Mormon Basketball, or, 10 Jimmers and Nobody Else

Mormon Basketball

Last night I have the horror of honor of attending a Mormon basketball game. I say attending, rather than playing, because as I was about to take part in the next round of brutality, something crazy happened that caused last night to be one of the weirdest/worst of my life (seriously). But that’s another story. This, my friends, is a tale of Mormon basketball: the brawl that begins with prayer.

*First, a disclaimer: I am white, Mormon, and occasionally think I’m decent at basketball. Thus all my comments and observations are made under that assumption, and as much as I want to act like I’m different from the carnage I’m describing, I am actually a big contributor to it.

So, every white Mormon guy, ages 11-75, thinks he is great at basketball. Nay, AMAZING at basketball. I dare say they might even compare themselves to Jimmer. (More on Jimmer later). The ascension of Jimmer Fredette has been the absolute WORST development for LDS basketball that has ever happened. Why? Because now, whenever a guy takes a ridiculously long 3 point shot (happens 12,000 times each game), no matter how many he misses, when one FINALLY drops, the name “Jimmer” will immediately be said up to 7 times. ALWAYS. (As in, "Dude, you shot that from Jimmer range!" or "Bro, you're like Jimmer!" or the wretched "Jimmertastic!")

We have a court full of 30-somethings, more jiggle than muscle, rumbling/trudging up and down the court launching 3’s and occasionally passing. Very occasionally. It’s just crazy how EVERY white Mormon guy in the gym thinks he’s the best on the floor. (I say white Mormon because I’ve played with other ethnicities in California, Florida, Hawaii, New Zealand, Fiji, and Australia and, varying by ethnicity, they either ARE really good, don’t care that much and don’t pretend/think they’re good, or just play rugby. Only the white guys are “superstars,” at least in their own minds.)

Remember every derogatory comment made about Jimmer Fredette, both throughout his college career, and also into his NBA days? I.e. shoots too much, black hole on offense, no defense, irrationally confident, etc? Not only are those comments FULLY accurate for a typical Mormon ballgame, but they are almost prophetic. You think you’ve seen a black hole? Wait until #54 gets the ball. He would seriously shoot from half court if the game flow allowed it. Nonetheless, he shot from everywhere else. How many passes did I spy? One—and that was to inbound the ball. How many shots did he make? Perhaps 3 layups (with at least 2 missed layups, 4 running hookshot airballs, 6 LONG 3’s, and a plethora of other cringe-inducing misses.)

The best part about Mormon ball is the fact that inevitably, someone becomes the “alpha dog.” (It’s really too bad LeBron didn’t attend his Akron weekly ward activities). Last night, it was the balding orthodontist, who decided his way of “encouraging” teammates would be saying things like “Not the kind of shot we needed, chief” and “Hit me, I’ll make that 3 next time.” It would have been funny if it didn’t make me sad and slightly terrified.

And, inevitably, the arguing. Oh, the arguing. Without question, when the game gets close, the phantom fouls increase tenfold. Suddenly, a clean strip turns into a foul (it’s always call your own, you know) and results in possession at the top of the key. Which inevitably results in muttered comments like “Where’s the blood?” or “Seriously dude? Grow a pair.” It’s actually nice that profanity isn’t (generally) used, but it does make the insults and arguments a lot more entertaining. (Try getting REALLY angry and/or shouting at someone while using 100% appropriate-for-grandma’s-ears language. It takes real creativity!) It always gets tense when the score gets close and the clock ticks down, but to this day, I’ve never witnessed actually blood flow—and last night was no different.

Lastly, the irony of it all is when the game ends, guys are huffing like they’ve just finished the Boston Marathon, emotions are running high, tension is thick, and then…a closing prayer. Not only that, but the fact that many of the dudes (usually the winners initiate this) try to shake hands and/or pretend no bad blood exists. In Mormon basketball, nothing is icier than the extended handshake met with a pushing away by the opponent. It’s pretty much a modern-day challenge to a duel. Only in this case, everyone goes and rounds up their kids, grabs their baby carriers, and scurries out to their SUV’s/minivans.

All I’m saying is there is nothing like it. Nothing. I’ve been to hundreds of concerts and sporting events. I’ve seen Broadway. I’ve swam with sharks and jumped out of airplanes. But NOTHING in this world compares to the cheap thrills of watching a Mormon basketball game in all its glory.