| Friday, October 29
By Frank Hughes
Special to ESPN.com |
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There are many parts of the NBA that are hypocritical. For instance, how
about the Stay in School ads, which were hyped by players who had left
college after their sophomore seasons to turn pro. Or the Don't Do Drugs
credos, mindlessly spoken by players who don't always practice what they preach.
But there is a part of the NBA that is rarely discussed: Religion.
Each team has a chaplain, usually a person who has his own
parish or ministry or following in the community, but who in addition serves
as a religious guide to players frequently on the road too often to
be able to attend church in a consistent manner.
What I have come to discover is there are two types of chaplains, one of
whom is faced with the biggest contradiction of all.
The first type of chaplain is, more than a servant of God, a fan of the
stars. Rather than being the players' guide in their faith, he is blinded
by the fame and the lights and the accompanying perks.
The second type is true to his beliefs, firm in his understanding of what
a commitment to God and its accompanying sacrifices mean. And this is the man
who is fighting a battle for which perhaps no man is ready, a fight that
probably cannot be won.
Let's face it, professional athletics in general and the NBA in
particular, is the Sodom and Gomorrah of our society, a place where money is
abundant, women are easy and the temptations and lures of fame and fortune
are seemingly boundless.
An informed source said he thinks there is a 50-50 split between the
types of chaplains. But, having just one of the star-struck chaplains is too
many, because it is a subterfuge of their position and their purpose.
Some, however, cannot help it. They use their position to
procure for themselves tickets or locker room passes for friends or
parishioners. Some hit the players up for money for their own ministry,
using, of course, guilt as their chosen instrument.
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If you are going to womanize and do drugs and lie and cheat and generally
lead a life of iniquity, then don't come to chapel and act as if you are
righteous and virtuous. ” |
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— Hughes |
Who better to go to for financial support than an unsuspecting, trusting
twenty-something multimillionaire who has no idea that the one person to whom
he is looking for guidance is actually bilking him? It's the new version of
the televangelist, without the publicity but with more success.
When I was covering a team in Washington, the chaplain there had written
his own book refuting the notion that Christ was white. It actually is a very
logical argument, considering Christ came from an area of the world where the
primary skin color is not Caucasian.
And he had the perfect forum for his argument, considering the majority of
players in the NBA are black. But to see him shamelessly pander his book, and
ask players to promote it to their acquaintances and families, and to
approach the media covering the team and seek, essentially, free advertising,
was to witness the ugly face of commercialization.
I was recently told this story: Before games, the chaplain serves both
teams at the same time. Basically, whichever players from both teams want to
attend pre-game chapel all go to the same room. (For the record, the San
Antonio Spurs have the most players who attend pregame chapel.)
But years ago there were two Eastern Conference teams which hated each
other so badly they had to have separate chapels -- sort of a contradiction
in itself, but that's not the point of this story.
Anyway, while the chaplain is in with the first team, he says, "I probably
shouldn't do this, but I am going to say a special prayer for you guys to win
this game."
Then the chaplain goes down the hall to hold chapel with the other team. A
player from the first team is walking by and he hears the chaplain say, "I
probably shouldn't do this, but I am going to say a special prayer for you
guys to win this game."
Then there is the second type of chaplain, whose job is infinitely more
difficult because he is trying to preach to people who have so much avarice
and seduction that it is virtually impossible to lead a "normal" life.
This is they type of stuff those chaplains have to deal with: One chaplain
told me he had finished his Sunday service at his regular church when a
parishioner approached him. She said she had heard that one of the players
was single and asked the chaplain if he could take the player her number.
Stunned, the chaplain tried to dissuade the woman by telling her the player
was engaged. "Well, I don't mind," the woman said, "can you give him my
number anyway?"
I don't even want to think about how many sins the woman so brazenly
broke, but it just shows the lengths to which people will go.
Infidelity is an issue that chaplains, ones who care about the eternal welfare of
their charges' souls, must deal with daily. So one chaplain took this
approach: "If you cheat on your wife, I don't think there is any way one of
your teammates can trust you on the basketball court. Because if you are
impugning what is supposed to be the most important, the most sacred
relationship in your life, how can you be trusted by a teammate."
The chaplain said a player approached him afterward and told him it was
"messed up" he would preach in such a manner. "They want me to change my
beliefs to conform to their lifestyles," the chaplain said. "And I am not
going to do it. That's not what the Bible says."
How about having to deal with players, many of whom -- as we all knew but
kept silent until Sports Illustrated's story last season -- have several
illegitimate children scattered about the country, and many of whom take no
interest in their children's lives?
Or how about players who use religion to project a certain image, but when
they are in private do as much anti-religious activity as they can? Or how
about dealing with something like this: Last season, when Olden Polynice was
playing for the Seattle SuperSonics, he returned to Sacramento to a throng of
boos and catcalls. He was taunted by the crowd ceaselessly, and after the
game, as he was walking into the tunnel, he flipped Arco Arena both middle
fingers.
He was wearing a "What Would Jesus Do" bracelet at the time.
"You should have seen a guy 7 feet trying to be 5-2 when he came to chapel
the next day," the Sonics' chaplain said.
Basically, most chaplains come to an understanding with players. They can
live their lives the way they want, but don't come to chapel and lead a false
life.
If you are going to womanize and do drugs and lie and cheat and generally
lead a life of iniquity, then don't come to chapel and act as if you are
righteous and virtuous.
Strangely, the same can be said of some chaplains. In a league where
virtuousness is a rare thing, even religious leaders can fall prey.
Frank Hughes covers the NBA for the Tacoma (Wash.) News-Tribune. He is a regular contributor to ESPN.com. |  |
