The Heat is getting to me...

Yep, it's hot outside. But that's not why I'm writing. It's Miami. That Heat.

I am pretty sick of the Lebron James saga. One of my FB friends posted that she was in disbelief because it made her question the integrity of professional sports. I wondered how many people still link those two things together - professional sports and integrity. I stopped watching the NBA years ago, even though I'm an avid basketball fan. I think it's because the thing I love above all else about sports and competition is when players rise above the odds and do something amazing together, when their hard work pays off, even if it's just for a moment. I want the Cinderella story. I suppose that's why I'm not a fan of Lebron or Kobe or any of those super gifted guys - sure they're amazing athletes who display jaw-dropping skills all the time. But that's an expectation and, therefore, not at all exciting for me to watch.

Sorry, boys. I like small town, small time success stories.

I've been watching a lot of Friday Night Lights. There's something about small town high school football that I find totally fascinating. I keep telling Dave that I want to live in one of those Texas football towns so I can enjoy the sport for just one season on that grand scale. I love that the whole town empties and caravans to the stadium (home or away) for Panther games. There are even signs in the players' front yards with their jersey numbers. To be a football player in that small Texas town is to be a hero.

Sure, I grew up in a small town. I have fond memories of attending the Gaston High School football games from the time I was in the fourth or fifth grade. And, yah, I still remember the names of the guys who played when I was growing up - to me they were the epitome of cool. I couldn't wait to get to high school to become one of those athletes (not football, but basketball). In Gaston, you get to walk the line behind your team. There are some bleachers, of course, but students usually don't sit. You stand behind the rope and cheer your boys on from five feet away. You follow them as they walk up and down the sidelines. You slip in the mud and stand in the rain. You play a part in the collective game.

And though Gaston isn't like the Dillon of FNL, when I watch that show I can still smell the dusty warmth of a cut wheat field in the late season heat of a September Friday night. I see the fog settle in as we slowly morph into October. I feel the rainy nights in late October when students traded green Letterman's jackets for hooded parkas to keep dry and warm. And I walk. I walk and cheer and stand behind my team.

In my high school years, we didn't win much. But that didn't matter. And though the whole town didn't empty to attend games, we had a lot of support for a losing team. Perhaps most importantly, in a small town like Gaston, everyone is an athlete. Everyone had the chance to suit up under those lights. Anyone could tackle the dream. I love that.

I value commitment, which means sticking with your hometown team even when you have opportunities elsewhere. Anyone can leave a losing team or a small town for something bigger and better. That's easy. But I think it takes real integrity to stick it out and learn to win with the people around you.

Maybe that's why the Heat is getting to me.