Playing basketball with the Dalai Lama
Raised Irish Catholic, I never knew knew this man's power.
I had no idea who the Dalai Lama was. Nor did I care.
I was 22 and living in Ireland, playing and coaching basketball. That’s all that I had to care about: basketball.
What a dream.
Then the org I was working for got a hold of this global icon for peace, and they told me I had to play a big part in hosting him, you know, on a basketball court.
My friends back home were making cold calls or cramming for law school exams. I threw on New Balances, shorts and a t-shirt, and then grabbed my whistle.
I warmed up the eight-year-olds before he arrived. They weren’t just any normal set of kids. They were from Belfast’s still-hot neighborhoods. Half were Protestant, half were Catholic. Yes, over there in some parts, that still matters.
When he finally came, you could feel it. I couldn’t see him - he was surrounded by his fellow monks - but there was this thing, this presence in the gym suddenly.
He came over to me and the kids, and that thing got stronger. The kids, who had been awkward, tense and slightly uncooperative, became entranced. My heartbeat slowed. As I write this story, and whenever I tell it, my heartbeat slows.
We shook hands. My arm tingled past the elbow. He thanked me. I bowed ever so awkwardly.
A monk handed him a basketball. He faked a pass to my face. I flinched and he exploded into laughter. Then he patted the kids on the head and walked slowly away.
The war in Belfast is complex. Parts of its solution, as I saw it, could be basketball. Its resurgence could be Brexit.
Someone should schedule the Dalai Lama for a visit.