if U have any evidence of that, you'll soon find out that the Mormon God can't be troubled with such trivialities!


S/he is more concerned about:

correct pronunciation of each & every syllable of the sac. prayers (i'm not sure about foreign language prayers, sorry)

making sure that the container of consecrated oil isn't mentioned, only the contents

prohibiting an unmarried man/woman pair from traveling in the same auto.

Yes, there's more to this list, much of it 'the unwritten order of things'

I was a teen in the 1960's, when all-church fast-pitch softball and all-church basketball were The Big Things. I was/am not a jock by any stretch, and my taste in sports is exceedingly narrow. (I only liked soccer--and by that I mean "football"--when I was a referee. But to sit in a stand is another, less likable world.)

When I was put in an LDS foster home, the guy made me participate against my will. I was in the Palmdale (CA) Ward, and renowned fast-pitch softball pitcher was the bishop. We won all-church over and over, and had the trophies in the foyer to prove it. Still, I hated it. While my foster father made me participate, they still put me in the outfield, where I could do the least amount of damage. One night game, however, getting the batter out would win us the game, and the batter hit a high ball out into the outfield; I had to jump in the air to snag it, but I did catch it, and we won the game. I expected some praise, but all my foster father did was say, "You caught that like a girl!" and then had a good laugh. I said, "But my catch won the game!" He repeated, "But you caught it like a girl!"

As far as sportsmanship, softball is such a boring and tame game that there were few complaints. Basketball, on the other hand, produced fights--actual fisticuffs--between men who were church leaders. Our main rival was a ward from Lancaster, and any time there was a disagreement in a game between Palmdale and Lancaster, it would produce a physical altercation. The opening and closing prayers (yes, they had those, too, in church sports) did nothing to curb the fights. My big jock foster father was all about pushing and sometimes punching an opponent in one of these altercations. Much later I was in the Pacific Grove (CA) ward, and a fight broke out between the bishop and one of his counselors, and it surprised everyone when the two of them dropped to the floor and began duking it out. It must have made for an uncomfortable PEC meeting the following Sunday.

Once in the 70s, we played a lot of evening basketball every Wednesday.

Men's room had lockers.

Once, all my cash was stolen, but they left the wallet.
At least the thief was nice enough to leave the wallet.

Dumb me - thought there was no need to use a lock in LDS church locker room. Live and learn I guess . . .

I'm reluctant to say this because I don't believe that Mormons are more honest than anyone else. I'll say it anyway. In most of the church sports leagues, there was significant nonmember participation. You may or may not have been ripped off by a Mormon.

My mom taught us from an early age to guard money and valuables at church and not to assume anything was safe. My dad had a little more trust in others, but my mom was a realist.

In most respects, my parents were good parents despite Mormonism being a part of who they were, but with regard to church sports, my dad was ridiculous. He officiated when needed, mostly for softball, basketball, or volleyball. All of his kids would have done almost anything to have avoided having him ref or ump our games. He "bent over backwards" so far in order to be fair to others when his own kids were involved that there was virtually no pretense of fairness.

If we were batting, nothing would be called a ball, and if one of us pitched (where I was, we only played softball and not baseball, so I never pitched though my brothers did; did anyone else have actual baseball in church leagues?), there was no such thing as a called strike. The only way to get anyone out when one of my sibs pitched was to get the batter to swing and either miss or hit a ball that could be fielded. It was bull$h!t. It got to the point that I refused to play if my dad was officiating our game. Once we nearly came to blows (my dad and myself) because my team was in danger of forfeiting when we didn't have enough players to field a team without me. The coach didn't care because he agreed it was a lost cause with me on the team and my dad refereeing. Someone else showed up to play right before game time, fortunately.

My older brother called my dad on this a couple of years ago. My brother told my dad that it was pure and simple sanctimony, as in "See how holy and honest I am! Even if my own kid is safe by a mile, I will call him out because I'm soooooo honest." My brother told him it was grandstanding in front of others and calling attention to his own righteousness, which wasn't really any less sinful than were the actions of the guys who called everything in their own kids' favor, and possibly even worse because he was doing it to call attention to himself. My dad did admit to my brother that he made obviously wrong calls against us, but wouldn't concede that he did it for show.

I played church slow pitch in my teens. Had dreams of making it to the all church tournament in SLC but ran into a powerhouse team from Raymond (Wendy's hometown) with 3 NCAA Div. 1 stars on it.

I refereed church basketball in the 80s.

The girls never caused any problems. The boys sometimes needed to be reigned in a bit, but I never had any serious issues. The men, however, were the source of not only poor sportsmanship, but serious lack of maturity. To say that they took it way too seriously would be quite an understatement.

But the worst example of poor sportsmanship I ever witnessed was not from players, but from spectators. One night I was officiating a men’s game, and an older couple was constantly giving my partner serious lip. My partner was an excellent official (much better than me), and yet he was the target of all the couple’s insults. At one point, the wife (who had been knitting) threw her knitting (needles and all) on the court in her frustration. After the game, I had to physically separate the husband from the other ref. Later, I was asked to speak with a member of the Stake Presidency about what I had witnessed.

I remember a High Priest Stake big-wig (and a lawyer) who refereed the games in our ward, and who always gave his son every advantage--even though unearned.

I guess that this proves that none of us are perfect.

Oh yeah...I almost forgot: At one time, he got arrested for shop-lifting!

I was a Stake Athletic Director...twice.

The first time was as a young married student at BYU in the early 1980's. I attended a "regular" ward (not a student ward) and one of my friends in the ward at the time was a fellow young married law student (and Elders Quorum Prez.) named Kevin Worthen.

I was always a "gym rat" and made sure I secured a key to the Stake Center so that I could shoot hoops whenever I wanted. The Stake Athletic Director noticed me and asked if I would give him a hand. After he moved on, I was called to the position.

I always had a strained relationship with the Stake Prez when it came to scheduling as I felt my program was not given priority, particularly when it came to scheduling the Stake Center for basketball. The tension between us came to a head though during the spring. I had run a very successful softball program and had arranged a deal with the City of Provo to use one of their city fields for a stake championship softball tournament. The challenge I had was to fit all of the games needed into a very tight timeline.

Everything was going smooth until I ran up against the Stake Prez' ward team. Just as I was getting ready to start the game, the Stake Prez decided that he wanted his team to take the field so that he could hit them some ground balls for infield practice. As he was hitting grounders I said, "Hey Prez...call your team in. My schedule is tight and we have to start the game." He ignored me. Kept hitting ground balls. Again I said, "Hey Prez, we have to get going...now!!" He shook his head and hit another ground ball. When he went to hit another I said, "You hit that and your team forfeits the game."

He let the ball drop to the ground, dropped his bat and walked over to me. He asked me to repeat what I had said. I said, "We don't have time for the teams to take infield practice and get the games in. So if you would like to continue hitting ground balls to your team, you will have the opportunity to keep doing so for the next hour because your team will have forfeited the game."

He turned flaming red, got up in my face, spitting and screaming, "DO YOU SUPPORT ME AS YOUR STAKE PRESIDENT!!" I stood my ground and said, "In the chapel I do support you. That is YOUR game. But here on this field, this is MY game. You have ten seconds." He tried staring me down and I could tell he wanted to punch me. Instead he spun around and told his team to get into the dugout.

Not long afterwards I graduated from BYU and moved away.

Years later I was once again called to be the Stake Athletics Director in my California stake. Having worked in professional sports for 20 years, organizing a stake program came easy for me.

I was nearing my breaking point with the church at the time so when I received a call from the High Counselor to interview me, I decided to turn the tables. Instead of him interviewing me, I interviewed him. I laid out for him what I would need to put on a great program (reasonable budget, new equipment, outside paid officials, etc.). I gave him a hand-written list of what I required to accept the position, and told him to share it with whatever "powers may be". I told him if my requests were unacceptable, then perhaps he should hit his knees again and ask for the name of another candidate.

He sat there stunned. After picking his jaw up, he stammered, "I'll get back to you soon." I shook his hand and said, "Great! I'm excited to put on a good program and look forward to hearing back from you." About a week later we met up again. He pulled my list out of his pocket. It was marked up with notes. As he went over it, I realized that about 80% of what I asked for had been agreed to. He asked if that would be O.K. with me. I told him, "Sufficient for my needs." He actually chuckled a little at that response.

I went on to put on the best athletic program that stake had ever seen.

This isn't about poor sportsmanship, it just "cracks" me up. Our ward did a leaders vs. youth basketball game. The bishop was a portly man. His sweatpants kept sliding down as he chugged up and down the court, exposing the flapping butt flap of his one-piece garments, and occasionally his hairy ass. The adults pretended not to notice but everyone else laughed. Someone finally suggested he finish the rest of the game on the bench.

Our son-in-law was playing “ church” basketball and this guy came up from behind him and purposely slammed his fist onto our son in law’s hand. It broke his hand and it required a permanent plate and screws. This creep was from a different ward than our son in laws’s and when our SIL asked the stake prez for his name, for medical insurance information, the prez refused to tell him who it was. Our SIL’s dad sided with the prez when I later remarked that we can find out his name and take him to court. His dad sided with the stupid prez and the church instead of his own son!

"Church ball, the brawl that begins with prayer". I heard this from a ward member and thought it was spot on. Loved playing church sports and did see a few minor spats, I think it served to demonstrate an individuals true nature when they would fly off the handle during the heated action of a church sponsored sporting event.

But you have to remember, 'losers' don't make it to VIP Celestial Kingdom.

Everything in TSCC is a competition.

Pre game, when everyone would gather at mid-court for instructions before having their little prayer circle, it was always mentioned that "we are only out here to have a good time." I used to ask, "Then why are we keeping score?"

anybody remember Brother Butts (srs) from Houston North Stake ? ~

My old bishop had the self control of a spastic jellyfish so

when he got angry about something he would give the offending

person the finger. He was quite prolific with it and never

hesitated to do it. People were afraid of him.

My little brother, who was a star athlete in high school was barred from playing church basketball by the stake athletic director because my brother had played Sunday baseball. The stake AD was a coffee swilling, foul mouthed bully away from the confines of the chapel BTW.