The Day Lee Corso Lost His Mind

by Adam Metz 

What I remember most about attending the 50th annual Thanksgiving Day football game in Detroit back in 1989 was the Cleveland Browns hearse that was in the tailgating lot. You read that correctly – an orange and brown hearse decked out with a white stripe down the middle. I can't be certain, but there's a pretty good chance that it is the same Cleveland Browns hearse that was for sale on Craigslist earlier this year. (Can there be more than one?) Anyone who has ever attended a big-time sporting event can attest to the bizarre things fans will do to show their support for their team. From awkward tattoos to hilarious obituaries to all out riots, sports can bring out the best, the worst, and the weirdest in us all.

As a high school football official for the past ten years, one of things I have realized about sports is that it makes people irrational. My football crew and I have had pleasant conversations with coaches who seem completely sane before the game, only to watch them turn into rude, degrading, and screaming imbeciles in a matter of minutes. Coaches, players, and, especially fans, under the intoxicating influence of sports can quickly do or say things that they will regret - sometimes for the rest of their lives. 

Sports not only affects our actions, however; our minds are just as susceptible to its influence. In January 2003, my wife and I were in Tempe, AZ with another couple to watch Ohio State take on the University of Miami in the National Championship game. If you remember it, this was one of the greatest college games ever played, and Ohio State won in double overtime. If you are a Miami fan (as was the other couple attending the game with my wife and I), you certainly remember that the first overtime was extended by a controversial defensive pass interference call against Miami. You can relive the drama in this fine piece of Buckeye propaganda. With my friend and I rooting for opposing outcomes of this game, it was fascinating to watch the "thrill of victory" and the "agony of defeat" live itself out in the two of us, as Ohio State was recognized the victor. The difference between our two experiences could not have been greater. 
 
It wasn't just the feeling of victory and defeat however, that made for contrast in our reactions. As we talked after the game, it became apparent that we saw a different game. A close call that had to be made (in my opinion) was a total miscall and display of incompetence (in my friend's opinion). And yet, we’d sat right next to one another; we saw the same game. We're both intelligent and generous people, not quick to make accusations against others. How could he be so wrong?

I finally found some answers when I ran across a psychology study that had been published nearly 60 years ago and examined a situation just like this. The name of the study is "They Saw a Game: A Case Study" and studies fans who attended the November 23, 1951 Dartmouth-Princeton football game. They asked fans from both schools questions about the dirty play in the game and who was responsible for starting it. Across the board, students were more likely to believe that the other team’s players initiated it, and that their team was simply (and justifiably) responding. Even the way the two schools' newspapers reported the game differed greatly. The findings led authors Hastorf and Cantril to conclude, "the 'game' actually was many different games and . . . each version of the events that transpired was just as 'real' to a particular person as other versions were to other people."

The study highlighted what is known as "selective perception," and the anecdotal references of ugly tattoos, NFL colored hearses, and sports biases highlight the fact that sports often has a power over all of us - even over our minds. Sports fanatics often live completely different lives at the office or at home in the "real world." The arena or the stadium is a place where they can "let it all hang out" and "blow off some steam." 

Sports allegiances can also blind us, however. It does more than alter our perception of close calls. They can sometimes lead us to cheer when a player goes down with an injury. They can make us say things we would never say on the street or in any other setting. The first football chant I remember hearing as a kid was, "Elway's a faggot." Really, I heard 80,000 fans chant that in unison. In short, our sports allegiances can cause us to lose who we are. 

That's the only way I can explain what happened on this past Saturday's episode of the wildly popular College Game Day. If you aren't familiar with Game Day, it is basically a televised tailgate party that travels each week to different locations in order to help get the country excited about upcoming college football games. Each week, the show builds suspense as the personalities make their picks for the big game, and climaxes when former college football coach Lee Corso makes his "head gear" pick for the game from which they broadcast by putting on the mascot of the team he is picking. This past Saturday's game was in South Carolina for the Florida State - Clemson game, and Corso picked Florida State. You have to see it to really capture what happened next; you can watch it here. 

Without the context of college football, it's difficult to imagine anyone not seeing the offensive nature of this 60-second clip. This goes too far even for a Saturday Night Live sketch. But, since it was all in the spirit of college football, it passes with hardly a blip.

I scarcely side with the hyper-sensitive, politically correct world that is often forced upon us. Every year when my family attends the Opening Day festivities in Cleveland, OH, I am reminded that my favorite baseball team has bigoted roots. Having seen many misuses and overreactions, I tend to be slow and methodical in crying "racist," but this episode highlights the blinding power of sports. If Corso's getup wasn't enough to trip the sensitivity wire by the ESPN suits, didn't the body slamming by the white man (Bill Murray) at the end do it for them? That we can be so blind highlights yet again just how powerful sports can be.

This is a complicated topic and I'm making no claim to solving the issues with a single blog post. The discussion regarding the Washington Redskins continues to grow (the Huffington Post has an entire page devoted to stories about the controversy), Florida State is regularly in conversation with the Seminole Indians and are trying to appease their detractors, and I suppose discussions will broaden regarding the fates of the Cleveland Indians and Atlanta Braves and other similarly named teams. While the complex debate continues, a good place to begin is by acknowledging how sports clouds our judgment. We need to have these conversations, and we need to begin them by acknowledging that we are talking about people - a people who have been victimized and ignored as much as any civilization in the history of the world. And in a more perfect world, we would be having these conversations about football and baseball mascots because we had already acknowledged their painful past, restored dignity to their people, and assigned the value that is due to their civilizations.

Adam is the minister of the Alum Creek Church of Christ in Lewis Center, OH where he lives with his wife Mary Beth and their three children: Clark, Clementine, and Cecilia. You can find more of his writing at Theological Vacillation and you can follow him on Twitter @CrasslyYours. 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
You might also like:  

• Finding Holiness in the Pigskin
• What If Denominations Formed Athletic Conferences
• Opening Day: The Spectacle of Sport as Religious Festival
• The Top 25: Bigger, Better, Faster, Farther (Or, The Idiocy of Rankings)

Finding Holiness in the Pigskin

by Adam Metz

If I close my eyes I can still smell the roast in the oven. Grandpa had one special meal that he made for our family on holidays - a Midwestern recipe handed down through the Great Depression: one arm roast, one loaf of bread, one medium-sized onion, one egg, salt and pepper to taste, and the rest of the pan filled with potatoes. My grandmother fell victim to cancer long before I took a breath, so instead we all grew up on Grandpa's cooking - at least on special occasions. We just called it Grandpa's roast and dressing.

For our family, Grandpa's roast and dressing was a sacred meal and the corresponding family time was a sacred gathering. Memories of bygone civic holidays and Thanksgiving and Christmas continue to stimulate the olfactory nostalgia of the roast in the oven. We would fill our plates and with our first bite, each of us would let Grandpa know how good it was. And it was always good.

More times than not, the sacred gathering commenced at 1:00 on Sunday afternoons. If there was a holy time in our family it was 1:00 on Sundays . . . after church. The secret ingredient to Grandpa's roast and dressing wasn't the onion or the egg; I think it was the orange helmets and the brown jerseys on his television. For our family, autumn Sundays were holidays because they were football Sundays.

My Grandpa instilled in me a love for football. He never played. He never coached. Far removed from the violent and aggressive nature of football, Grandpa was the gentlest of men. But he loved football, and more than football itself, he loved the Cleveland Browns - a love that he has bequeathed to me.

I learned to love the Browns so much that when I moved away from Ohio, people assumed I grew up in Cleveland. Cleveland was over a hundred miles away from Defiance, but for three hours each week our house might as well have stood on the shores of Lake Erie. We cheered for the Buckeyes, we didn't hate the Lions or the Colts, but there was no mistaking that we were a Browns family. Through and through.

That's what made January 17, 1988 so hard. Maybe it was because we failed to partake of the sacred meal on that fateful Sunday afternoon. Maybe it was because we felt that devastation and misery could never befall us two years in a row. But whatever the reason, on that day over 25 years ago, the football gods decided to urinate on the city of Cleveland and on Grandpa's house in Defiance.

The memories of an eight-year-old, 25 years removed, are far from reliable, but whenever I do remember that day it was always dark. Through the darkness I remember that we recorded the game on our VCR so that we could relive the big victory over and over again. I remember that the Browns were playing the Denver Broncos in the AFC Championship game for the second consecutive year. I remember that if the Browns won, they were finally going to go to play in their first Super Bowl. I remember that John Elway had devastated us the year prior with what NFL lore has termed The Drive. I remember thinking that it was going to be different this year, that this was our year. 

I know that with 1:12 remaining on the clock in the fourth quarter, the Browns were behind by a touchdown but had the ball at Denver's eight-yard-line.

I know that Bernie Kosar handed the ball off to Earnest Byner.

I know he got hit hard by Broncos linebacker Jeremiah Castille at the two-yard-line.

I know Byner fumbled the football six feet short of scoring a game-tying touchdown.

I know that the Broncos recovered the fumble.

I know that Grandpa pushed "Stop" on the VCR to end the recording.

I know that we never watched that game again.

I know that 25 years later, the Cleveland Browns still have never been to the Super Bowl.

A few years ago Bill Simmons wrote an article attempting to enumerate the most cursed sports franchises in America. He put the Browns at number four, behind the Bills, the Vikings, and, the darling of all futile sports teams, the Cubs. The fact that Cleveland's other two professional sports teams make the same list in the top ten easily makes Cleveland the most cursed sports city in the country. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why did Grandpa do this to me?

It was a little surreal going through Grandpa's things after he died in February. His health had been failing for quite some time, so he had already gotten rid of most of his material possessions. It's safe to say that most of what was left was the stuff he really wanted to hold on to. Not surprisingly most of what we found had an orange helmet on it or was trimmed in brown. There's a mini Riddell helmet that sat in his living room for all those games of heartbreak we endured together. It's found a new home now in my office.

I will forever be struck by the irony of the fact that the last football game my grandpa ever watched was the 47th consecutive Super Bowl that the Browns weren't playing in. And the last Super Bowl champion he ever saw was the team that used to be the Browns . . . that team whose name shall not be mentioned in an article about my grandpa.

There's a lot about football that bothers me. It is utterly ridiculous that I invest so much money and, especially, so much emotional capital into whether or not my sports teams are successful. There's a lot about the American obsession with football that is troubling. Anything as big and as powerful as the sport of football is sure to be riddled with flaws. Amidst the billion dollar contracts, sold out college and NFL stadiums, and off-the-charts television ratings, it's sometimes easy to ignore football's dark side. Persistent player arrests, devastating injuries having become widespread, and chronic post-concussion symptoms highlight that there is much that football must improve. The very quarterback from that 1987 AFC Championship and my childhood hero, Bernie Kosar, serves as a poster child for the dark side of football. Recently, Kosar has had some very public embarrassments, attributed to his many concussions.

But in our haste to condemn the ills of football, we should be cautious not to overlook the beauty of this game. As the Cleveland Browns take the field on September 8, 2013 against the Miami Dolphins I will once again put on my Browns jersey. 1:00 pm. Sunday afternoon. Holy time.

I'm older now and I watch the game differently than I did back in the 1980's. The game itself is actually quite a bit different from what it was in the 1980's. Our family is dispersed so we no longer have a regular holy family gathering, and we will have to find a new way to celebrate the holy meal.  And for the first time in my 34 years, I won't be able to talk to Grandpa about football.

The odds-makers say the Browns are a 60-1 shot for winning the Super Bowl, but I plan to root them on as if they were the favorite. There's a lot wrong with football, and I'll spend a good deal of my time focusing in on that. But what's right about football is that it helps usher in some of my fondest memories sitting alongside my grandpa cheering on our team - a team that happens to lose more times than it wins. Maybe sports is about more than winning and losing after all. It has to be, or I would have given up on the Browns a long time ago. I wish I could ask Grandpa what he thinks about that. 

Adam is the minister of the Alum Creek Church of Christ in Lewis Center, OH where he lives with his wife Mary Beth and their three children: Clark, Clementine, and Cecilia. You can find more of his writing at Theological Vacillation and you can follow him on Twitter @CrasslyYours.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
You might also like:  

• What If Denominations Formed Athletic Conferences
• Opening Day: The Spectacle of Sport as Religious Festival
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The Meaning of Loyalty (or, Why My Dad Became a Braves Fan)

by Ian McLoud

I grew up in Saginaw, Texas, a town whose only claim to something better than obscurity is its massive grain elevators - some of the biggest ever built, because this is Texas after all, and even small towns here need the biggest something to prove the Texas bravado. Anyway. I grew up in Texas.

Two sports existed in our household: football and baseball.  Nothing else counted.  Basketball is played by a bunch of “wannabe-gangster-thug-rappers,” or so my dad said. Hockey is just plain boring, unless Coach Bombay is there telling us all about the triple-deke, the flying V and quacking.

My dad, a man I admire more and more as I get older, was a fan of the Dallas Cowboys and the Texas Rangers. We never went to Cowboys games, but I remember the Ballpark at Arlington, in all its beautiful, green, majestic glory. I, however, wasn’t a Cowboys fan, or a Rangers fan. 

I was a Green Bay Packers fan and an Atlanta Braves fan. The Braves make sense; I spent summers in Georgia with my grandparents and when Grandpa went to bed, Grandma and I would stay up late and watch the Braves. Grandma would scream and scream at Chipper, Glavine, Maddux and Smoltz. Mostly Chipper, and often so loud I was afraid Grandpa would wake up and tell us to go to bed. I liked Green Bay because I was weird and also, one time they won a Super Bowl while I happened to be watching.

But my dad was a die-hard fan of Texas teams. Sundays in the fall meant the Cowboys were on. Summers meant talking about Rangers baseball.

So it struck me as really odd when, after a move to Georgia, my dad began rooting for the Falcons and the Braves. I understood the Braves because they’re awesome, but at the time, the Falcons were even worse than the Cowboys. I asked dad what was up with this sudden change of heart; he said something along the lines of, “We live in Georgia now,” and I probably made some crack about him needing to learn the meaning of loyalty.

As I get older though, I view that response differently. My dad, a former minister, was doing something that I now realize had an importance all its own: he was trying to relate to his new neighbors, new friends and a new church community. He was, to quote Paul, “becoming all things to all people.”  That may sound weird; all he did was change his allegiance to sports teams.

Big deal, who cares? But looking back, I can see how the people he met cared. He could converse with them about a subject that they both knew something about. No one in Georgia cared about the Rangers, or the Packers, or the majestic grain elevators of Saginaw, Texas. But they did care about the Falcons and most definitely the Braves.

My dad had this whole idea of understanding a new culture and building relationships that bridged the gap. He could relate to people in this new environment on a level that I simply couldn’t because I was stubbornly sticking to my Brett Favre (pre-Jets) loving ways. He could connect and build relationships whereas I was still an outsider. And from him, I learned the importance of culture and relationship building before it became the trend du jour. (Hey! My dad’s a Christian Hipster!)

He was acting out the all things to all people that Paul was talking about. And while I don’t think Paul was envisioning sports fandom exactly, still, it works. Especially in a society where our sports affiliation is seen as a key to our identity.

So yeah, my dad wasn’t loyal to the Cowboys or the Rangers. He’s not even really loyal to the Falcons or the Braves. But he’s loyal to God and to people. And sometimes, that means giving up things we desire in the pursuit of connecting with others. 

Ian is the Youth and Family Minister at the Lakehoma Church of Christ in Mustang, Oklahoma. You can follow him on Twitter @KindaScottish.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
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• Kentucky Football and God
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On Pop Theology Podcast: Episode 9 - The Godfather (Of The Podcast), Part II

by Ben Howard

This week on the podcast we return to my conversation with Dr. George Goldman of Lipscomb University. But first, Sebastian and I have a quick conversation where I express my disappointment in him not having seen The Godfather.

Then, in Part 2 of our conversation, Dr. George Goldman and I talk about celebrity pastors, impression management, American Idol, the he went to a Jonas Brothers concert, One Direction, theologians and baseball, why soccer players and basketball players are crazy people, the violence in football and the time when Dr. Goldman's three year old son learned how to use Twitter. I hope you enjoy!

You can download the podcast by clicking here. Or you can subscribe to the podcast by searching "On Pop Theology" in the iTunes music store. If you download the show through iTunes, please be so kind as to rate and review us. We want your feedback and it helps the show to grow.

Also, remember to "Like" On Pop Theology on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @OnPopTheology for all the updates, posts, and links throughout the week.

Finally, if you'd like to stream the podcast, you can do that here:

Peace,
Ben

If you have any questions, comments, or if you just want to say hi, you can contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com

Yes, I Am Rooting For Laundry

by Ben Howard

Every sports fan knows that no matter how hard you try to avoid it, you will inevitably run into that one person who is absolutely incredulous that you follow sports. One day, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, you'll be at a party and you'll ask someone for the score to some random game that has little to no existential significance and they will look at you, roll their eyes and smugly state that, “You're just rooting for laundry.”

When that time comes you will stare back at this incomprehensible fool, this titan of arrogance and dismissive snark and...you will say nothing, because they are pretty much right when you think about it.

For instance, I grew up as Cowboys fan and have fantastic memories of rooting for Troy Aikman, Michael Irvin and Emmitt Smith (true story, I once wanted to go as Emmitt Smith for Halloween, but was highly unaware of the racial undertones of an 8 year old in black-face). I knew all the players. I knew what it meant to root for the Cowboys. I knew about the pride and the tradition. This is America's Team.

Fast forward two decades later. None of those players are still on the team. None of those players have been on the team in ten years. The only connection between then and now are the fans and the owner and I'm pretty sure the fans didn't choose to root for Jerry Jones.

But it's the same laundry. And that laundry carries a tradition. For the Cowboys it's a tradition of outsized personalities and being the best of the best. It's about being bigger than the game. For a team like the Pittsburgh Steelers it's being tough and rugged and consistently great. On the flip side for a team like the Cincinnati Bengals or Arizona Cardinals it means being a perennial underachiever.

It's true for all sports and at all levels. Technically, you're rooting for laundry and the names and the players change all the time. Sometimes even the game evolves and it looks different than it did in your youth, but the tradition of what it means to be a fan of your team still shapes the way you watch the game.

I grew up watching Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, Darren Woodson and Deion Sanders, so when I watch football I don't just want to see a win, I want to see that special mixture of efficiency and artistic brilliance. In baseball, I grew up watching Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux pitch for the Braves and so artistry defines my way of understanding the sport. I'm shaped by the tradition I grew up in and I'm shaped by what it means to be a fan of my team and by what my team means.

This happens in churches all the time. We are defined by the legacy of those who came before us even though they are no longer apart of our present community. For some that tradition is rich and vibrant like the Pittsburgh Steelers, for others it can only be seen as a series of disappointments and failures.

So what to do with this tradition? What should we do with this inherited meaning of who we are?

Our natural instinct I think is to jettison it in favor of our own hand-crafted identity, but this is a dangerous response. Former Michigan coach Rich Rodriguez broke many Michigan traditions when he arrived in Ann Arbor to try and restore the once powerhouse program. In breaking these traditions, he made many enemies and eventually was unable to find the sort of success that he envisioned for his program. We run the same risk if we break away from tradition too harshly. It is entirely likely that the backlash of breaking tradition will define us instead of our new hoped for identity.

I have seen this especially in non-denominational and evangelical churches who have become so enamored with breaking the chains of tradition that they become defined by what they are not instead of by what they are. They do not use the liturgy, the do not have priests, they do not practice the Eucharist, but in this cacophony of do nots they are no longer able to communicate what they do.

The other extreme is to hold too tightly to tradition in the hopes that you can recreate the past. I'll title this John Elway disease, but there could be many names. John Elway was the Hall of Fame quarterback for the Denver Broncos from 1983 until 1998. In his time with the Broncos he established them as a perennial contender and brought them back to back Super Bowl championships during his final two seasons. John Elway was irreplaceable, but that hasn't stopped the Broncos from trying. First they tried Brian Griese, who was good, but he wasn't John Elway. Then the same thing happened with Jake Plummer, and once again with Jay Cutler, and finally with the magical woodland fairy creature known as Tim Tebow.

For Denver, John Elway became a ghost instead of an honored part of the tradition. He has haunted the franchise instead of enriching it with his legacy. I feel like this especially is true in mainline protestant churches who are haunted by a time of prominence and power that they no longer experience. Instead of transitioning to something different when the time has come, they continue to fight in an effort to recover a ghost.

I think the proper way to deal with tradition is to respect it and let it guide you even while you transition into something new. It is still your past and you deal with it, good or bad, accordingly. However, while the church is shaped by its past and needs to understand where it has come from, it is not shackled to its past. Maybe this is the Aaron Rodgers ideal of the church. Brett Favre was great and he did great things and Aaron was taught under Favre's tutelage, but it's his turn now and that might not look like the exact same thing. That's okay, it's healthy and it's growth.

So yes, I root for laundry. I root for what it means, what it has meant, and what it might mean in the future. I root for the story it tells and how that story shapes me and how I view the world. I root for the way that laundry might be redeemed and renewed and how it might look like something entirely different to a future generation.

Thanks for making me think Incredulous-Fellow-At-Party!

Peace,

Ben

When he isn't taking passing insults way too literally, Ben likes to imagine what sports would be like if they were all played on the moon. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard [at] gmail.com.

P.S. Leave comments! Also, if you want to write for On Pop Theology get in contact with me and we'll work out the details. It'll be fun.

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Christian Denominations are Like...NFL Teams

by Ben Howard

In honor of the beginning of the NFL season and because I have a bizarre need to compare things that are in no way similar to each other. I give you a list of Christian denominations and their corresponding NFL team.

Roman Catholic – Chicago Bears

They've been around since the beginning and their history is filled with both conquests and venerated saints like George Halas, Dick Butkus and Gale Sayers. However, in recent years they've often been on the defensive leading to middle of the road status. Finally, Mike Ditka is Pope John Paul II and Walter Payton is Mother Teresa.

Episcopalian/Anglican – Oakland Raiders

Historically, a rebellious group of upstarts from the insurgent AFL that has tamed over time as it's come to find more mainstream success. Still prone to bouts of rebellious behavior that come across more weird than iconoclastic in the modern context. You have a legion of hardcore fans that refuse to leave even if your behavior seems occasionally bizarre. Al Davis is King Henry VIII and John Madden is N.T. Wright.

Presbyterian – New York Giants

You continue to have success in spite of the fact that it's entirely unclear why you've been successful in the first place. You base a lot of your work on your ability to amount a worthwhile defense and the fact that your success must simply be preordained. You're led by an angry man who will become lovable in historical context (Tom Coughlin and John Calvin).

Methodist – Kansas City Chiefs

You spent most of my childhood trying to redefine that gray area between average and slightly above average. A lot of your historical cache comes from simply existing and not embarassing yourself. Your fans are also fiercely loyal and very underrated.

Lutheran – Indianapolis Colts

Your relevance is based upon the prolific production of a bygone hero who led you out of the metaphorical wilderness and into the historical spotlight. Out of deference to the bygone hero, people are still paying serious attention to you, but no one is completely sure why. Peyton Manning is Martin Luther.

United Churches of Christ – Miami Dolphins

A franchise with a lot of historical significance including the only unbeaten season in NFL history and the crazy success of Dan Marino. The franchise's status has been undermined in recent years through a combination of identity crisis and wondering whether or not anyone actually cares.

Church of Christ – Cleveland Browns

You like to think that you have a long and storied history, but in truth your franchise began in 1999. A loyal fan base sticks beside you through thick and thin. Often characterized by an inability to find adequate leadership. Examples of inadequate leadership include Tim Couch, Kelly Holcomb, Derek Anderson, Brady Quinn, Colt McCoy, and probably Brandon Weedon.

Disciples of Christ – Baltimore Ravens

The more successful cousins of the current Cleveland Browns. Your success is based around the fundamentals like defense, running the football and not committing turnovers. However, to your detriment, fundamentals are really, really boring.

Eastern Orthodox – Jacksonville Jaguars

Because there is like a 50% chance that you didn't know they were a team and an even higher chance that you can't tell me anything about them at all.

Baptist – Minnesota Vikings

From the outside you look kind of cool and hip with your purple jerseys and your occassionally dynamic offensive player (Adrian Peterson, Randy Moss), but then we recognize you're the same underachieving team from years past. I fall for it every time. Maybe the cold Minnesota winters trick my mind.

Non-denominational – Dallas Cowboys

The flashy name and the stars are always enough to make someone check you out, but it's nearly impossible to tell if they'll find something brilliant or something that just sputters along until it falls in a ditch. Smart money of late is on the ditch. Also, there is a near 100% chance that the whole enterprise is run by a megalomoniacal white man.

Pentecostal – Arizona Cardinals

Everything just feels chaotic, hot and generally confused, but still full of some type of unrealized potential. It feels like your brand-new, but you've actually been around for quite awhile.

Quakers – Buffalo Bills

They're quiet, obscure, and unlikely to pick a fight. Also, they both produced Republican's who were on a Presidential ballot (Jack Kemp and Richard M. Nixon).

New England Patriots, Green Bay Packers, Pittsburgh Steelers

These are the teams everybody thinks they are. They're perennially successful and are able to roll with whatever changes or developments the rest of the world can muster. They have their weaknesses and their strengths, but they are so well trained and trust each other so much that they can work their way through almost any situation.

Yes, I am aware that all of the above are gross caricatures and are not reflective of the whole of a denomination and I'm fine with that. The caricatures serve their purpose.

You might think I'm writing all this to say that every church should aspire to be the Patriots, Packers, and Steelers, but it's not. Churches need to be who they are and they need to own who they are and try and be the absolute best that they can be in that context. Every denomination has weaknesses and strengths and my hope is that if they all worked together, perhaps in some sort of national faith league (or NFL, for short), then we might learn something from each other and work towards a better world.

Do I hope for “one, holy, catholic and apostolic church?” Yes, very much so, but I'm not certain we can put that together on our own and during the in between time we can at least try and find a viable working substitute.

As always, feel free to comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions for this list.

Peace,
Ben

When he isn't trying to match-up NFL teams with Christian denominations, Ben spends his time comparing mid-90's basketball players to the Founding Fathers. Gary Payton is totally Alexander Hamilton. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

Super Mario and Me

by Hannah Sigmon

For the past 8 or 9 months, I've been harboring a not-so-secret fascination with the Italian footballer (that’s soccer player to all you non-fans) Mario Balotelli. For those of you unfamiliar with him, which I assume is most of you, Balotelli is a striker for Manchester City in the English Premier League. Manchester City recently won the League Championship for the first time in 44 years with Balotelli playing a large role for the team. He also plays for the Italian national team, which as some of you may know, just suffered a crushing defeat to Spain in the Euro 2012 final.

Balotelli is a very highly valued player. He's 21,scored thirteen goals for Manchester City this past season, and is known to be a technically gifted striker and a formidable penalty taker. This season in the European Championship, he put on a dazzling performance against Germany, scoring both of Italy’s goals in the 2 to 1 victory.

There is more to the story though than just soccer. Balotelli was born to Ghanaian parents in Sicily, and at age 3, he was sent to live with wealthy Italian foster parents. After a while, his biological parents disappeared from his life, not returning until he became famous. Balotelli was never adopted by his foster parents and did not become an Italian citizen until he turned 18. He is Italy’s first widely known black player, and he continues to be the subject of racist abuse by Italians and foreigners, something he has dealt with his entire football career. Despite being a world famous multi-millionaire now, Balotelli has had it rough.

However, Balotelli has a reputation for being wild, unpredictable, and immature. In many ways, he has the right to be immature as he is only 21 years old, and competing with many footballers who are several years older. On the other hand, Balotelli often comes under criticism for actions that are not only immature, but inappropriate, dangerous, and stupid. One of the myriad antics Balotelli's been involved in since the beginning of his career involve crashing a car while carrying £5000 cash on him. When questioned by police about why he was carrying so much money, he responded, “Because I am rich.” In addition, Balotelli once drove to a women’s prison just to “have a look round”, and set his house on fire after shooting off fireworks inside his bathroom during a party (afterwards he was named the Fireworks Safety Ambassador in the City of Manchester). Other notable acts range from blatantly disregarding rules (breaking club curfew, being repeatedly sent off for aggressive play in games) and simply appearing stupid (not knowing how to put on a bib correctly before a Dynamo Kiev game – see video below). Simply put, Balotelli is a gamble. He was signed by Manchester City for €30 million, yet manager Roberto Mancini seriously considered selling him after only two seasons due to his uncontrollable behavior. 

Following his career, as entertaining as it can sometimes be, often makes me wonder why he continues to, as one headline read, go “from Super Mario to Stupid Mario.” Over-analyzing him, as I am wont to do, has prompted me to more seriously consider my own behavior and its causes. I am fascinated by behavior, and I am constantly trying to understand why people of at least average intelligence choose to knowingly make poor decisions. I am a prime example of this. I’m a responsible adult, and yet I have and continue to damage my body with alcohol, drugs, and bad food. I have lied to family, friends, and employers. I have stayed in negative, harmful relationships much longer than I should have. I have been ugly and spiteful to people I love. I, a rational, functioning human being, have the capacity to sit down and think long and hard about my actions, past and future, and typically I can determine the more righteous action to take – yet when the time comes, I often find myself “incapable” of doing what is good for me and others, and I don’t know why.

This is at odds with what I do everyday, because my job, which I am becoming ever more disenchanted with, involves identifying, understanding, and changing behavior. I work with families and youth with so-called “negative” behaviors and I am supposed to help them process through and change these behaviors once discovering the root causes and triggers. Yet I constantly find myself wondering how I am supposed to help my clients change if I cannot even change myself. I often wish I could subscribe to some idealistically Socratic “Know thyself” mantra, but yet these days, I find more and more wisdom in the words of Romans 7:19. Most of you probably know that I do not profess to practice the Christian faith, but Paul’s words, “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do” are becoming increasingly poignant. My sorely lacking knowledge of history and human biology leads me ever more to doubt the existence of free will, and this poses a serious conflict for someone who not only earns her living from attempting to help others realize their free will, but also assumes that she is in control of herself, or at least desperately hopes to be.

So this is the basis for my admiration and identification with Balotelli, the enigmatic firecracker. Would I act any different than he does if I were in his shoes? Would he act differently than me if he was in mine? I have no doubt that Balotelli, like me, recognizes his own poor decision-making, but is that recognition alone sufficient?

This entry really has no conclusion, for which I apologize. But whether or not you believe in free will, I hope it prompts you to consider yourself and your own actions. How much are we in control of our behavior? To what extent can it be excused and/or understood by our past and present environments? How much does attempting to learn more about yourself actually help you change? Or is there an aspect of you that acts beyond what you can consciously control?
(Thoughts welcome).

Hannah