Meditation Loses To Sports!

Tuesdays, from 5:00 to 6:00 PM, is my regular senior citizen meditation group.

So what to do on Tuesday, July 1, when America was playing Belgium in World Cup soccer? I sent out an email bumping up the time to 5:30 and although 5:00 is the established favorite time, they were willing to indulge me. As it was, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to see the game through--it began at 4:00—but it was the best I could do. I didn’t want to push them too hard.

When they came through the door the score was tied 0-0 and I was beside myself.

“I’ll turn it off!” I yell from the TV room and leaving it on, I go though to meet them.

“No, no, don’t do that,” they say, in a jumble of voices, as they maneuver themselves into the room.

“We want to watch with you. You can’t stop now,” the ninety-two year-old tells me, as she collapses into the couch and lets her cane fall to the floor beside her.

They want to watch? Yipee!

And so it was. Oxygen tank onto the floor, another cane stashed—only three people this time, as two of the group are away and one had a fall last week putting her thoroughly out of commission, at least for the time being.

And soon: game over. No score. Overtime.

“What happens now?”

“How does it work?”

“Is this when they have that shoot out thing?”

They ask me and I haven’t a clue.

A fast email to my son-in-law, New York Daily News sports writer and ESPN sports radio host, Mike Lupica, whom I am sure is watching the game and who is great. He never fails to give me quick responses.  And, by the way, could anyone have a better sports source?

He comes right back. “Two 15 minute overtime periods,” Mike writes. “Not sudden death. Even if somebody scores, they play till the end of the second overtime. If still tied, then penalty kick shootout.”

We settle back into the couch, knowing now what to expect.

My friends are shouting. “Did you see that? He tripped him! That’s not fair! Penalty!”

“It was an accident. They can’t help it. Their feet and legs get all entangled.”

“OMG! He’s down! He’s hurt. He’ll be out of the game, for sure.” 

 “No. I read somewhere that they fake being hurt so the team can catch their breath.”  

 As if on cue, the player gets up and joins his mates on the field.

 Tim Howard makes another great save.

“Wow! The goalie is good!”

“He’s really good,” I say about Tim Howard who, it turns out, breaks the World Cup record for saves.

Belgium scores and the women moan. "Oh, No! Not now!"

“Why can’t we score a goal? The ball is always at our end of the field!” The woman with the oxygen in her nose complains.

Then we do make a goal and the seniors in my TV room, like the rest of watching America, go crazy.

But we lost the game.

Still, somehow we won. As an underdog team, America has earned a place on the international soccer map. We sure can defend; we are not so good on attack. Even without Mike’s help, I know that.

Meanwhile, a group of senior citizen meditators had some wild and unexpected fun and learned something about the game--I think they really yearned for the shootout drama.  Next Tuesday, instead of cheering and moaning, we will sit still together for twenty minutes. Very quietly. In the “zone.”

It’s all good.

***

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