It was the middle of the night and my foot was THROBBING. It hurt.
It hurt badly enough that I started praying for relief. I don’t want to be dramatic. I know that on the pain scale, what I was experiencing was pretty mild. But still, it hurt. That’s when I started thinking about every groin pull, every sprained ankle, every concussion, every headache, every upset stomach, every scalping, every stitch, every ingrown toenail, every scratch, every bruise, every heartache, every heartbreak, every disappointment, every fear, every doubt.
How could He have felt it all?
Here I was, writhing in pain, whining, praying for relief, over a sprained ankle. And He felt every sprained ankle of every person that ever did or would exist, all in a moment. He felt it all. How?
I ponder often on the Atonement. I’ve tried to wrap my head around it. It’s not something we can wrap our heads around. That’s the point. He did something unimaginable. He did something incomprehensible. And he did it for us.
I believe (I know) that Christ felt it all that night at Gethsemane. I don’t know how; I can’t understand it. But I know He did. It’s why I write about Him, it’s why I think about Him, it’s why I serve Him. Because for a long time, I tried to forget what He did for me because of guilt, or incomprehension, or selfishness. But now I think the most important thing I do outside of anything with my family is write about Him.
I think the most important thing I do for my daughters is teach them about Him. Few things bring me as much joy as when Ivy sees a picture, I ask, “who’s that?” And she replies, “Jesus.” I hope someone reads this that needs to remember Him and what He did for us. When you think about what He did for us, ultimately it must make us more loving because we’re considering a love that is unfathomable. That makes us better.
