Last Thursday night, my son, Chandler, and I checked into a hotel near the Los Angeles International Airport in order to meet my wife who was due in late from a business trip. I was surprised to find the lobby bustling with people. It seemed like an odd hour for so many to be checking into a hotel. They were definitely traveling as a group and many of them were toting large duffle bags. When I saw baseball bat handles sticking out of one bag, I assumed they were some kind of team, but they were not a very well-heeled team in that they could not afford team bags. They were all traveling with their families. Kids were running all over the lobby and it did not take Chandler long to join them. Finally, I caught the red and green colors of Mexico on a laminated ticket pass that one of them was wearing around his neck and I wondered if this was Mexico's team in the World Baseball Classic – the guys that hours earlier had knocked Team USA out of the games with a convincing win. I would have expected much more of a display of color and uniformity from an international team.

“Are you guys on Mexico's baseball team?” I asked two families in the elevator. They nodded. “Are you still in it?” Yes, they shook their heads. “So, you just knocked us out?” They grinned ear to ear with satisfaction. “Well, congratulations!” I said as they spilled out onto their floor – women, children, players, and bats. One guy had signatures all over his jacket. Two others had Team USA hats signed, I assumed, by Major League players.

These were no-names from nowhere who had just knocked off their millionaire heroes and gotten their autographs in the process. These guys were playing only for pride and the love of the game, and they were carrying their own bags. You can bet that USA players never touch their own equipment outside the ball field.

I want to remember that picture: the smiles, the kids, the players, and the equipment bags strewn all over the lobby. Something about it seems true and pure – the kind of thing that will keep this game alive.

Something about this also seems right about our relationship with God. When you serve God, you carry your own stuff. No one is above being a servant. And we're in it for the love of the game, only this game is life. It's the real thing.

That guy may have autographs of big league players all over his jacket, but in his heart, he's got something better than all their million-dollar contracts combined – he's got the real game and the real reason to play it. And look who won.