If you ever saw me play any sports, you would realize quite quickly that I'm better suited for reading, or 'riting, or 'rithmetic. To be sure, a good athlete needs to read the playbook, write where it says "sign here," and do the math when it comes to contracts and scores; but I am still out of my league, you might say, on a playing field or on an ice surface.
I can hold my own, I suppose, so long as I don't have to put the puck in the hole with a bat. Mind you, you need to know that I was quite successful on my high school football team; I understood that I was on the offensive line: Everything I did was offensive.
I was told that I was playing any one or all of the following positions: end, guard, or tackle. Then I found out I was supposed to sit at the end of the bench, guard the water bottles, and tackle anyone who came near.
My interest in a sports theme this week is because of two unrelated stories in the religion of sports. Both involve professional football players, so I suppose there is a token link. The one is the ongoing saga of Brett "will-he-or-will-he-not" Favre, and the other is a relatively unknown Cory Boyd.
Favre, as you know, plays for the Green Bay Packers; sorry, the New York Jets; oops, my bad, the Minnesota Vikings. A man desperate for a Super Bowl ring will do anything with anybody to keep playing until he can get a trip to the Big Dance, with hardware to match - even if it means "divorcing" team and "marrying" another one.
Mr. Boyd currently plays for the Toronto Argonauts. Like his team, he is experiencing a resurrection of sorts: A recent web story recounted his past: the death of loved ones, an absentee father (until he showed up at his mother's funeral), ghetto life, drug wars, and the like. He is tearing up the league, as I write this, and it is one of those warm, fuzzy stories that restores my faith in sports as, well, sports. It almost makes me wants to shout, "hallelujah!"
You see, sports has become not only big business, but it has become big religion. Athletes are treated as god (no, Maurice, I know my grammar, but I also know my Bible and there is only one God). The way they are feted and "jetted" make me sick. The recent showcasing of Mr. Favre being flown halfway around America is a case in point.
He may be good, but he's not that great.
Cory Boyd, on the other hand, is a polar opposite example. In the words of the secular writer who put the story together, Mr. Boyd "found religion" in the last few years. It appears that whatever he found is working. It appears that his life was turned around by an encounter with God (his words), and he appears to be living a lifestyle that proves it.
Apart from my own conviction – you may say 'bias' – along these lines, I love a story where the athlete in question is not some loudmouthed, arrogant, promiscuous jerk, but is in fact a modest, unassuming and genuine article. Because the latter is so hard to find in the sports temple of our culture, Boyd's story resonates even louder and stronger with me.
Brett Favre's quest for Super Bowl glory is a noble albeit self-serving one. Note he is not trying to get there for the sake of the Minnesota Vikings. They are only the foot-soldiers, the means to his end. It is an example of hungry ambition devoid of moral balance.
What I like about Boyd is the credit he gives to his Maker, the determination to do his best for his team, and the absence of a pity-party. We need more Boyd stories, where athletes are honest and unsung heroes, religious experience or not.
If I had the legs, I would love to play end, guard, and tackle for his team.
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