The Pre-Game That Really Matters
Turning the drive to the field into a place for laughter, questions, and connection
In high school, my pregame ritual was sacred.
Double-check the bag.
Fill the water bottle.
Grab a snack.
Then head to the locker room to get in the zone. Always first on the field, running drills, stretching, visualizing game-day plays like my life depended on it.
In college, “pre-game” meant something different for most people. A not so secret code for downing cheap beer before kickoff. For me, it still looked a lot like high school. Except instead of heading to the football stadium with the crowd, I was lacing up for a rugby match while my friends were heading to the tailgate.
Pre-game in a sports loving family that is in it more for fun than winning? It’s more like a full-on scavenger hunt for missing cleats.
One kid’s shoe always seems to disappear. It’s like it sprouted legs and walked off. It’s usually hiding under a bench, buried in the grass, or tucked behind some random gear. Finding it becomes a mini victory every time.
Then there’s the kid who thinks hiding behind the door to scare me is a brilliant plan when I am high stress and conducting mental math around our arrival time, departure time, and how many shoes are still missing.
It usually gets me with a startled look or a quick yell, but now they’ve started asking me to rate their “scare” on a scale from 1 to 10. No one’s gotten a perfect score yet—at least I haven’t admitted it.
Meanwhile, another kid has quietly slipped away to jump on the trampoline, proudly announcing, “I’m ready to go!” But when it’s time to leave, their shoes have somehow disappeared. That’s become a classic part of the routine.
Drew is always climbing on something. Benches, crates, furniture. It doesn’t matter if it is meant to climb or not. I try to keep my cool, reminding myself it’s probably safer to let him climb than to let him roam the neighborhood (his second favorite pastime). At least when he climbs, he is where I can see and hear him
And just when I think we’re finally about to leave, the real challenge begins: corralling everyone into the car, buckling up, and shifting gears, literally and figuratively, into game mode.
Because somehow, as chaotic as things are on the sidelines, once we’re all strapped in, the car becomes our sanctuary.
That’s when the noise quiets
The laughter bubbles up.
Connection sneaks in (if I can slow down enough to spot it).
Games we love to play-
Categories: Superheroes, things you can ride, cartoon characters—winner takes bragging rights.
Funny Questions: “If you had to eat one food forever…” or “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or 100 duck-sized horses?” (I’ll need to retire these when middle school humor kicks in.)
Check-ins: What made you laugh today? What made you sad? Who’d you play with?
The one we are really into right now is King of the Car.
At any point, someone can name a movie, the artist, or the song name playing on the radio. Whoever currently has the crown (which they always seem to remember) has to bestow the crown on the winner. Which, for the record, is entirely imaginary but fiercely protected.
Sometimes it’s just silly fun.
Sometimes it’s a moment to be silly and competitive.
And somehow, in that ridiculousness, we connect.
It doesn’t stop the wildness. It doesn’t fix the door-hiding or the cleat hunt.
But it does something important:
It reminds us that we’re a team.
Not just on the field.
But in the car.
In the driveway.
In the in-between moments where connection can either slip away or stick.
The Reflection
So much of connection happens before the “main event.”
Not in the perfect Instagram moments, but in the pauses.
The drives
The waiting in lines.
The five minutes before bed.
These are the micro-moments that can create tremendous connection, if we choose to notice them.
The Scripture
“These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road…”
—Deuteronomy 6:6–7 (NIV)
God knew that the most important conversations wouldn’t happen at the temple.
They’d happen in the carpool lane.
Or while dodging a door-hiding kid ready to give a surprise scare.
Our mission is to see those moments, and rather than reach for our phone, reach for connection.
The Reset Reminder
Before the next game
or during the grocery run
or after the bedtime battle….
take one moment to connect.
Ask a question.
Start a game.
Name what matters with a micro-blessing.
That’s the real win.
If we can slow down enough in the moment to take advantage of it.
This was such a beautiful reminder that the real magic isn’t in the highlight reel — it’s in the cleat hunts, the car games, the micro-moments we almost miss.
I love how you wove scripture and silliness into something that feels both sacred and wildly familiar.
Thank you for reminding us to slow down and see connection for what it is: a daily practice, not a perfect moment. 🤍
Love this. Reminds me of how in the cockpit, the “in-between” moments matter just as much as the big legs of the trip. At home, it’s not the birthday parties or vacations that always stick, it’s the sock hunts, the car games, and the laughs on the way to the field. Connection sneaks in if you slow down enough to notice it. Thanks for the reminder to treat those micro-moments like the real wins.