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.

Response to TrueHoop and Note of Who the Real Victims Are (aka Earl the Usher)

Thanks to Henry Abbott and TrueHoop for posting my blog yesterday and especially for raising the biggest point I completely forgot. (Side note—I wrote that blog after receiving some big, bad news from home. I guess if I was an emo kid, I would have written sad poetry or something…but alas, I’m just a member of Generation WTF and thus I missed a huge point I should have hit).

Henry made the point that fans are not the real victims of this lockout. In fact, he said this: “I know a lot of fans are really bitter about the lack of NBA basketball. And I respect that. I'm one of them too! But my main thought has been: Be glad if only your entertainment life is at stake here. For the players and the owners and all kinds of other people in affiliated businesses, this is way more real than what they're going to watch on TV or in person. So I get a little antsy when I hear that fans are the real victims. The players are losing $2 billion a year! You're losing a TV show!”

That is the big thing I missed. First off, I have no sympathy*** (or empathy) for the players, except the rookies who are yet to get paid. Sure, they work hard. So do I. So do you. My minimum salary isn’t $400k+. Of course, people wouldn’t pay to watch me work…or would they? I’m toying around with the idea of a webcam in my office, where you can watch me update corporate Facebook statuses, argue with angry customers on Twitter, and write incredible newsletters. C’mon, you wouldn’t pay $10 a month to watch me?! Ok, bad idea. Anyways, I get that the players are losing money, but I don’t feel bad about that.

What I do feel bad about, especially in my self-absorbed post yesterday, is the fact that I failed to mention the true victims. Like Earl.

Earl is my favorite Jazz usher. I’d guess he’s probably mid 60’s or early 70’s. He always looked rad in those cool green vests the Jazz ushers wear. He was always fun to talk to, especially when I called him by name, because he acted like nobody ever had done that before. He never once remembered me, and that made him seem even cooler. By now, Earl has met my sister, brother-in-law, mom and dad, ex girlfriends, wife, and several friends. And now Earl is jobless.

Now, I really don’t know if Earl worked as an usher because he needed the money, because he was bored, or for some other reason. All I know is he can’t do it now, and that sucks to think about. There are hundreds of workers at the EnergySolutions Arena that are either on unemployment (can they get unemployment during/due to the lockout?) or finding other jobs. They are the real victims.

Just today, I heard a guy on the radio mention a restaurant in downtown SLC that I really enjoy. He then said, “Please go. They need your support, because so much of what they do depends on people coming in before and after Jazz games, and that ain’t happening.” They are the real victims.

So thanks to Henry Abbott for keeping me honest and for the reminder that yeah, us fans are bummed. I am sad to not have the distraction of NBA ball, but at least I have a job. This lockout goes far beyond typical fans like me, and that’s where I missed the ball. The real victims are the ones who have to deal with the reality of being jobless in a tough economic time. (And Delonte West, for having to apply at Home Depot and work on a furniture truck).

***Again, Mr. Abbott showed me the error of my ways in a comment. Saying I have no compassion kinda turns me into the inhumane monster, doesn't it. I don't mean that. I mean that it's hard for me to sympathize with ultra-rich, ultra-extravagant lifestyle NBA players. The grunts, and those on 10 day contracts, and those in and out of the D-League, and heck, even the ones that just seem like cool dudes, I do feel for. I can see where they're coming from, and I think my post seemed a little too narrow in my approach. Duly noted, good sir.

An Open Letter to the NBA, the (ex) NBAPA, Billy Hunter, David Stern, Derek Fisher, et al

I consider myself a pretty everyday American, as well as a fairly typical NBA fan. I graduated college 2 years ago, right when things looked at their worst economically. I recently bought my first home, got my first pet, married my first (and only) wife, and work hard all day every day to make sure we can keep chasing that dream.

I grew up in Salt Lake City, so naturally, I am (was) a huge Jazz fan. There have been times in my life when I’ve felt like the Jazz were one of the few things to wake up for. From Stockton and Malone to Williams and Boozer (and everything in between), I’ve worked some long days with the knowledge that at least I would have a game to go home to. I always made my apartment/house/parents house available for games, and it always seemed to provide a nice escape. Even when the Jazz lost, I felt like it was nice to forget the misery of work, the monotony of “adult” life, and the pressures of everything and just kick it.

See, for those of us twentysomethings, life has changed pretty drastically pretty fast. America suddenly went from the land of opportunity to the land of very diminished opportunity. I didn’t expect to graduate during a huge recession. I didn’t expect my degree to be nearly obsolete when only 2 years ago it was a quickly-growing field. I didn’t expect to get a job where my bosses would happily pull the “you’re just lucky to have a job” card when denying raises and promotions, and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect finding another job—ANY other job—to be so bloody hard. But that’s where I am, and, judging from conversations with friends, coworkers, and worldwide news stories, I am not alone in this.

But alas, this is an NBA post, not a “woe is me” rant. (And for everyone going to post about how I should stop whining, do something more, start a business, kill myself, etc: Thanks for the advice. I totally wish I would have thought of those things over the last 2 years! You are all so smart that I’m amazed you’re commenting on a no-name blog rather than curing cancer and saving kittens!)

The point of me writing this is because I feel like these are the collective feelings of a huge NBA demographic. We’re frustrated with life. We’re struggling to get by. We used to love the escapism of the NBA, not just for the sport but because it provided an outlet to get together and feel camaraderie with friends, family, strangers, and the community as a whole. Those feelings are now gone, and I don’t know if they’re coming back.

Now, I’ve noticed many of my old NBA buddies avoiding the topic altogether. We’ve all screamed and whined about the lockout, but at this point, we’re over it. We have bigger issues to worry about. I don’t know how I’m going to pay off my hospital bill—I need to focus on that, not on billionaires versus millionaires playing a horrifying game of greed and bad PR on a national/international stage.

I know the point has been made, but it’s been crazy to hear very little, if anything, about the fans in this whole deal. I agree, most people outside those parties involved have probably chosen a side, but I can’t help but feel like if the fans were mentioned more by one side—either side—they would have gained a bit more sympathy.

Instead, it’s leaked letters and emails, ridiculous Twitter campaigns, Stern coming off more like a dictator than a commissioner, and a season on the brink.

So to every Billy Hunter, David Stern, Adam Silver, Derek Fisher, etc: We don’t understand. We’ve never made $500,000 minimum salary. We’ve never owned a professional sports team. We’ve never had money guaranteed to us whether we live up to it or not. We DON’T get it. We don’t relate. And honestly, when this is all over, I don’t know how we’re going to forget all this and go back to watching basketball.