A Coach, an Oscar, and the Children We Must Remember—Thank you Steve Kerr

I remember when Oscar parties rivaled the very best Super Bowl gatherings. Friends would dress up as their favorite actors, and the food went far beyond the usual party fare. Drinks and dishes were cleverly inspired by the nominees for Best Picture, Best Director, and more. In fact, my colleagues and I often used the Academy Awards as a cultural touchstone in the classroom—a shared experience that connected students to the broader world of film and storytelling. Times have changed.

I asked my class if anyone tuned in and all of two seniors raised their hands. I admitted that I too missed out. I didn't see most of the movies and I didn't even know much about who or what was up for best of anything. That is until I found out that Steve Kerr, the head coach of the Golden State Warriors won an Oscar.

As written on ESPN,

Kerr was one of the executive producers for "All the Empty Rooms," which won the Oscar for documentary short.

The 35-minute film chronicles how broadcast journalist Steve Hartman and photographer Lou Bopp told the stories of families who have memorialized the bedrooms of children killed in mass shootings. Kerr -- whose father, then the president of American University in Beirut, was shot and killed in 1984 -- has long spoken out about a need for common-sense gun regulation.

"I didn't have anything to do with the making of the film," Kerr said Monday. "But I am very proud to be associated with it."

"They called me about a year ago and asked if I would like to be an executive producer, which meant basically put my name on it and help promote it," Kerr said. And then after watching the film, I was just blown away by how beautiful it was and poignant it was. It was an easy decision."

I don't know if I would have heard about this film if it were not for sports and my love of Coach Kerr, but I am grateful I did.

I told my students about the short film and how I came to find out about it. Thank you, to KNBR—my morning sports talk radio station. I admitted that I didn't know if I was going to watch "All the Empty Rooms." I didn't know if I could. I wish had for I would have shared some of why I think it's important for them and for all of America to see. 

Steve Hartman was first assigned to report on a school shooting in 1997. Since he began, school shootings have increased from 17 to 132 per year. 

In the 33 minute film (available on Netflix), he said,  

for years I had been doing essays at the end of every school shooting week. Maybe it was a hero or the country coming together. Whatever it was, they were looking for some kind of positive message.  

I did so many of these essays that I felt like I was repeating myself. In fact, I was using the same lines in the stories. And I saw that America was moving on from each school shooting"quicker and quicker every time. 

I recalled  some of the tropes I have heard in times of tragedy. "Everything happens for a reason" or thinking back to law of attraction as promised by "The Secret" According to that best seller, your thoughts attract corresponding outcomes—positive thoughts supposedly bring positive experiences, while negative thoughts attract negative ones. Those ring hollow. I recommend "The Book of Job" instead.

I burst into tears in under one minute of viewing this film. I listened in total awe of the parents recalling memories of their children. I looked is sadness as they welcomed Hartman and Bopp into the sacred space of their late son or daughter's room. Hartman and Bopp navigate that journey with utter grace. 

Hartman caught my attention when he suggested that the media may bear some of the responsibility. He said, "I feel like the media is to blame a little bit for some of this. Or, at least its worth exploring. In the beginning, especially, it was just so overdone. And, the shooters were mentioned way too much. What we need to talk about is the child who is not here anymore." And there you have it. The name of this short film and the reason why it's so moving.

He said, "I wish we could transport all Americans to stand in one of those bedrooms for just a few minutes. We'd be a different America." 

Hartman speaks about solidarity. So does Greg Boyle, SJ—the founder of Homeboy Industries. Father Boyle has said that "nothing stops a bullet like a job." He's right. And maybe a bedroom could too.

His concludes with the message: 

I want the project to remind people that these were our children.

I want the project to remind people that these were your children.

These could be your children.

Thank you Steve Hartman and Lou Bopp. And thank you Steve Kerr, for your support of "All the Empty Rooms." That was your father. I don't need to see his room—or rather, his classroom. It is one you have already shown us. 

Photo Credits
Hair Ties

The Sports and Spirituality Camino: Remembering Coach Lou Holtz

During the deep dark throes of COVID I found comfort in routine. I walked in the morning. I volunteered at the San Francisco Food Bank on Wednesdays I played golf on Saturdays and every night, I sat down to write at a desk in my hallway. A manuscript was born. 

The summer before the start of the pandemic, I was on campus at the University of Notre Dame and I had a vision—a near mystical experience. Standing at the statue of the Holy Family, I saw much more than Mary, Joseph and the child Jesus in the sculpture before me. I saw an invitation. I found an opportunity and an awakening. What took root in that moment was the idea of pilgrimage.

I realized I had come to this place before—to pray, to gaze, and to wonder. In that moment I understood myself as a pilgrim. I had come to this place at a particular moment in time, and those standing around me were pilgrims, too.

I started to take a mental inventory of the various statues scattered throughout campus. Many were familiar, others were new. The University was intentional in its messaging—placing a statue of The Visitation near the Eck Visitors Center at the entry of campus, the unassuming statue of Father Edward Sorin, C.S.C., the founder of Notre Dame toward the front and center of campus. Our Lady as she stands on the Dome.

I started to organize these statues by themes: saints, Holy Cross priests, images of Christ, tributes to Mary and coaches! Go Irish. I decided that I could create and dedicate a specific path of pilgrimage—caminos—as a way to engage with the art and pray. Caminos on Campus: Five Paths of Pilgrimage at the University of Notre Dame needed to be written! COVID afforded me the time to do that and I'm excited to share that this Spring Break is dedicated to finding an a publisher and way to get this text into print. 

When I got the news that Coach Lou Holtz had died, I couldn't help but wonder if people would make an act of pilgrimage to the statue of him outside of Notre Dame Stadium. Those who place flowers and personal mementos at his feet are pilgrims. That journey to a specific place for a prayerful purpose is pilgrimage.

For those who will make this journey in the days, weeks, and months to come, I would like to share something I wrote in my book for those who undertake the Sports and Spirituality Camino. Each path brings the pilgrim to five to ten different sites. At each statue, the pilgrim can read a short reflection I have written to provide context. After learning a little about the sculpture, the pilgrim is then invited to pray.

I am including both components here as a way to honor Coach Lou Holtz and to invite you into this same space. One does not need to stand before the actual statue to enter into a spiritual pilgrimage.

My hope is that this moment may be meaningful and memorable—a small invitation to see, reflect, and pray at the University of Notre Dame. According to Lou, “Those who know Notre Dame, no explanation’s necessary. Those who don’t, no explanation will suffice.” Maybe this pilgrimage will help.

Sports and Spirituality Pilgrimage
Travel to the southwest corner of Notre Dame Stadium. The D Gate also known as the Holtz gate features the statue you see here.

Coach Lou Holtz
In November 1985, Lou Holtz became the twenty-fifth head coach in Notre Dame football history. Holtz is the fourth to win a national championship in his third year at the helm, leading the Irish—in 1988— to a perfect record of 12-0. Known as a master motivator and a strict disciplinarian, Coach Holtz credits his Catholic faith as the source of such outstanding qualities. Moreover, his vision and philosophy resonate with his belief. 

In The Notre Dame Book of Prayer, Holtz wrote 

The sisters of Notre Dame preached to me when I was in grade school that God is everywhere. No place is that more evident to me than at the University of Notre Dame. God’s presence permeates the campus. I am not referring just to the Basilica of the Sacred Heart or the Grotto, but to the football stadium as well.  

I often felt, during a critical stage of a close football game, that more people in the stadium were praying to God than in most church on Sunday morning, even though they were praying to God for different reasons. 

I felt, and still do, that the stadium is a sacred place. Our players would go from our team Mass at Sacred Heart directly to the stadium. After warm-up we would pray the Our Father and the Hail Mary led by our team priest, Jim Riehle, C.S.C. We often asked our football players to conduct their activities both on and off the field according to the Book of Proverbs. 

God is always with us wherever we go, and that includes the football field. 

It also says in the Bible that when two or more come together to pray, God will be among them. The sisters were right.

Perhaps you too have felt God’s presence inside of Notre Dame stadium. Maybe you have offered your own prayers of gratitude for moments and memories inside the House that Rockne built. Has gazing at The Word of Life Mural ever called you to give praise to Jesus? or reflect further upon His message? Coach Holtz has reminded us that our workplaces or venues we return to every fall can serve as sacred places. Blessed be!

Prayer: Proverbs 3 1-12
Coach Holtz always wrote a line from this passage on his game plan.

My child, do not forget my teaching, take to heart my commands;

For many days, and years of life, and peace, will they bring you.

Do not let love and fidelity forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart.

Then will you win favor and esteem before God and human beings.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, on your own intelligence do not rely

In all your ways be mindful of Him, and He will make straight your paths.

Do not be wise in your own eyes, fear the LORD and turn away from evil;

This will mean health for your flesh and vigor for your bones.

Honor the LORD with your wealth, with first fruits of all your produce;

Then will your barns be filled with plenty, with new wine your vats will overflow.

The discipline of the LORD, my child, do not spurn do not disdain his reproof;

For whom the LORD loves he reproves, as a father, the son he favors.

Amen

Photo Credits
Statue: Thank you to a beloved former student Thomas for taking the photo of the statue!
Holtz statue
Fleur de Lis

Hello Friends—A Story and a Prayer

Perhaps you’ve seen the ads. The Masters—it’s coming. The indelible rite of spring is just over a month away. Jim Nantz calls it “a tradition unlike any other.” In the collective sense, that claim is absolutely true. But the tournament is also host to many traditions—small rituals that, in their own way, are unlike any others. And Nantz is responsible for one of them. It’s his simple opening line: “Hello, friends.”

The story of how that greeting came to be resurfaced this past week on the Vanity Index podcast, and I loved hearing it. Not only was the story new to me, but so was the way it unexpectedly found its way into my Lenten journey. Here are both stories.

Story:
As written by Yahoo sports

In 2002—seven years after his father suffered a mini stroke at Colonial that was later diagnosed as the early stages of Alzheimer’s—Jim Nantz found himself at his dad’s bedside before leaving for the PGA Championship at Hazeltine.

Before he walked out the door, he made a promise.

“When I come on the air, I’m going to look into that camera and I’m going to say, ‘Hello, friends.’ And that’s for you, dad, ’cause you have nothing but friends," Nantz said. "That’s going to be my little trigger line to let you know that in that very moment, I’m thinking of you.”

At the time, Nantz believed it would be a one-and-done—a private signal wrapped inside a public broadcast. A single moment shared between father and son.

But after the telecast, a colleague at CBS Sports, having learned the backstory, told him he should keep it. So Nantz opened the final round the same way.

He hasn’t stopped since.

I love this story for multiple reasons. 

For one, I love the greeting. It's simple but it's so personal. I truly feel as though I’ve been invited into something special—which I have. I get the sense that I’ll be spending the next few hours with a friend.

Second, one would not expect something so public to be so private. In sharing the story, Nantz described it as “a private signal wrapped inside a public broadcast.” Millions may be watching, but when the red light goes on, he intended to speak to all but one—his dad.

Third, I never met Nantz’s father, but I can’t help imagining what kind of man he must have been. To say he had “nothing but friends” suggests to me he was someone special — kind, generous, deeply attentive to others and more. It’s a simple phrase, but it carries weight.

Fourth, isn’t it ironic that it took a friend of Nantz’s to point out the power and poignancy of the greeting? Eli Spielman — a friend and co-author of "Always By My Side" with Jim Nantz— is the one who took pause and noticed. Had he not asked what "that phrase" was all about, we might not have that tradition with The Masters today. 

Fifth, the phrase "Hello Friends" is a personal ritual that serves as a point of connection for Jim and his late father. He says "it has a calming effect" and "I channel him." He added, "For a moment "I feel like I am talking to him." To me, that sounds a whole like prayer.

a recent photo of golf with great friends

Prayer
Prayer is our way of talking to God. It has a calming effect. And through prayer we can channel God—God's mercy and compassion. 

All relationships thrive on good communication. And prayer is our way of communicating with God — not as a transaction, not as a performance, but as a relationship.  It is how we show up. It is how we listen. It is how we make ourselves available to be changed. Just as trust grows when we speak honestly and listen attentively to one another, our relationship with God deepens when we take the time to pray—not just to ask, but to notice, to reflect, and to receive. In prayer, we are reminded that we are not alone, and that mercy and compassion are but a few of the gifts we are meant to carry into the world.

Yes it can be both public or private, formal or informal,  and it can be spoken or written. Though my prayer is often spontaneous, this Lent, I decided that I wanted to write a prayer a day. I figured this would be a meaningful personal discipline.

I was given a list of scripture passages that relate to sports. I wanted to see where this might lead me and I was curious to find out if this might be an exercise I could offer to my students in the future. 

The goal is to write an original prayer from the ideas that come to you in reading (and praying with) the passage of Scripture. I felt drawn to this method because it produces a tangible product. In order to write, I had to familiarize myself with the Word. To produce a prayer, I must open myself up to the message and let it speak to me.  My response is the prayer.

Given this practice, I have noticed that when I encounter a passage of scripture, I make a stronger effort to read what it says. My friend Kelly sent me a card that included a several Bible verses as well as this quote. 

The Lord comes to us in our friends. What we do and are to them is an expression of what we are to Him. —Lloyd John Ogilvie

Though religious in nature, you won't find Ogilvie's words in the Bible. I decided that wasn't the point of this Lenten commitment. The commitment to prayer was and is.

In my writing my prayer that night, I couldn't help but think of Jim Nantz's story and how many friends I have made through golf. I have so many friends with whom I have watched
"the tradition unlike any other." Among others, it is one of my favorite topics of conversations. I thought about my own parents and their friends. I have seen how the Lord has come to all of us through these men and women. What more is there to do but give thanks and praise for this gift. So here is what I wrote...

As a coach, I always hope my players will become good friends.

Prayer for Friends
Gracious and Ever Loving God,

It is an awesome and challenging truth that You come to us in our friends.
In their laughter and loyalty, in their wounds and their wonder —You are there.

Help us to remember that what we do and are for them is an expression of what we are to You.
When we are patient, may it be patience offered to You.
When we listen, may it be You we are honoring.
When we forgive, may it reveal Your mercy.
And when we fail —call us back to love and to think like You.

Thank you for the gift of our friends—both the new and the old, those from our childhood and those who walk with us for a lifetime. 
Amen

What We Cannot Do — and What We Witness: Thank you, Alysa Liu

If you haven't seen it already, read no more. Stop and hit play on Alysa Liu's gold medal performance at the 2026 Winter Olympics. If you have, I'd love to hear your reaction —and I'd like to share mine...

I first learned of Alysa Liu’s fabulous feat thanks to my dad. He asked if I had seen the Bay Area’s own Olympic gold medalist. I love that an 85-year-old man — a diehard Niners fan who finds a way to watch football in the preseason, regular season, and postseason — was completely taken by figure skating. He even affirmed her musical choice, noting that he has always thought Donna Summer had an incredible voice. That song underscored the performance of a lifetime. 

The first time I saw it, I had to process all that I had heard with what was unfolding on the ice. I was aware of Liu's remarkable comeback; she all but left the sport in 2022 after a sixth place finish in the Beijing Winter Olympics. Without the physical and mental demands of competitive ice skating, Liu found joy and energy, contentment and restorative laughter through time with her brother, playing video games and singing karaoke. Enrolling at UCLA, she was loving Bruin life. And then the passion was reignited.

I never feel as though I give women's' sports enough air time in Sports and Spirituality. Thankfully, the Olympic Games — both summer and winter — provide a natural opportunity to highlight the stories of extraordinary female athletes. Consequently, we celebrated the accomplishments of the women’s (and men’s) hockey team and studied the profiles of the Blade Angels. We debated whether Lindsey Vonn was inspirational or reckless and, together, explored the excitement and support that surrounded Alysa Liu’s performance.

I knew how I wanted to introduce her story. As a Bay Area native, I couldn't help but celebrate our own. Liu grew up in Richmond and went to high school in Oakland. My seniors added chapters and verse,  but my commentary stayed the same. Yes, I got a little choked up—that happens to me when I watch incredible sports moments. Yes, I said "Wow. amazing" and shook my head in disbelief. And, I concluded my remarks with one of my favorite comments. I said, "So that's an example of things I can say with complete confidence that I will never do in my lifetime." My seniors understood.

There are things we choose not to do in this lifetime. I can safely say I have chosen not to climb Mt. Everest, snort cocaine, cheer for USC, or engage certain topics in polite conversation.

But there are other things that — given the right circumstances, ability, and resources — I would love to do… and simply can’t. I will never tour with the E Street Band (welcome back, Tom Morello!), SCUBA dive in the Blue Hole, run the Boston Marathon, or play Augusta National (hope springs eternal, but I’ve done the math on that one).

Alysa Liu represents both kinds of limits — the ones we accept and the ones we transcend.

Physically, I cannot do what she does on the ice. As much as I might love to land a triple axel, it simply isn’t going to happen. And given that I can barely touch my toes, the idea of lifting my leg over my head and holding the blade with grace is downright unthinkable. It is however, simply marvelous. 

One can only marvel at her talent, energy, athleticism and even her enthusiasm. But in light of her story, it's important to know that what we saw was the fruit of a recess from the sport. We were all witnesses to an athlete who had been to the other side and came back. She skated with a joy and a freedom that spoke for itself. 

My friend Alex said it best, 

Most impressive to me is her sport is teeming with pressure. I sometimes marvel at their mental strength as much as any physical acts. Yet she wore that as confidently as her unique hairstyle. But it wasn’t youthful naivety. It was the result of walking away from the sport, dealing with her mental health, and then not returning until she was confident she had done so. THAT is the biggest thing I hope everyone, athletes and non-athletes alike, take from her. 

Some things in this life are chosen. Many are unchosen. Liu was endowed with the ability to skate on ice in a way that awakens awe. For a time, she chose not to — and we understand why. But it is hard not to give thanks — as an American, as a sports fan, and as someone who believes gifts are meant to be shared — that she returned.

Photo Credits
Jumping

Beyond the Confetti: A Different Story from Super Bowl LX—Scripture and Story (Part 2)

I packed up my Christmas decorations shortly after the Feast of the Epiphany. Last week, I folded away the last of my holiday plaids. Today, I wore my football sweater one final time. The season has come to a close. It is time to move on.

I put this away until Week 1....

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” In order to begin again, some things must end. We mark endings not to cling to them, but to honor them. We remember. We celebrate. We believe.

The Super Bowl is an important marker, a crowning moment when a new champion is named and the vision and dream set forth by so many is realized by some. This year the Seattle Seahawks emerged with the win, but the game itself is only part of what we celebrate. We remember not just the highs and lows, the wins and losses, the brilliant plays and daring drama. We recall the relationships formed, the conversations shared, and rituals we repeat week after week. I am grateful for the memories, the moments and the stories. And the purpose of this post is to share the other great "take" I got from the Athletes in Action Super Bowl Breakfast. Thank you, Condoleezza Rice.

Rice is a distinguished political scientist, diplomat, and professor who rose to serve as the 78th U.S. Secretary of State. But her life is not confined to policy and diplomacy. A dedicated golfer, accomplished pianist, and lifelong sports enthusiast, Rice has also shaped the world of athletics — serving on the College Football Playoff selection committee and becoming a part-owner of the Denver Broncos. Her career reflects a rare blend of intellect, leadership, and relatable passions.

Rice credits her father for her lifelong love of football. John Wesley Rice Jr. was a Presbyterian minister, high school guidance counselor and a football coach. She said, "in many ways, I associate football as time with my father." I recommend watching this short video, for she tells their story thoughtfully and lovingly. 

At the Athletes in Action prayer breakfast, Condi added that her  father taught her to be a student of the game. "He didn’t want me to just watch football; he wanted her to understand it—the X’s and O’s, and the "why" it." (Thanks to her, I now know what a trap block is!). But football taught John Wesley Rice Jr.’s only child something else: it taught her how to tell time.

In Condoleezza Rice: A Memoir of My Extraordinary, Ordinary Family and Me, she writes 

I was staying with my Grandmother during the day and my father would tell my Grandmother I will pick Condoleezza up at two o'clock.

I would become so excited at the prospect of going to a game that I would pester her all day about the time. “When is it going to be two o’clock?” I would ask over and over. My exasperated grandmother finally showed me a clock and the position of the hands at two o’clock so that I could track the time myself. I guess I can thank football for helping me learn how to tell time.

I found that story to reveal a much deeper truth. Yes, at a very young age, Condoleezza Rice learned chronological time. The clock pointed to a distinct number. She learned to read the hands and to measure the minutes. But that’s not why the story matters.

What makes it meaningful is that it points us to something more than mechanics. In that moment—and in so many others—we don’t use time simply to measure hours. We use it to mark connection. We say, “I’ll meet you at six.” We count down to birthdays, games, graduations. Time becomes the container that holds relationship.

A great memory. Condoleezza Rice spoke at school. She is the Godmother of former students.

But time also tells us when something is meant to begin and when it must end. A gathering winds down. A meeting adjourns. The final whistle blows. A trip concludes. A season gives way to another. We learn to tell time not just by reading a clock, but by recognizing rhythm and the relationships the characterize it.

Though this was not part of her larger lesson, I came to understand that how we learn to tell time matters. At first, we trace the numbers and memorize the hands. Later, we come to understand its deeper lesson: that time is both gift and limit. It teaches us presence because it is fleeting. It teaches us gratitude because it cannot be reclaimed. And if we are paying attention, it teaches us love—because the most important moments in our lives are not measured in minutes, but those with whom spend it.

Thank you, Condoleezza Rice for this lovely lesson.

Photo Credits