From the Locker Room to Commencement: What the Words of Tom Brady Reveal To Me

I just completed my 27th year of teaching—move over, LeBron—and my 20th at St. Ignatius College Prep. People often ask me what the biggest change I've seen in students over the years has been. Most assume they already know the answer, and there is some truth in their assumptions. But my answer may differ from that of many educators. And, listening to Tom Brady's commencement address at Georgetown's McDonough School of Business only reinforced my thinking. Watch it. Give it a listen and let me know what you think—or keep reading and let's talk.

For some context, many in my department will suggest that teaching Religious Studies feels increasingly more like teaching a foreign language. While recent news has highlighted a rise in Mass attendance among young Americans, especially those between 18 and 29, my experience in the classroom suggests another reality: each year, many students arrive in theology class with less religious formation, less catechesis, and fewer encounters with the life of faith. But sadly, this has always been the case for me and my experience. 

Ask most educators what has changed, and they will point to social media, the proliferation of smartphones, and the ubiquity of iPads and personal computers as the chief drivers of change among today's students. There is certainly truth in that assessment. Each technology offers its own powerful distractions, and the intended and unintended consequences are evident: shorter attention spans and increased difficulty sustaining focus. Students do not read the way they once did. I've said it myself—there are books I once taught with confidence that would be far more difficult to teach today. Indeed, every era has its challenges, and the newest—and perhaps most consequential—is unfolding as I type this: how to use A.I. in the classroom.

Yet none of these developments capture my sentiment on change. I suppose it is because the shift I have noticed is not technological but cultural. It is revealed in both formal and informal settings. Social scientists would note it is reflected in both high and low culture. To me, one of the bigger changes in my time teaching is the widespread acceptance and use of profanity.

Is the "F" necessary?!

That is why Tom Brady's commencement address caught my attention. I was not surprised that Georgetown invited him to speak. He is, after all, one of the most accomplished athletes of his generation. I was, however, surprised by how casually he employed profanity throughout his remarks. Early on he quips, "I had a coach for 20 years tell me how sh***y I was every day." Sports fans know that Bill Belichick could be demanding, but I was not expecting that language in a commencement address delivered before graduates, parents, faculty, and administrators from the get go. But that example is soft.

Brady's broader message is actually quite traditional: embrace hard things, develop resilience, and never quit. The profanity appears sparingly and serves to make his stories sound less scripted and more like the language athletes often use in competitive settings. In fact he even uses that as an excuse for what caught me most by surprise. 

His recollection of Super Bowl LI was riveting. I loved the way he played with the percentages. I kept thinking what we all thought in 2017: What though the odds...?! Brady lets us in on his inner monologue as he leads his team back from a 28-3 deficit. He tells himself "Don't be a little b****. Go out there and fight your ass off." Had I been in that audience, I would have looked at the reaction of others. Would anyone else question the word choice? It's honest. It's raw. It's authentic, but is it appropriate in this setting? He does offer a disclaimer, "I was an athlete, so you might feel like you're in a locker room a little bit." But graduation is a far cry from a locker room.

I could be wrong, but twenty years ago, the language might have overshadowed the message. Today, I can't help but wonder if it only registers with me because of the household I grew up in. Movies could be rated "R" because of language alone. I wasn't allowed to see them. Today, I hear it on the radio, it is common in our student fine arts productions, such as plays, musicals and our comedy show. That, more than the profanity itself, is what I find noteworthy.

My students will drop swear words into class discussion. Sometimes, they will self correct and other times I do that for them. While I rarely see it in their essays or writing, it is part of their music and social media.But, I hear profanity the most is in the hallways and among casual conversations. SI is next to a public middle school. I hear sixth graders through seniors use it without any regard to those around them. For example, my office sits at a crossroads where students sit and walk by during passing periods. Not a week goes by when and where either my colleague or I have to confront a student about their language. The unapologetic use of the "F" word—as a adjective and a verb is prolific. I've been told that it is the akin to how the word "damn it" was used in the past. Not okay.

Sometimes people will say, "Wow, at a Catholic school—your students speak like this?" While I appreciate the notion that we hold our students to a high standard—and we do—profanity is woven throughout our culture. It is part of our common lexicon, whether I like it or not.

When I hear it at SI, I do make an effort to address it. We have expectations for young people regarding how they conduct themselves, what they wear, and the words they choose. Language has power. It shapes both the speaker and the listener in ways seen and unseen and we are a community that seeks to share common values. Respect is one of them.

Is there a time and a place for strong language? Perhaps. I'm not going to pretend like I don't use it in my own life. I have dropped F-bombs on the golf course and at sporting events. I've used foul language in front of my friend's children. I don't use it in class, but I would be lying if I said it has never slipped out. Indeed, there are certainly moments of intense emotion, frustration, pain, humor, or camaraderie when people will argue that it serves a purpose. My concern is not with the occasional exception. It is with the disappearance of the distinction. When language once reserved for exceptional moments, becomes commonplace, something is lost. Words matter because they are not all the same and that is why we invite exceptional people, icons of excellence to share their own. I would like for the language we use to reflect that. Let's go...

NB: I've read reports on the psychological effects of foul language. It's interesting because the findings do not show that profanity is simply harmful or simply harmless. Rather, it appears to have several psychological effects that depend heavily on context. I still don't want it at Commencement

Photo Credits
Georgetown
LFG
ATL

Still Learning: Tim Shriver at Notre Dame

The principal often reminds us that, as Ignatian educators, we never have to wonder whether our work makes a difference. What a privilege that is. And yet, I sometimes think we do not speak enough about another blessing of this vocation: the cyclical nature of school life itself.

Each year concludes, only to commence again. There is something profoundly hopeful about that rhythm. No school year is ever the same—and not simply because a new group of students walks through our doors each August. Every year brings unexpected challenges, new relationships, unforeseen moments of grace, and opportunities we could not have anticipated when the year began.

This year, among many other things, I had the opportunity to teach sophomores once again. Every sophomore is required to take Christology, a course centered on the life of Jesus through a close reading of the Gospel of Matthew. One of my favorite aspects of teaching the course is no only learning more about Our Lord, but a figure so central to His life that he is mentioned in all four Gospels—John the Baptist.

Through Matthew's Gospels, we learn that  JTB is a fiery prophet calling people to repentance and preparing the way for Jesus. But in the Gospel of John, he is presented as a witness. He points others toward Christ. 

I could hardly believe I caught this image inside of
Holy Name of Jesus Church as I was writing this post.

Religious art only affirms this attribute of John. To me, it seems that nine out of ten paintings show him with his hand raised, extending his index finger. He is not asking us to pause. He is not trying to make his own point. Rather, his point is to redirect our line of sight, calling us to pay attention to who and what matters: Jesus.

This is what saints and religious heroes do. They never point to themselves. They do not say, “Look at me!” or boast about what they have achieved. Instead, they help us discover where Christ can be found.

I was reminded of this disposition when I heard Tim Shriver’s speech at the commencement exercises at University of Notre Dame. Shriver, the chairman of Special Olympics, received the Laetare Medal—the highest honor conferred upon an American Catholic.

From what scripture tells us, I don't get the sense that JTB a storyteller. Tim Shriver however has that great gift. I appreciate the way he remembers the names and recognizes the gifts of others—their talents, their insights, their wisdom, their dignity. They become the very subject of his stories, not for his own glory, but to reveal the sacred worth already present in them. In telling their stories, he points beyond himself, much like John the Baptist pointed beyond himself. For example he recalls a lesson he learned from his time teaching in New Haven, Connecticut. He said, 

One student of mine, Jenny, was 14 years old when I first met her. She heard every day, and she echoed this to me. "I hear every day, I'm a nobody." She couldn't imagine being a person who mattered. So, I decided to pay her a visit at her home and meet with her mom and figure out what I could do. And she later told me, she said, "You know, that day you visited my house, you poured just a little self-worth into me, and that's all it took to change my life." Actually, as you all know, it was God who poured the self-worth into Jenny. I just saw it and I did my best to honor it. And she did the same for me.

In Ireland, he was a witness. In 2003, the Special Olympics World Games took place on the Emerald Isle; these were the first games that featured athletes with the most severe disabilities. Like a prophet, Shriver knows the lay of the land. He tells the crowd the story of one athlete Donal Page.

Donal suffered from an illness just after birth. It left him unable to speak, unable to walk. He was wheeled onto the stage in his wheelchair and positioned near a table like this with a bean bag on it. His challenge, his competition was to lift the bean bag and move it from one side of the table to the other.  

Now, I know you all have been in sporting events where there was bedlam, but I promise you, you have never seen an athlete as great as Donal Paige.

I thought later, you know, the madness in that hall, we were on the home field of the Fighting Irish. And on that field, all of us were fighting for one of us. There was no foe. There was no enemy. We were a mass of humanity rooting for humanity.And humanity won because humanity in that moment was one.

I could easily unpack each nugget, every anecdote and recall at minimum three more lessons from this story and this talk, but instead, I invite you to watch. Listen. Share it. Then listen again. You may want a box of Kleenex nearby. It is one of the more meaningful, memorable, polished, and hopeful talks I have ever heard in a long while. And God knows, we need that right now.

Shriver is no fool. He knows this great university stands under the guidance of Our Lady, Notre Dame. He points to her and her great "yes"—her fiat. He shares how in times of tragedy, which his family knows all too well (Shriver's mother is Eunice Kennedy, one of JFK's sisters), they have turned to Mary and pray the rosary.

He challenges the graduates of the Class of 2026 to be mystics. I couldn't help but wonder if those who work with athletes with intellectual and physical disabilities see that in a way the rest of us ought to...and need to. Shriver points to many things, but he testifies to this truth. We must see see that each and every individual is made in the image and likeness of God. And that when we do, there is no us and them. Humanity is one. We all win. A wonderful lesson for all of us, sports fans or not. 

Thank you to University of Notre Dame for honoring Tim Shriver. And thank you, Tim for your profound message. It has been thirty years since my own graduation, and I am still learning. 

Photo Credits
Tim Shriver
Special Olympics Logo

The Problem of Favorite Athletes

For years and years, whenever someone asked me, “Who is your favorite athlete?” I never had to hesitate. But this past year, something changed. Reflecting upon that shift has invited me to think much differently about the question and my answer.

Ask me my favorite book, movie, or album, and I’m far less certain. Dead Poets Society is always in the conversation, as is Jane Eyre—though I don’t necessarily feel compelled to revisit either. As for music, Darkness on the Edge of Town remains a classic for me, with The River close behind.

But when it came to athletes, my answer was unwavering. For years, Will Clark, the sweet-swinging left-handed first baseman for the San Francisco Giants, was unapologetically my favorite male athlete. As a lifelong baseball fan, I was always eager to explain why “Will the Thrill” held that top spot.

At the same time, Serena Williams shared the spotlight. With her 23 Grand Slam titles and singular dominance, I could never quite choose between the two of them. So I added the qualifiers “male” and “female” simply to avoid making the impossible decision. Fortunately, I have always had enough space in both my mind and my heart to hold them equally.

But something unexpected happened after the Olympic Games in Paris. Local hero Stephen Curry wore me out and wore me down. The two-time MVP brought home much more than four NBA championships. He became a central figure in the United States’ gold medal run. He had already won the American Century Championship Golf Championship, where I was lucky enough to share a few fun, pithy, and personal exchanges with him between holes. His stock just kept rising. Not only was he God’s favorite basketball player; somehow, he became mine too.

I found myself justifying my answer both to my students and to myself. Why? Part of me wanted to remain loyal to those original icons. But, #30 is everything you could want in a favorite athlete—not only on the court, but off it as well. Although we fans never really know the person behind the public image, I respect everything I have read about and learned from him as a husband, father, son, teammate, and leader. He is a man of faith and service and justice. Thank you, Steph. While I cannot support your outfit at the 2026 Met Gala, you have made the Bay Area—and sports in general—a little better. I mean it.

No one would question someone naming Curry as a favorite athlete. Serena and Will Clark are beloved too. Each is iconic in a different way. But maybe I am still in a transitional phase because, even as I crown Steph the favorite, I cannot quite let the others go.

Today, I read that Aaron Rodgers is returning to the Pittsburgh Steelers. I was thrilled to read the news.Yahoo Sports reports, 

Rodgers' return — to the NFL, the Steelers and to McCarthy — was far from guaranteed. The long-time veteran has flirted with retirement for multiple off seasons now, and there was no guarantee he would want to suit up for a 22nd NFL season.

To me, Rodgers makes football infinitely more interesting. I want to see what the 42-year-old still has left. He has never been my favorite athlete, but discussing him with my class forced me to admit something I have long believed to be true.

I told my students that Rodgers is a four-time MVP with a Super Bowl ring and a future Hall of Fame quarterback whose passer rating remains among the best in NFL history. For years, the man practically never turned the ball over—though, admittedly, last season was not exactly vintage Rodgers.

At the same time, I understand why he frustrates people. He can come across as arrogant or smug. Telling the media he was “immunized” when asked directly about the vaccine felt unconscionable. At times, it almost seems as if he courts a different kind of celebrity through darkness retreats, ayahuasca, and mysterious personal revelations, including the recently revealed wife, Brittani—with an “i.”

He is an unreliable narrator. He is problematic. And yet, I love him. I do. I eat all of it up.

Maybe it's because he is a quasi-local guy made good. I appreciate what he has done for his hometown of Chico in the aftermath of the fires. I respect his loyalty to former Cal head coach Jeff Tedford and the others who shaped him. I could go on listing both the positives and the negatives. In short, I keep him in the mix.

As this conversation unfolded in my Sports and Spirituality class, I realized something about the students sitting in front of me.

Although high school students no longer use the phrase “teacher’s pet,” they still desperately want to know whether teachers have favorites. The truth is: we do and we don’t.

Some students are very much like Steph. They are talented, but they also work relentlessly. They contribute consistently, take risks, raise the bar for everyone around them, and hold both themselves and their classmates accountable. It is hard to deny that they are MVPs.

But there are also students who are more complicated. They are gifted and unreliable. Arrogant or entitled, yet witty and thoughtful. They frustrate you one moment and completely surprise you the next.

Every spring I host my favorite guest speaker, Frank Allocco.
There are so many great kids in this class.

I love these kids too. I mean it.

A friend recently asked whether I had taught the daughter of one of our club members. I had. I coached her as well.

“She was spoiled and a real pain sometimes,” I admitted. “And I loved her. She was bright and original and always had creative takes. I hope she’s doing well.”

Maybe that is what changed my answer after all these years.

Favorite athletes are not simply the people we admire most. Sometimes they are the people we cannot stop thinking about—the ones who frustrate us, surprise us, disappoint us, inspire us, and somehow keep earning our attention anyway.

Steph Curry represents excellence in its purest form. Aaron Rodgers represents something messier and more complicated. My students, of course, are somewhere in between. I know that I am too.

Photo Credits
The Met
Aaron in PGH
8 and 30

The Geography of Relationship: A Case for GeoSports

I’m not great at remembering names. I need to see a name in writing; I need to hear it several times before it sticks. I’m not terrible with names, but I work with people who put me to shame. Whether it’s a student, parent, or alum, they are incredible at remembering names — and using them. Is this a super power? It might be. But my own-self analysis (and inadequacy) has awakened me to the fact that I remember people differently. And I am excited because a new game: GeoSports might be my place to excel.

As I have written in my book, Caminos on Campus: Five Paths of Pilgrimage at the University of Notre Dame,

One of my favorite questions to ask other people is “Where are you from?”

I love to know or guess the places that have formed my friends, colleagues, political leaders, professional athletes, and even strangers. Because our country is so rich in culture, geography, landscape and opportunity, the spaces from which we hail shape us in ways unimaginable.

  The much beloved Brother Bonaventure Scully, CFX, rector of Keenan Hall from 1985-1999 had a tactic for connecting with the 300 young men who occupied the dorm he oversaw. Brother Scully was more likely to remember your hometown than your name. A good friend who lived in Keenan once quipped, “I would walk down the hall and he would say “Morristown, New Jersey! How are you today?!” 

  Brother “Bon” and I speak a common language and share a similar mindset. We begin to know people through places. Had I been one of his residents I would have said to him, “Doing alright, Baltimore! How about them Orioles?”  

Where are you from? is a good question to ask of those you encounter on campus for Notre Dame draws, beckons, invites and attracts people from far and wide. The student body is composed of men and women from all 50 states, two U.S territories, Washington DC and over 90 different countries.  

University President and founder, Father Edward Sorin believed “This college will be one of the most powerful means for doing good in this country.” His dream of building a great University for Our Lady became a reality when its doors opened in 1842. Men and women, students and faculty, Holy Cross priests, brothers and sisters alike arrived. They stayed, ministered, studied and planted roots. And, they do today with the same hopes, aspirations and an appreciation for Sorin’s vision. They arrive from Honolulu Hawaii and nearby Chicago. They come from Long Island, El Paso, Texas and Paris, France. And for some reason, I always remember this about them.

Perhaps one's home town or sacred state is lodged into my memory because of the freshman registrar aka "The Dog Book." Given that we were students ten-plus years before Facebook, this text served as our introduction to nearly 1800 classmates—through a picture of your choice marked by your name, hometown, two personal interests and intended major.

I wish I still had mine. Someone brought it with them to our 25th reunion. Thanks, Tom!

Reading where my peers came from offered context for how they might see the world and what experiences might have shaped their point of view. Whether it was Chattanooga, TN (Andy Mims) or San Diego, CA (Alex Montoya), I loved reading from whence these people came.

Furthermore, outside every room in Farley Hall hung a bulletin board handmade by the R.A. listing the names, class years, and hometowns of the women who lived there. I still remember that Molly ’95 was from Pella, Iowa. I was also surprised by how many people were familiar with my hometown of Walnut Creek, California.

This way of knowing and remembering people was not unique to my time as a student at Notre Dame. Even today, when I read about athletes, I want to know where they are from. If I follow a musician or love a band, I need to know where they were born. Places help me understand people. What is your path?

Hence when Kendall Baker of Yahoo Sports featured "GeoSports...a new daily game that combines sports history with geography" in his daily newsletter, I was intrigued. He adds, Created by Frank Michael Smith, a popular sports personality and avid Yahoo Sports AM reader, participants are invited to "Tap where it happened! The closer you are, the more points you get." 

The questions vary. Some require you to know about a venue or location where something happened. But, a good number ask you to both know and locate where a person is from. I won't say this is "money in the bank" for me, but it playing this game with my students, I have seen my skill shine.

• Home town of Aaron Judge? The Big Valley...Stockton...specifically Linden, CA. Boom!
• Kobe Bryant went straight from Lower Merion High to the NBA in 1996 in this metro area. Let's go Philly
• Manu Ginobili, picked 57th in 1999 and a four-time NBA champ, grew up in this Argentine city. My guess is Buenos Aires. Turns out it is Bahía Blanca, a city in the southwest region of the Buenos Aires Province in Argentina. Thank you, GeoSports.

I decided to share GeoSports with my class and I asked for volunteers to give it a go. The students in one of my Sports and Spirituality classes were too intimidated to stand in front of one another and make the guess. The other group had a lot of fun with it. They teased a classmate who struggled to locate Brazil. I do think it's important to be able to locate the largest Catholic country in the world...even if you don't know the name and location of Pele's hometown. My two cents.

Whether through a face or a place, a name or a number, the ways we know, recall, and remember people are ultimately about relationship. And I would argue that relationship is what we are made for. We are made for communion with one another — family, friends, strangers, all brothers and sisters in the eyes of God, the source and wellspring of all relationship. Perhaps that is why a game like GeoSports resonates so deeply: it reminds us that every person comes from somewhere, and every path can lead us a little closer to one another — and, ultimately, to God. Amen. 

Photo Credits
GeoSports
Judge
Dog Book

Tom Coyne and A Course Called Home: Living the Story

Rev. Greg Boyle, S.J. has said, “Good stories come to those who can tell them.” As a priest and a prophet, an author and an advocate, it’s hard to disagree with this renowned Jesuit. But there may be more to his insight. A recent feature on CBS Sunday Morning about the bestselling author Tom Coyne confirmed that suspicion.

Preachers and teachers, writers and speakers aren’t the only ones who receive the good stories. More often, they belong to those willing to undertake the adventure—to seize the day and actually live the story. Coyne’s latest book, A Course Called Home, makes that point beautifully.

When asked, “What’s new?” many people my age talk about their children, aging parents, a career change, summer plans, or a home remodel. As a teacher, I usually weigh in on what’s happening at school and what I’m dreaming about for June and July. And as a golf writer, one might expect Tom Coyne to speak about the latest and greatest course, memorable playing partners, developments in the game, or traditions worth preserving.mBut instead, his answer would take anyone by surprise: he bought a golf course.

I remember reading about this on social media. I scratched my head, wondering how that would work. Knowing Tom, I figured this would find its way to pen and paper. I wanted to know what the story might be. I will read the book to find out. However, I am just as interested in why he did it—and that’s the story explored by the team at CBS Sunday Morning. It, too, is a story worth telling.

While Rolling Green Golf Club in Springfield, PA is his true home course, Sullivan County Golf Club—located in the Catskill Mountains of New York—now shares that title.

Over time, the course, built in 1925, had fallen into disrepair, with deteriorating facilities and declining use. This public nine-hole course was on the brink of closure when the groundskeeper, Sean Smith—who happens to be a fan of Tom Coyne’s writing and, dare I say, his ethos—entered the story.

Coyne visits out of curiosity, but he ends up buying the course and taking responsibility for restoring it—learning the hands-on work of maintaining fairways, greens, and community ties. Unbelievable. Yet believable.

As I watched, I couldn't help but think Tom was the ideal protagonist for this story. For one, the bathroom can’t be all different than those in Fisher Hall—the now extinct dorm where he lived at Notre Dame. Second, his platform is ever growing. To see Bill Murray and Jason Kelce standing in support  of this unlikely venture only reinforces the reach of his voice and the resonance of his vision.

But it’s Tom’s beliefs, his values, and yes—his ethos that make it all work. Early on, he insists, "we need all kinds of courses," a point he makes even more forcefully in A Course Called America. He is openly critical of the exclusivity that often defines American golf. Why, he asks, do we hold the most exclusive courses in such high regard? In Scotland, where the game was born, the best courses are accessible to all.

It’s fair to say that Sullivan County Golf Club is accessible to anyone who can get there—at least for now. As Coyne puts it, “We couldn’t be less stuffy. We’re not fussy. You don’t have to get dressed up. Bring your dog and show up.”

At one point, he reflects, “I’ve been consuming golf my whole life—but what if I got on the side of actually providing golf? That would be different.” So he did. He ran the course for a full year.

To me, that’s the real question—the kind of question someone who truly lives stories asks of themselves and of others. Since encountering Coyne’s words, I’ve found myself thinking more carefully about what I consume—and, more importantly, what I offer.

This isn’t just a cool story. It’s more than a good one, too. In fact, it serves as a reminder that some obstacles, when repurposed, can become more than a source of connection—they can be signs of God’s grace.

“I recognized a kindred sort of golf sicko, like myself—so we bonded on that level. There was also a connection in that Sean is sober, and I am sober. I think people who have gone down that path and know what that experience is like share a meaningful understanding.”

Hearing Tom Coyne and Sean share their story, I’m reminded that transformation isn’t a single moment. Rather, it is unfolding and ongoing—and it applies to much more than a run-down golf course.

When asked if he would do it again, Coyne doesn’t hesitate or flounder: “Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent—and for one simple reason: the people it has brought into my life. This was something where I had to be part of a team that wanted to make something good in the world. What a gift.”

It sounds like the recipe for a great story. Thank you, Tom. I can’t wait to read the one you put into writing, too.

Photo Credits
Tom
Book Cover