“Who’s got the shooter?” a high school kid is shouting, urgently asking the question to his teammates. It’s the start of a half court basketball game. We’re at a local park, and I’m playing with strangers. My side will be getting the ball first, but play won’t commence until the other side feels ready and hands over the ball.
“Who’s got the shooter!” this time it’s more of a command. Someone better fix this problem. And, someone from the other side jogs in my direction. I look over one shoulder, curious to see what teammate is behind me, and I find no one. As I look over the other shoulder, the defender has arrived and stopped an arm’s length away. I realize I’m the one they are worried about.
I laugh unexpectedly and uncontrollably from my belly. Everyone pauses waiting for me to compose myself before the game will commence.
In a multitude of practices and games over 15 years of playing basketball, no one has ever called me a shooter. I doubt any have worried about whether I would shoot the ball or the barrage of points that would be scored if I did. I’m the high energy, less skilled, kind of annoying guy who sets screens (i.e. gets in the way of other people) and tries to rebound and play passable defense. I get called for a lot of fouls, and fluids gush from every pore of my body.
But, this is England. Here, youth grow up dreaming of playing football. On this day, I happened to make my three shots in warmups, and they assigned significance to that. They don’t know I only ever take three shots in warmups. They don’t know that I shoot from the same places each time, and that making shots in warmups rarely translate to success in the game. They just see someone who can’t miss.
The game starts. I shoot. I make some. I miss some. I get in people’s way. I rebound, foul, and sweat. Life goes on.
I’ve told this story to buddies–buddies who have played against me–and it gets a good laugh. I tell it for the laugh, to remind them of the games we’ve played together and the fun we’ve had.
I tell it here for very different reasons.
One reason is that we can make things hard. God, Spirit, the Universe, and even the neighbor next door can sometimes have a tough time reaching us because of all the things we are certain we know. Some of those certainties diminish us and our possibilities.
The other reason I tell this story? Because I am a shooter. And so are you.