Sports Psalms: For Those Moments in the Game When You Don't Have a Prayer by Ed Goodgold

One afternoon several years ago, I sat in my office depleted and depressed by a barrage of things gone wrong. Other peoples' ineptness, my own errors in judgment blew perfect storms of frustration. I was too weighed down by a multitude of unpleasant choices to take any action. Slowly, I got up, bounced my head against the wall a couple of times and found myself saying:

"Oh Lord,
Throw me a fastball I can hit
Straight down the middle of the plate belt high
A ball I can pull
A ball I can pound
Over the fence of your sanctuary"

I repeated these words to myself several times during the next few hours. They invariably lifted my spirits. The next day I sat down and wrote:

h Lord,
Throw me a fastball I can hit
Straight down the middle of the plate
Belt high
A ball I can pull
A ball I can pound
Over the porch of Your sanctuary
Please don't brush me back with a high hard one
Neither pitch me low and away
Nor throw a teasing curve that breaks outside the arc of my bat
Leaving me a fool in the dust.
I know I am unworthy of a big fat pitch
The kind You serve up to the righteous
Whose numbers you retire.
But please, Lord, groove it in
Let Your servant swing and hit it out of the park
I will extol you as I round the bases
My box score runneth over.

"Hey," I said after I read it a few times, "this is a SportsPsalm." I started writing more. By using the language of sports, the process of prayer became less stiff, more down to earth and easier to initiate. And I couldn't help the seeping out of humor, born out of the contrast between earnest spiritual longing and the desire to amuse G-d.

SportsPsalms were something Tevye might have written if he had grown up in Brooklyn, went to Columbia, ignited the Trivia craze, and managed Sha Na Na and Genesis.

These prayers reflect the truths that sports fans and other mortals come to know after many a hard season. They transmit a wisdom familiar to everyone who has been raised and humbled both on and off the playing field.

I wrote many of these Sports Psalms using a process I call "method praying." I submerged myself into the minds and hearts of athletes and gave voice to what I felt to be their yearnings. I was a spiritual wind chime. Hopefully, these psalms will resonate in the reader whether standing in the on-deck circle, sentenced to the penalty box or trying to escape from the sand traps-- of life. They are perfect for those moments in the game when you don't have a prayer.

A Meditation On Quiet

akkeh,
Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio?
You are so far away I have to squint to see you.
How green was my outfield?
Graceful, like it says on Nap Lajoie's plaque
Yankee Clipper
(Klopper if you had hit lefty)
Made the game look effortless
You were great
You knew you were great
But
You kept quiet about it.
Maybe you drank too much at Toot Schor's?
But you were a quiet drunk.
No drugs, no 'roids, no 'mones
No dancing with the stars, nor farklempting with Oprah
Even in your last years
Just Mr. Coffee and the Bowery Savings Bank
Just Marilyn and that was sad enough
Madonna would never be enough to make you go to shul
But you never made the game stupid
You never had to apologize
Just Joe D being Joe D
Takkeh, where have you gone, Joltin' Joe?
Our nation does not remember
How to turn its lonely eyes to you.

For the Maker of All Plays

aster of all moves
As I dribble up court
Seconds remaining on the shot clock
Please, show me your grace.

As I pass the ball and cut toward the basket
I trust that a soft, merciful bounce pass will find me open.

Shield me from an offensive foul
And deliver me from traveling.

Inspire me to climb the air
In the lane leading to Your hoop
For an elevation offering.

Give
And go with the Lord!

Giver of Second Winds to the Weary

upreme Spotter of Forward Progress
It's fourth and two
I'm exhausted, we're losing, and it's bitter cold
Do you get the picture, Lord?

Give me the strength to hit the line one more time
Let me find a seam in the defensive scheme
Keep my head down and churn my legs
Help me grind and squirm my way to the promised hash mark.

Oh Lord,
Creator of grass and artificial turf
Avenger of late hits
Fill my heart with courage.

As I get up off the ground
Let the chains come out and measure my gain
Let a loud "First Down!" emerge from the referee's throat
"Hallelujah!" Will emerge from mine
And then,
Give me the strength to do it all over again.

He Maketh Me Putt on Green Pastures

ne putt, Lord, this one putt is all I ask
And then, I will dwell in the clubhouse of Your glory.

Yes, I know it is silly to pray for a putt;
You have better things to do
Please count this awareness towards my merit for sinking it.

Unite my senses
Steady my stroke
Give me the wisdom to read the green
To see the break
In the curvature of the earth
That you have created.

Oh, creator of fairways and roughs,
Birdies and bogeys,
Listen to the prayer of this unworthy duffer and let me soar
Like a bird to an eagle.

For the Goalie of Goalies

rue Judge
Who pulls the yellow and red cards of fate
From out of the pocket of His decrees
Protect me from misplaying this corner kick
Booted by the devil himself
Curving away from my grasp
Towards the stealthy skull of one of his henchmen.

Don't let the ball streak through the box,
Ricochet off a random knee
And spin past me.

Protect me from a heedless header by one of my teammates,
The unkindest goal of all.

Keep me from giving up a score, Lord,
And I will boom a thanksgiving offering up to Your heavens.

An Appeal to the Great Referee in the Sky Box

onsoler of those who are called off sides,
As I tarry in the penalty box
Reviled by the crowd
And scorned by the press
I ask: "What happened?"

I poked my stick out
The piercing whistle sounded
And accused me of tripping.

Lord, as You are my witness
He slipped on the ice
I merely took a swipe at the puck.

Why afflict me with this judgment?
Why banish me while others roam freely
Up and down Your zambonied rink?
Why sit me in the seat of slashers?
Please answer me, Lord.

As I reflect on my exile
Deep within me, I hear You, Lord.
Please, make the two minutes go by quickly
Don't let them score.
And thank You for not slapping me with a game misconduct.

Thanks After a Win

h, Lord,
Thank you for the win
For answering my prayers
Caroming off Your Heavens.

You delivered
The strong into the hands of the weak
The speedy into the grasp of those who have lost a step or two
The gifted into the lair of the talented.
The over into the grip of the under

You have blessed me with a triumph exceeding my merit
And I, in turn, will be gracious
Unto those whom you have relegated
To the loss column.

Prayer from the Canvas

h Shield of Maxie Rosenbloom,
Guardian of Benny Leonard,
Please help me get up from the canvas
Give me the will to rise through the pain

Unbuckle my knees
Gird my resolve
Iron my crumpled desire to win.
Let me go the distance,
For that is the general direction
Of Your promised land.

Psalm From the Mouth of The Zebra Kid

aster of turnbuckles
Help me clamp a hammer lock.
On Chief Don Eagle
I'm having trouble gripping his slippery arm.

Make it look good
As I grimace and groan
While dispensing pain
Squeezing and kneading
His muscles and bones.

Let my judo chop snap
Let my full nelson double
The agony of my half nelson.

Please don't let me miss a drop kick
Nor pull a muscle while applying my famous body scissors.

I know I have to lose this match
For I am the Zebra Kid battling the beloved Indian warrior
Evil poking his fingers into the eyes of good,
Sinner putting a choke hold on saint.
Please let me be a believable symbol of darkness,
A villain people love to hate.

Let the crowd revel at my defeat
And feel fulfilled by my downfall.
They have paid admission
And want to laugh

Let me bring honor to the memory of
Killer Kowalski
Dick the Bruiser
and Gorgeous George.

Without evil I could not make a living
Thank You for the opportunity.

Psalm of Praise

Translated from the Hundred and Fiftieth Psalm

raise Him in His arena
Praise Him on His court
Praise Him from seats with obstructed views

Praise Him with the crack of a bat and the thump of a glove
Praise Him with the swish of the net and the bounce of the ball
Praise Him with the crash of helmets and the thwack of pads

Praise Him with the umpire's call and the referee's whistle

Praise Him with the plunk off a racket and the hiss of the puck
Praise Him with the thud of a drop kick and the plink of a putt
Praise Him with the snap of a jab and the din of pins

Praise Him with high fives and standing Os

Praise Him from the end zone
Praise Him from the beginning zone

Praise Him by addressing the ball

Let every soul that has cable praise the name of the Lord.