I want people to come to Clipper games and smile. I want people

In the voice of the ancients let us remember the words of the warrior of the court, Baron Davis, who declared: “I want people to come to Clipper games and smile. I want people to come to Clipper games and be entertained and dance and laugh.” At first glance, these words shine with the simplicity of joy. Yet within them lies a vision greater than sport alone. For Davis, basketball was not only a contest of points and victories, but a sanctuary of spirit, a place where strangers might be knit together by the rhythm of the game and the music of delight.

In the world of sports, too often the gaze falls upon numbers—statistics, trophies, records carved in stone. Yet Davis reminds us of another measure, no less noble: the measure of joy. For what is a stadium without laughter, what is a team without a people whose hearts are lightened by their coming? He sought not merely to play, but to give—to turn each game into a festival where men, women, and children alike could cast aside their burdens, even if only for a night.

The ancients knew this truth. In Greece, the Olympic Games were not solely for the crowning of victors, but for the gathering of peoples, the honoring of the gods, and the renewal of community. In Rome, the arena—though often darkened by violence—was at its best a place where the citizens rejoiced in spectacle and unity. In every age, the games of men reveal this truth: competition draws us, but it is entertainment, laughter, and togetherness that bind our spirits.

Think also of Jackie Robinson, who broke barriers not only by playing the game, but by transforming the ballpark into a place of hope for a people long denied their rightful place. The victories of his team mattered, yes, but the greater victory was in the uplift of millions who found in his presence a reason to smile and to believe again. Just as Robinson revealed courage through his play, so Davis sought to reveal joy through his. Both understood that sport is never only about the players—it is about the souls who gather to witness it.

Thus the saying of Davis carries a lesson: in all that you do, do not chase achievement alone. Ask instead: does my work bring joy? Do my actions lift the spirits of those who behold me? A man’s greatness is not only measured in his victories, but in the smiles he creates, the laughter he sparks, and the memories he leaves behind. For when trophies tarnish and records fade, joy endures.

So, beloved, take this teaching into your own life. When you labor at your task, let it not be only for gain, but for the good cheer of those around you. When you speak, let your words be laced with kindness, so that others may smile. When you create, let your work entertain and uplift, as though you were building an arena where all may come to dance and laugh.

And remember always: the true victory of a champion is not only in winning the game, but in winning the hearts of the people. As Davis longed for his fans to leave with lighter hearts than when they entered, so should you live in such a way that those who cross your path depart richer in spirit. For this is the higher purpose of all gifts—that they be shared.