The title of my post comes from a quote from the first chapter of Chesterton's Orthodoxy, first edition 1908. He tells of an at-that-time unrealized story in his mind "about an English yachtsman who slightly miscalculated his course and discovered England under the impression that it was a new island in the South Seas[, ...planting] the British flag on that barbaric temple which turned out to be the Pavilion at Brighton[.]" Chesterton explains the appeal of this story to himself in this way:
"What could be more delightful than to have in the same few minutes all the fascinating terrors of going abroad combined with all the humane security of coming home again? What could be better than to have all the fun of discovering South Africa without the disgusting necessity of landing there? What could be more glorious than to brace one's self up to discover New South Wales and then realize, with a gush of happy tears, that it was really old South Wales. This at least seems to me the main problem for philosophers, and is in a manner the main problem of this book. How can we contrive to be at once astonished at the world and yet at home in it? How can this queer cosmic town, with its many-legged citizens, with its monstrous and ancient lamps, how can this world give us at once the fascination of a strange town and the comfort and honour of being our own town?"
Admirable and important questions, which I will save for another time. For this post, I wanted to share and expound the appeal which this story had for me on my first reading of it.
A verse found in the Book of Mormon, in the Book of Enos, Chapter 1, verse 3, is where my explanation begins. In this story, the then prophet Enos discusses a particular experience he had in his younger days where he went into the woods to hunt beasts, during which trip "the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart" (italics added).
Before directly addressing my promised subject, may I share an experience of my own. I served a two-year proselyting mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, starting at age 19 years. Missionaries for the Church, generally speaking, do not select their area of service, and I was assigned to serve and preach in Uruguay in South America, speaking Spanish. About my mission, I could speak volumes, but one experience lit up in my memory upon reading Chesterton's scenario.
About one year into my mission, I was one of about 20 missionaries serving in a city called Paysandu, argueably the second largest city in Uruguay. My missionary leaders in Paysandu (young adults, like myself) wanted to have a team-building activity. They wanted to watch a sports-themed movie, since such movies tended to focus on team-building principles and themes that were expected to be easily applicable to our spiritual team. At that time, the Fourth of July was right around the corner. So, since most of the missionaries in Paysandu at the time were American nationals, and since the other missionaries (incidentally, all Paraguayan nationals at the time) did not mind participating in the celebration of an American holiday, and with permission from our mission president, our Paysandu missionary leaders arranged for us to watch together on the Fourth of July the 2004 Disney film Miracle, about the 1980 U.S. Olympic Hockey Team when they defeated the Soviet Union in the Lake Placid games.
If you have not seen the movie Miracle, it is a great sports movie. For millenia, people have been drawing parallels between sports and life, as well as sports and spiritual things. The Apostle Paul declares how he "fought the good fight," and "finished my course [another translation reads "I have finished the race"]". And the good sports movies of history have continued in that tradition, from the greats such as Chariots of Fire, Field of Dreams, Rudy, The Sandlot, Cinderella Man, and Remember the Titans, to the maybe not great but certainly nostalgic films such as The Mighty Ducks and Angels in the Outfield.
If you have not seen Miracle, it is also an intriguing hockey movie. The director attempted to literally recreate the famous 1980 US v USSR hockey game, based on the live broadcast footage, for the third act of the film. The actors were hockey players, and the hockey players the actors. An interesting Easter egg is that hockey player and actor Billy Schneider tried out for the team for the movie, and made it, without telling the film team that his father, Buzz, was a forward for the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team. When the film team found out about the relationship, they assigned Billy to play the same position as his father. Incidentally, when they compared the footage of the father versus the son, the camera men were often shocked at how exactly they resembled each other.
While compelling, it was none of these things that affected me on that viewing, on that Fourth of July, on my mission, in Uruguay. Besides being a good sports movie and a pioneering hockey movie, much of the film's power and message teeters on the movie's ability to convey to the audience the prevailing wisdom of the time in which this film is set, that there is in fact a weight, a dignity, a pride, a patriotism in representing the United States, in being American, that that American experiment ought to instill in the soul of its citizen a stirring to behave in a certain way, to turn your eyes to a higher plane. This lesson is in large part the journey of the young college-age athletes that compose the hockey team in this film, and, by proxy, it is our journey also as the audience. I think the movie conveys these message quite spectacularly. I look forward to the day when I can expect such a film out of Disney or Hollywood again.
One moment from the film is particularly illustrative of this point. After a practice game in Oslo between the U.S. team and Norway, Coach Brooks is angry at his team for their performance and behavior during the game. The U.S. players on the bench are shown more interested in looking at and discussing Norwegian girls in the stands, implying that their heads are not in the game at hand, and further implying that it was affecting how they performed on the ice, with the U.S. team only tying rather than beating the Norwegian team, a team much inferior to the target Soviet team. Coach Brooks insists right then and there in the Norwegian ice rink on an impromptu practice of ladder drills, which are done by skating as fast as you can skate goal line to blue line and back, goal line to half line and back, goal to other blue line and back, goal line to goal line and back, all of which counts as "one ladder;" each set triggered by the whistle of Assistant Coach Patrick on the signal of Coach Brooks. The practice continues for hours. On various occasions, both Assistant Coach Patrick and the team's doctor question the wisdom of the unrelenting drills. At one point the janitor of the rink asks the team to leave so he can go home, but Brooks replies "Just tell him to leave me the keys; I'll lock up." Later, the janitor turns off the lights with the team still on the ice, but Brooks refuses to stop. What could possibly be so important to invoke such apparent stubborness from this coach?
Intermittently, between drills, Brooks reminds his team of some important perspectives -- life lessons perhaps -- which he views essential for ultimate victory against that seemingly unwinnable confrontation against the Soviet hockey team:
"You think you can win on talent alone? Gentlemen, you don't have enough talent to win on talent alone."
"When you pull on that jersey, you represent yourself and your teammates; and the name on the front is a [heck] of a lot more important than the one on the back. Get that through your head!"
"You keep playing this way, you won't beat anyone who's good let alone great."
"You wanna make this team, then you better start playing at a level that's gonna force me to keep you here!"
"This cannot be a team of common men, because common men go nowhere. You have to be uncommon."
These are all compelling lessons. But how does the practice ultimately end? Just as Assistant Coach Patrick is about to blow the whistle again, the team's forward and later captain, Mike Eruzione, calls out his own name and where he was from (incidentally Winthrop, Massachusetts), reminiscent of the team's introductions on their first day of practice post-tryouts. At that first practice, Coach Brooks would ask in response, "Who do you play for?" and the team member would indicate the university for which he played (in Mike's case, Boston University). In this scene in Oslo, following the same formula, Coach Brooks asks "Who do you play for?" Mike responds, "I play for the United States of America." We, as the audience, see the beginnings of transformation in the team. And apparently so does Coach, who declares, "That's all gentlemen," and the practice is over.
When I left that activity, I was homesick, not for my house in Idaho, but for my country. I missed my national anthem, I missed the Stars and Stripes, I missed my native language, I missed living amid my American heritage. My heart ached for the land I had learned to sing about -- my third grade teacher had us transcribe, create illustrations for, and memorize the words to all the verses of both "America, the Beautiful" and "My Country 'Tis of Thee." On the one hand, it was not a mindset one would want for a missionary with one year left in his assigned time of service before going home. On the other hand, I see that experience as a landmark in my life. A plunging gratitude, a righteous pride, a pure humility of mind and heart "sank deep into my heart," reminiscent of the feelings I have had during times which I have been able to look up at the stars on a clear night, away from the city lights -- I believe that an unspoken covenant between myself and God was made that day, that I would treasure that heritage. My dedication to finding ways to share those treasures did not come until later. But at that time, in a way, I had "discovered" America for and in myself. In that way, I became that man in a yacht.
