Camaderie or Competition

Sarah had just put her two kids to bed one night when the phone rang. Her best friend, Ricki, was on the line . . . and she was almost exploding in anger. Someone at work had campaigned and twisted the regulations and bent the company code and fattened up her resumé to where SHE had gotten a raise — and Ricki hadn't. Now, Ricki and Sarah were both Christians, both with a commitment to resolving feelings and frustrations in a Christlike manner . . . but this frustrated co-worker was just about ready to chuck the whole thing. How could something so unfair have happened? Her ten-minute tirade was actually laced with a few profanities and X- rated words.

After the phone call finally came to an end, Sarah sat on the couch and just stared out the window for a few minutes. What could she do? It was tempting to stir the pot, to get on the phone herself and call some other friends. "Did you hear the latest?" That kind of thing. Instead, Sarah walked over to the window, looked up at the starry skies outside, and breathed a prayer: "Lord, help ME to help Ricki right now. She's my friend — and she's so angry. Show me what to do to help her resolve her situation."

Now friend, why — in a week of radio messages focusing on the Olympic Games in Sydney — would we start with a story like this one? The Olympics are about competition and BEATING other people. I win a gold medal by making sure that Ken DOESN'T win one. Every medal the Russians take back home to Moscow is one less for the U.S. and Canada . . . so we want our athletes to use any trick, any psychological warfare, grab any possible edge. That's the way the game is played.

And yet, even in the Olympic Games, the greatest athletic showcase of talent in the world, the most prestigious sporting event on this planet, there are shining examples of athletes who were brilliant competitors . . . but still found a way to reflect what you and I would call the Christian ideal.

We've all seen how good Jackie Joyner-Kersee has been over the years as she competes in the heptathlon . . . that mix of seven events. Over on the other side of what used to be the Cold War Wall, an East German woman named Heike Drechsler was Jackie's main competition, especially in the long jump. Well, back in the old communist-capitalist rivalry years, one of Drechsler's East German teammates would start up a practice run on a parallel track every single time Jackie sprinted toward the long-jump pit. It was a deliberate little move, just a snippet of psyching out designed to distract Joyner-Kersee that tiniest bit, maybe throw her timing off. Well, Heike Drechsler finally went over to her own teammate and told her, "Las das in ruhe!" Which translated means "Hey, cut that out!" In other words, knock off the gamesmanship. The American was too fine, she said, their rivalry too pure, for it to be tarnished. And Jackie agrees. "There is no animosity between us," she tells reporters. "Only respect."

The former writer of our Sunday broadcast, John McLarty, brought in a book entitled The Decathlon by Frank Zarnowski. In this fascinating account of the past hundred years and the people who compete against each other in this ten-event competition, the writer makes this observation:

"The decathlon is the most social of track events and promotes a strong sense of camaderie among contestants. There is a lot of time to visit during and between events, much of which is used in HELPING other participants. Athletes will give and take advice, analyze each other's technique, assist each other in locating and checking take-off points, and even use each other's personal equipment."

We mentioned Tuesday how in 1960 Rafer Johnson, a decathlon athlete for the U.S., and Taiwan's C. K. Yang were actually teammates at UCLA, helping each other, lifting each other up. Finally, in that last race in Rome, the murderous 1500-meter, Rafer had to beat his good friend. Later in the dressing room, he said, so exhausted he could hardly talk: "I wanted that one real bad. But I never want to go through that again — never. I'm awfully tired." Then he looked over at Yang. "But so's he."

Yang managed a tired smile and just said this: "Nice going, Rafe."

And you know, friend, all the moments of sportsmanship we see in Australia this week and next . . . they're a lesson to those of us who are Christians. SILVER-medal winners reach up and shake the hand of the GOLD-medal winner, the athlete standing one level ABOVE them. "Congratulations." And they mean it! For four years they might have trained and worked with fierce intensity to beat THAT VERY PERSON! They've carried that person's face around in their dreams ever since Atlanta. "I've got to beat Vladimir!" But somehow, most of the time, at least, these athletes find it within themselves to be gracious and supportive. "Good going. Great race! I'll beat you in Athens, but that was a great race. Congratulations!"

I say again, what a lesson for those of us who are believers!

There's a marvelous Olympic story of sorts to be found in the Bible book of Luke. It's a Thursday evening, in fact, it's THE Thursday evening right before Gethsemane. And there in the Upper Room as they celebrate the Lord's Supper, Jesus turns to Peter, one of the intense competitors of all time, and tells him this:

"Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail." Now listen to this: "And when you have turned back, STRENGTHEN YOUR BROTHERS."

Those last three words just mean the world to me. "Strengthen your brothers." When you compete in the Games, help other people. If you're a great runner, help those who aren't quite as good. If you can run 26 miles 385 yards without even breathing hard, reach out and lend a hand to somebody else who's thinking of quitting. If someone ahead of you is getting a gold medal, pat them on the back and praise God for how He's blessed THEM.

As we look through the annals of Olympic history, one quiet, little-known story probably says the most to me about camaraderie and sportsmanship. The 1912 Games in Stockholm were dominated by a big Indian athlete from Oklahoma and a tiny place in Pennsylvania called the Carlisle Indian School. Later voted "Athlete of the First Half-Century" — take note, Michael Jordan — Olympic athlete Jim Thorpe breezed to an EASY victory in the decathlon with a huge 688-point margin, and also triumphed in the pentathlon. "It was like picking strawberries out of a dish for Jim," wrote a reporter.

Then tragedy struck. One year later someone discovered that Thorpe had once played some semipro baseball for a few bucks in North Carolina. That made him a pro, not an amateur, and in one of the rawest deals ever handed down, his gold medals from the Olympic Games were taken away from him. In fact, ALL his prizes from Stockholm were rudely snatched away, including the silver model of a viking ship presented to him with the compliments of Czar Nicholas of Russia for his Olympic wins. It wasn't until 1982, 29 years after Jim Thorpe had died a discouraged man, that the gold medals were finally returned to his family and his name reinstated in the record books. We were leafing through a 1977 account of Olympic history, and his name just plain isn't listed. For nearly 70 years he'd been expunged from athletic history.

But now here's the part of the story that means so much to me as a Christian. The Olympic Committee came to the Swedish hero, Karl Hugo Wieslander, who had come in second in the decathlon event. "Congratulations," they told him. "Now you're the FIRST- place winner. Thorpe's out; you get the gold medal."

But do you know something? Wieslander isn't known as much for his Olympic prowess as he is for the fact that he said to the IOC committee: "No thank you." He REFUSED to accept Thorpe's medal; he wouldn't take it. He was too much of a sportsman, a gentleman. "The medal belonged to the best man," he said simply.

In fact, there's even one more quiet chapter to be unopened today. Twelve years after refusing the medal, Wieslander traveled all the way from Sweden to the United States to try and find his former competitor. He was touring with a Stockholm choir and wanted to bring encouragement to Jim Thorpe. Unfortunately, Thorpe had just been cut by a New York football team, and Wieslander was unable to locate him. But here was a quiet man, not seeking headlines, refusing a title and a medal that wasn't his, simply doing the right thing. In fact, Wieslander himself didn't tell anyone of his search until 46 years later, in 1971.

You know, we're recording this in late July, so I don't know who's going to do all the winning in Sydney as you hear these radio messages. Who will Sports Illustrated give the title of "GREAT"? I don't know. But as far as I'm concerned, you can put down a name like "Wieslander" right now. I look at precious vignettes like these, little human experiences where an athlete maybe even looked in his Bible and saw those three words: "Strengthen Your Brothers." Perhaps Wieslander read that biblical command and said to himself: "I think this means me."

I know FOR SURE, friend, that it means YOU . . . and ME . . . right now.

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