JimmyCsays: At the juncture of journalism and daily life in KC

Well, we lost another “devout Catholic” the other day. And this one happened to be one I knew from my long stand at The Star.

Baseball writer Sid Bordman died Monday at age 98. The Star gave him a good send-off, talking about his 35 years with The Star and an additional 18 as sports information director at Rockhurst University.

The line in the story that really got my attention, though was this: “Bordman was a convert to Catholicism and was baptized at St. Vincent’s in 1950. He was a devout Catholic who never missed Mass, even when he was on the road covering baseball.”

Now, for the benefit of non-Catholics, the chief criterion for qualifying as a “devout Catholic” is attending Sunday Mass regularly. If you only go to Mass when it’s convenient, you can’t wear the mantle, and you can’t claim it in your obit.

At one time, I probably qualified as a devout Catholic because I attended Mass regularly and volunteered for committees and various tasks at the churches I belonged to. But I jumped ship and joined the alienated ranks mainly because of the priest sex-abuse scandal. The clincher was when former Kansas City-St. Joseph Bishop Robert Finn was convicted of covering up the deeds of a parish priest who was taking “upskirt” photos of girls at the parish school.

(You will find it interesting that before he became police chief, Rick Smith, then a colonel and a member of the diocesan review board, was asked, unofficially, by a diocesan official if the photos constituted child pornography. Smith’s answer: Maybe but probably not. Based on that, the diocesan official did not take the matter to the police department.)

Well before Finn’s conviction I had become disillusioned with the all-male hierarchy and with the priest being “king of the flock,” with little room for dissent among members of any particular congregation.

For the last 15 years or so I’ve been a Protestant, and I’m now a member of Country Club Christian Church (call for tee times) on Ward Parkway.

But I’m still kind of obsessed with this idea of an exclusive club of “devout Catholics.”

What is the deal with them? What’s the long-term play?

After thinking about it, I reasoned that if one’s lifetime goal is to acquire the title of devout Catholic, his or her longer-term goal must be to go straight to heaven and be assured of ready access to God and super humans like Joseph and Mary, Mother Teresa and Abe Lincoln.

Then I started wondering if there’s any here-on-earth corollary to heaven and hell. And while taking a walk today it occurred to me that Arrowhead Stadium, with all its bowls and bowels, is probably the best parallel.

Going back to those devout Catholics, where would they found in the afterlife, with Arrowhead as our model?

Why, the Club Level, of course!

For the privilege of paying $300 to $500 a ticket, those folks can quickly move to warmer areas on cold days, they don’t have to stand and crane their necks to see the playing field, and they can catch occasional glimpses of Kansas City celebrities. Plus, they never get rained on…Yes, I do believe, “devout Catholics” must have their own Club Level in heaven.

Next we move to Arrowhead’s lower level — the second best place to watch a Chiefs’ game. I think its heavenly equivalent would be the area where non-devout Catholics end up, as well as Protestants and other people who lived pretty good lives, by which I mean they didn’t lie a lot and treated their fellow man (and woman) with kindness and compassion. In heaven’s lower bowl, life is good…just not as good as on the gold level.

That brings us to purgatory, where the majority of us, according to Catholic teaching, will have to do some time before gaining access to heaven. The Arrowhead equivalent of purgatory is those wide sidewalks that corkscrew up to the stadium’s various levels. Doing time in purgatory, I suspect, is like being assigned to plod up and down, for who knows how long, those circular paths and not being allowed to go to your seats until finally being summoned.

…Well, I hate to bring it up, but we’ve now covered all the levels but one.

Arrowhead’s got that unspeakable place, too.

It’s the main concourse at the top of the lower bowl. It wasn’t always akin to damnation, because it used to be big and wide and friendly to navigate. But then came the $375 million renovation about a dozen years ago, and the concourse was significantly reduced to make way for expanded concession and seating areas. Now, the main concourse is a hell hole, a place where you’re embedded in a stinking, teeming flow of humanity, where beer is being sloshed on you and you’re stuck in a veritable bumper car arcade.

Imagine Game Day going on forever and being consigned to the concourse, without recourse. Never to get to your seat, never to see the field…Verily, I tell thee, you have found your way to the devil’s door.

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Just one more thing before we leave the heights and depths of Arrowhead and visions of eternity:

I’m looking for two seats on the Club Level for Sunday’s game with the Steelers.

Heaven, the real one, can wait.