Most of my life has been spent in a gym. It is a space that I have come to know, love and, ultimately, need. Gyms, to me, have an inherent spirituality. Much like a church, they are defined by the activity which occurs within them. A church without a congregation of practitioners is a just a building. Add the congregation and you have a spiritual space; a place of practice. I do not intend, and would not intend to compare basketball to any religion. My concern is with the comparison of spaces of practice, not of religion. Within this space, the gym, something magical happens.
My first memories of the gym are from my early childhood. Sitting in the St. Thomas University stands watching my uncle play as my grandfather explained to me the finer points of the game (in between handfuls of popcorn), while always, always keeping book. He was an extremely influential person in my life; a great father and grandfather, and the biggest sports fan I have ever met. So many of those old memories are framed by the backdrop of a gym. One morning twenty some years ago while he was rebounding for me. He said, "Josh, I have seen a million players make shots from the floor that can't shoot free throws, but I have never seen a player that shoots well from the free throw line that can't make shots from the floor." Simple, brilliant and most importantly, remembered because of the setting. Had he said that to me in their living room, I would not be reciting it today. The gym made it resonate. The gym made it special.
We all have similar memories, whether they are with a grandparent, parent, sibling, coach, friend, whomever. The gym helps keep those memories fresh in our mind. As if it has some kind of preservative quality. Entering a gym is like opening a book to our past. Wins, losses, great games, awful games, injuries, blood, sweat, tears, the gym holds them all. We can recall the best pass we ever threw, from some meaningless game back in 7th grade, like it was yesterday. We can recall what we were thinking as we shot free throws to ice a game in high school. We can recall the nervous, anxious feeling we had before our first game of the year, of every year, we ever played. It's all so crystal clear. The losses still hurt as bad as ever. The wins still elicit a smile.
Any study of spirituality will eventually bring you to some mention of rights of passage. Cultural Anthropologist Victor Turner defined rights of passage in three phases: the pre-liminal (seperation), liminal (transition), and post-liminal (reincorporation). [Yes, my favorite class of all time was on the Anthropology of Travel and, yes, we explored a variety of rights of passages (pilgrimages, vision quests, etc.). Awesome stuff.] The gym is a space where people transform. Getting cut, improving, and then making the team. Being too young to run with the older guys, growing up, and then kicking the old guys butts. Think about how many times you walked into a gym. Unsure of what will happen; excited. It's an adventure. The gym can make you or break you. Within that space, you will learn about yourself. Some people gain confidence that they don't carry on the streets. Some people lose it. Something happens to all of us in a gym. And, the longer you stay in a gym the more it will affect and transform you.
There is nothing quite like the sound of a gym. The sounds are so unique. The squeak of a sneaker, the bounce of a ball, the sound of a ball spurning backboard and rim for a brief moment of solitude in a soft, white net. I mean, is there a more beautiful sound in all of sport than the sound of a swish? I'm sure the old-timers would say, "why yes there is young man", the sound of a ball banking high off the glass, causing that slight little squeak, and falling through the net. Walk by a gym and listen. Don't look, just listen. It will bring goosebumps.
What is spirituality without community? The gym is the ultimate unifying space. A place to commune. Big, small, tall, short, black, white, asian, latino, man, woman, we all play with or against each other on the same floor, in the same space, on equal footing. If that isn't spiritual, I don't know what is.
I've always felt like the gym was the perfect place for meditation, or
self reflection. When I was playing at Hamline I began a habit of
shooting free throws before and between classes. It calmed me, made me a better student, and I truly believe it was the time I spent
in that space that made me the man I am today. There is nothing quite
like time alone shooting in the gym; a ball, a rim, echoes and your
mind. There was not better place for me to mature than in Hutton
Arena. I didn't do all that much right before I got to Hamline. There
was a reason I went to ju-co. There was a reason I didn't play right
after ju-co. There was a reason I spent a basketball season working in
a food distribution factory. That reason was me. Somewhere, somehow,
in that old gym on Snelling Avenue, I changed. I matured. I became
aware. I became selfish about my future. Those countless hours spent
with the spirits of one of college basketballs most storied programs
were nothing short of life-changing. The birthplace of college
basketball. Hundreds of others have had the same transformational
experience I did. In that place, in that space, in that gym.
Forget the cemetery - go ahead and bury me in a gym.
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