More than a Musing: Encountering Notre Dame

Back when I was a young adult (in the eyes of the Church), an outspoken member of our group asked me about this blog. “It’s just a bunch of your musings, right?”

Given the time, energy, and thought I had invested in Sports and Spirituality, I was surprised—and miffed—that this was her interpretation of my writing. I have always come to this space intending to do much more than share a story or market a musing. I pen a post because I have something to say: a lesson I’ve learned, a connection I want to make, or a hope I want to share.

I’ve been writing this blog for almost 17 years, and I haven’t let go of that intention or of that comment. I think I know why: I recently returned from a short but sweet trip to Notre Dame, and what I want to share are my musings. I guess she was right. And perhaps what you read here with resonate with you, too.

Pilgrimage Made Easy
Travel to Notre Dame has never been easy. Growing up in the Bay Area, I didn't have the luxury—let alone the option—of driving to campus. Getting there required planes, occasionally a train (the South Shore), and certainly automobiles. Given the weather conditions in and around South Bend and the stress of getting from point A to point B—or, in this case, point ND—the journey itself is an unknown venture. But, this weekend, United Airlines offered a great assist: a direct flight from SFO to SBN.

In fact, I'm still thinking about it. Effortless. Smooth. Not only was it Easy like Sunday Morning, it was easy on Sunday morning. We left at 11:00 a.m. and landed at 12:45 p.m. Pacific time.

A sight to see every other year. SFO-->SBN

This flight is offered every other year when Stanford plays at Notre Dame. I felt like I was on an airbus chartered by Irish fans. It is however, but a temporary luxury. 

One chapter of my book, Caminos on Campus, addresses the effort it takes to get to Notre Dame. To me, that speaks to the very notion of pilgrimage. The journey matters. The effort matters. Although this trip was much easier, the destination is my spiritual home. And I take heart in knowing that, even when the journey gets easier, pilgrimage remains.

Culture of Encounter
One of the joys of returning to Notre Dame, especially for a fall football game, is walking familiar paths. I love taking in the beauty of campus, noticing what has changed, and discovering what's new. I never have to worry about meeting my daily step count! But what keeps me coming back is not simply the beauty of this walkable space. It's the people I encounter along the way.

Some encounters are expected. I walked past Father Pete McCormick, C.S.C., whose joy is palpable. From across the Quad I could see the joy oozing out of him. Other encounters unfold over a weekend spent with some of my favorite people: a glass of wine with one of my closest friends on the patio of the Morris Inn, a reception at Mendoza College of Business with her daughter, and time sharing space with my dear friend Erin and her family. These are some of the reasons Notre Dame feels like home.

My talented classmate and friend, Garret Gray '96.

Then came game day.

After Pete's Pregame, where Notre Dame Athletic Director Pete Bevacqua interviewed Stanford's new AD, Jon Donahoe, I was leaving Jordan Hall of Science when I recognized an alum whose story I had recently read in the summer issue of Notre Dame Magazine.

I had to stop him. I was so moved by the profile piece: Send a Volley and I wanted him to know. I told Ron that he could have been interviewed by Pete, too. A former varsity tennis player who competed on Notre Dame's national championship team, he continues to play the sport he loves, now in a wheelchair.

Reading his story had inspired me. Meeting him gave me the opportunity to tell him so.

It was a brief encounter, just a few moments carved out of a busy football weekend. But it reminded me how much can happen when we pay attention to the people around us. I could have kept walking. I could have admired the campus, checked off the familiar landmarks, and moved on to the next event. Instead, I had the chance break open his story a little more and share that his life and example have made a difference to someone else.

That's what a culture of encounter makes possible. It asks us to look up and around, to recognize that the people sharing our paths are more than passing faces. Each carries a story worth hearing, and sometimes we get the privilege of telling someone that their story matters.

Less Music in this Musing
I am very happy to report that a change has been made! In what is more than a musing, one year ago I wrote "Stay Different Irish." In that post I opined

We're Not Different #3: Speaking of music...

My friend Bill and I caught the Player Walk, a game day tradition whereby coaches and players  process from the Basilica of the Sacred Heart to the Stadium. I love seeing  the team in dress ware—a uniform navy blazer and dress shirt. A few wore ties; all carry their own backpacks.

I realize they are moving from a place of introspection and prayer to a public space that is loud and demands a lot from them. I get that they want to be "in the zone," but I wish they would remove their head phones/ take out their ear buds. To me, silencing the cheers and potential jeers creates a barrier. For example, when I saw Cooper Flanagan, I yelled out "Go Spartans!" I wanted to make a connection to his high school alma mater, De La Salle high school. Those AirPods prevent any sort of communique.

These athletes are modeling what we see every week in the NFL and among their peer group. Am I asking too much in requesting that they be open and stay open to family, friends and fans who call their name and cheer for Old Notre Dame?!

I came to the Player Walk in fear of what I might see. Would they all be wearing over the ear, padded, noise canceling headwear? Turns out, many were BUT they were not covering their ears. All but two players had earbuds/AirPods/a headset out and away (or above their ears). I have to believe a coach said something to the team. Consequently, I felt they were more in the moment. And that singular small gesture allowed me to be, too.

With the People 
I had the privilege of joining a friend in a box seat to watch the game. The padded seats were on the press-box side, facing the opposing team. Our view was unobstructed, delicious food was included in the ticket price, and getting up and out of our seats was no bother. I'm grateful for any chance to see the Irish, especially when they get the W. But given the choice, I'd rather sit somewhere else.

This isn't a complaint. I'm grateful for the opportunity and for an amazing seat. It's just that I think a football game asks something of us. We sit on bleachers, often packed tightly together. We stand up and squeeze past one another to let people in and out. We're close enough to engage with the people around us. We high-five strangers, catch bits of their conversations, and, if you're lucky enough to sit  with my Uncle Jay, you get a referee's POV.

You leave the game feeling as though you played a part in it. When you sit in a climate-controlled box, the experience is different.

Let me be clear: for older fans, people with mobility challenges, or anyone facing extreme weather, box seats can be the way to go. In my mind, I'm still a bit of a young adult, and I think there's something to be said for sitting with and among the people. Part of the Culture of Encounter is showing up, sharing space, and being in the mix. For me, that means sitting in the stands.

In Conclusion
The last visit to Notre Dame was for my class reunion in June. At that time, my mom was still alive and I found solace in talking to my classmates who had already lost a parent. This time, I arrived carrying her memory and talking to others about her life and her death. She provided for a wonderful home where I grew up and returning to Notre Dame felt no different. It is a another home, overseen by a holy Mother where I too have grown up.

Perhaps that's part of what makes returning to Notre Dame so meaningful. We come for all sorts of reasons: the beauty, the traditions, the football, the friendships, the feeling of being home. But we also return as different people than we were the last time we walked these familiar paths. We bring our joys and our losses, our stories and our questions. And we discover that even in a place we know so well, there are still people to meet, stories to hear, and opportunities to encounter something—or someone—that changes the way we see the world.

Photo Credits

What Are Captains For? Christian Yelich and Roy Kent Weigh In...

Although the honor of captain is not uncommon in most sports, it is a rare distinction in baseball. So when the Brewers named Christian Yelich the first official captain in franchise history, it made me pause and revisit a question that some athletic directors and coaches love to ask: Why have a team captain and what should they do? 

When I worked in athletics, I came to learn that a number of athletic directors and coaches wanted to do away with sports captains entirely. They felt the importance of the position was entirely overblown. Others believed leadership should simply emerge from within a team and that a person didn't need a “C” on their uniform to confer that role.

Rather than abandon an opportunity for a young person to exercise leadership, we considered their arguments and grievances and folded those concerns into making the selection process clearer. We returned again and again to the question: Why should a team have a captain? And, to me, that leads to an even better question: What are captains for?

Yelich is one of only three active Major League players with the title of captain, joining the Yankees’ Aaron Judge and the Royals’ Salvador Perez. What is particularly interesting to me is that the idea to name Yelich captain came from within the Brewers' clubhouse.

According to manager Pat Murphy, an unnamed player brought the idea to him. Murphy ran it by the owner and president of baseball operations before presenting it to Yelich.

The Brew Crew's skipper said Yelich consented—but under one condition.

Adam McCalvy writes, “He had one request that we ask Robin Yount before we do such a thing, and Robin agreed wholeheartedly,” Murphy said. “Because in Yeli’s mind, Robin is the first captain.”

That says a ton about Yelich's leadership style to me.

A captain is recognized by teammates—by peers—for much more than talent. They are respected for what they do in the clubhouse, how they treat others, and the way they carry themselves when no one is watching. And, as we see with Yelich, they do all of it with a respect for those who have paved the way and with a certain humility in mind. I love it. 

But the truth of the matter is, I found a great answer to my captain question—*What is a captain for? What should they do?*—from one of my favorite shows: Ted Lasso. Thank you, Roy Kent!

In Episode 7, “Yes & Baby,” Roy Kent is talking with a short-term love interest, Dr. Erin Beaumont. Although he was open to dating, his heart was still with Keeley. Dr. Beaumont knows the end is near. Before she bows out and bids farewell, she summons some gumption and asks:

“Look. There is one question. Why? Why did this happen?”

Roy responds, “What? Us?”

He admits that Keeley wanted him to date other women so that he could learn to fully see someone and let them fully see him.

Dr. Beaumont asks, “So I was just part of some experiment then?”

“No,” Roy tells her. “You were not part of my plan.”

Then, after she asks whether she simply wasn't enough, Roy gives her one of my favorite answers in the entire series:

“Are you kidding me? You’re a f***ing captain.”

She looks confused. “Is that an insult?”

“No! Alright, look. On a football team, captain has three jobs:

1. Make sure everyone’s heading toward the same goal.

2. Stand up for what’s right.

3. Put the well-being of others before yourself.

And you have to be able to hold the center. The way you are with your patients, the way you are with your friends, the way you’ve been with me… You’re a captain. I see you.”

She looks at him and says, “I see you too.”

And there it is. I think that is what captains are for: not simply to wear a “C.” Not simply to speak for the team, take the coin toss, or rally everyone before a game. And certainly not because they are necessarily the best player.

Captains are there to help a team remember where it is going, to stand up for what is right, and to care about the people alongside them. They hold the center when things get messy. They notice people. They make sure no one gets left behind.

And maybe the most important thing a captain can do is to see their teammates—and to help their teammates see themselves.

That, to me, is leadership worth putting a “C” on a jersey for. Go Brewers!

Photo Credits
Dr. B and Roy
Cheesehead

More than Praying Over Putts—The Purpose of a Team Chaplain

I am very happy to report and share that I have a new role in St. Ignatius athletics. For the 2026–2027 school year, I am the varsity girls’ golf chaplain.

Last year, I returned to coaching as the JV girls’ golf coach, a job I shared with another coach. But when my fellow assistant welcomed a third child and my responsibilities in the Office of Adult Spirituality grew, it became clear that coaching wasn’t going to be possible. Fortunately, the desire and need for sports chaplains at SI has emerged, and serving in this role is something I have been wanting to try. It's been a joy and a privilege—a win-win. 

A good friend and former coach recently asked me what serving as the golf team chaplain actually means.

“Do you teach them to pray over putts?”

Considering his short game, maybe he should.

His question gave me the opportunity to talk a little bit about the team, the program, and what we have done so far. They are young, and they are very talented. We are all excited to see where this team will go. But I’ve worked with good teams before. As as much as talent and skill are valuable to any program, I am more concerned with who they become. And I mean this on the golf course, too. 

Last week the team went on a Thursday Morning Comfort Run—
Handing out sandwiches in the TL

Scottie Scheffler is a good example of what I mean. He is, by almost any measure, a remarkably successful golfer. But when I think about what I want for our girls, I’m not thinking first about how many tournaments they win, how low they shoot, or where they end up on a leaderboard.

I’m thinking about who they are when they are playing well—and who they are when they aren’t. As as far as I'm concerned, what he did at the President's Cup this past weekend is so much more than an indicator of his character and integrity. He served as a role model for sportsmanship and how the game ought to be played.

Hugh Kellenberger of The New York Times captures the event well. He writes, 

Scottie Scheffler conceded a 32-foot par putt to his opponent on Sunday in the Presidents Cup, an act of sportsmanship after an unruly fan got involved in the match.

A fan yelled, “Go Scottie,” at an extremely loud volume as Nico Echavarria was in his backswing on the 14th hole, causing the International Team member to slice his drive far right. Echavarria dropped his driver in disgust and glared in the fan’s direction.

Scheffler immediately stepped up for Echavarria, looking at the fan and yelling, “There’s no place for that.”

Echavarria’s drive only went 226 yards to the right rough, and he ended up still 32 feet away from the hole after his third shot. Scheffler had 15 inches left for his par and was 3 up at the time, but gave Echavarria his par putt.

It’s also worth noting that this concession was all for naught. Splitting the hole extended the match.

But what I wanted the team to consider is much more than exercising sportsmanship when something is on the line. What spoke to me was that Scottie thought to do it in the first place. He let it be known that what happened on the tee box was not okay. And he took it upon himself, within his realm of control, to show that it wasn’t.

I cannot guarantee that my role as a coach (in the past) or now, as a chaplain will see to it that my golfers would do the same. But I hope, to be planting seeds and pointing the way so that it might. 

After recalling this example, I gave each girl a prayers card from the Australian Catholic Social Justice Council. On the back is A Prayer for Good Sports. I said "this isn't not something you need to say together. Maybe it's one that you keep in your bag and say on your own. It's a great reminder."

That, to me, is where a team chaplain comes in.

I’m not there to teach them how to pray over putts.

I'm there to invite them to consider: Who are they when they are frustrated? How do they respond to a bad break? How do they treat a teammate who is struggling? What happens when no one is watching? Can they find joy in the game without making their identity dependent on the score?

I’m there to help them pay attention to what golf—and the people they play it with—might be teaching them.

Photo Credits

Kairos...Forever Giant... Thank you, Mike Krukow

Driving to school on Friday morning, I heard an audio montage—tributes from baseball players, managers and former teammates honoring Mike Krukow. Kruk pitched in Major League Baseball for 13 years before moving into the broadcast booth in 1990. Four years later, he joined Duane Kuiper, beginning one of baseball's most beloved broadcasting partnerships. And the better half of this dynamic duo (am I allowed to say that?) called his final game this weekend at Oracle Park. He is, "Forever Giant."

I was nearly in tears as I listened to the stories and memories, moments of grace and gratitude that lasted nearly twenty five minutes. Every commendation, remembrance and recollection for Kruk came from both the head and the heart. I encourage you to listen for yourself (17.54 min tribute to San Francisco Giants Legend Mike Krukow from 9/25). You'll hear words of wisdom, well wishes, gratitude and, ultimately, love.

Saying farewell to this future Hall of Fame broadcaster put a proper end to a disappointing season—the third worst since the team moved to San Francisco in 1958. And yet, loyal Giants fans came out to the yard all week to bid adieu. When I went to the game on Tuesday, September 22, I didn't realize I would be given my own opportunity to say goodbye—and, in the process, experience a kairotic moment as well. Allow me to explain.

In Sports and Spirituality, we are studying something familiar to all of us: time and space. Our examination of both, however, is in relationship to ritual, superstition, prayer—literally, figuratively, metaphorically and more. Our textbook, "On the Eighth Day: A Catholic Theology of Sport," examines four perspectives on time. Most of us are familiar with chronos—chronological time, the minutes, hours, days and years by which we measure our lives. But there is another kind of time: kairos. My students would refer to kairos as God's time. Our textbook describes it as a deeper time, or "the right moment." It states, "Kairotic time recognizes the significance of an event in the here and now. Instead of a moment merely being one second within sequential time, kairotic time denotes an important moment of action and has a permanent, in-depth nature."

A person need not go to a sacred space to encounter sacred time, and that's the beauty of Sports and Spirituality. A kairotic moment can happen on retreat, through the sacraments, or, in this instance, at Oracle Park.

My friends and I stood during the 7th Inning Stretch—a ritual that is both physically and mentally up lifting. The song came to a close, and my friend Jimmy and I both looked in the direction of Mike Krukow, sitting at his perch in the broadcast booth, not far from where we were standing. He looked our way, and we both waved. He waved back, and we turned to one another, confirming that we had, in fact, shared that moment with Kruk. Although it was a brief exchange that didn't involve any words—just smiling faces, a warm wave and grateful hearts—it felt timeless. Eternal. Forever Giant.

On the Eighth Day writes, "As in life, sports time is always 'kairotic.' The game will end; the race will be over; the season will come to a close. This lends deeper purpose, meaning, and promise to sport, which partially explains its popularity in an immanent world that can seem flat and devoid of teleological energy."

That's what a kairotic moment does: it interrupts ordinary time and gives us a glimpse of something more. For a few seconds at Oracle Park, time seemed to stand still. The game continued, the season was ending, and Kruk's final broadcast was approaching—but we were given something sacred. Connection, meaning, and gratitude... the stuff of God's time.

Thank you Mike Krukow, Forever Giant. Amen

Photo Credits
Mike Krukow

The Stories We Wear—Jersey Day

With the Bruce-Mahoney football game coming up on Friday, September 25, it’s Spirit Week! Students and teachers are subject to free to dress all week, provided we wear school colors or follow the theme of the day.

I looked over the list, taking inventory of what might work from my wardrobe. And then I saw it: Jersey Day.

I had a decision to make. Shamrock Series or Niner Faithful? 

I went with ND 2026 Shamrock Series as I'm hoping there will be a chance
early in 2027 when the whole school wears Niners gear ;-) 

Once I made that decision, I made another one: this might be my favorite day of the school year.

I love Jersey Day.

Walking through the hallways, my eyes feasted on a glorious assortment of colors and numbers, teams and sports, all represented by one deceptively simple article of clothing. Some jerseys were brand new. Many had clearly been around the block. There were a few archaic gems, a handful of head-scratchers, and more than a few that made me stop and think: Really?

But that’s what I love about jerseys. They tell stories.

A jersey can tell you who someone cheers for, where they’re from, what they remember, who they admire, or what they once dreamed of becoming. It can connect us to a team, a player, a city, a school, a family, or a particular moment in time. And on Jersey Day, you get to wear that story.

When one of my students walked in wearing a Philadelphia Eagles jersey—I was not surprised. He is his father's son; Connor wouldn't wear anything but the Birds. The jerseys of other students however prompted inquiry. Why the Baltimore Ravens (Ray Lewis)? What's the connection to the Cincinnati Bengals (Joe Burrow)? Their answers didn't vary. They too are bound to the teams of their parent(s)' and their family roots. Sure there were a few tall tales, but by and large I heard some great stories.

In class, we shared the story of the Bruce Mahoney rivalry. I asked my students "Why does it matter? Does it?" And "Why is it an important tradition?" I try to tell them they have inherited something super special in such a renown, historic athletic contest. 

We began with prayer in remembering the lives of Bill Bruce and Jerry Mahoney. We addressed how the tradition had changed in 2021 by including girls sports—with volleyball and basketball making it into a contest of three wins out of five to keep that regal trophy. And we concluded class time with an on campus scavenger hunt—requiring students to search for signs and symbols of the Bruce Mahoney past and present.

The joy of this day found a full circle moment as I mentioned the now forgone tradition of football players giving their jersey to a teacher or counselor at the all school pep rally. I have written about this gesture—what it meant to me and my colleagues many times. In the same way that you can't put a price on a tradition like the Bruce, you can't underestimate what receiving a jersey meant to the person who received it. I felt bound to that young man in a way that is timeless. 

No athlete wears his or her jersey forever. Some jerseys hang from rafters; a select few are retired. But jerseys do something else: they capture a person in a particular place at a particular moment in time—sometimes a season, an era, or, if we're lucky, a lifetime. Stories have unfolded from them. Others are still waiting to be told, so listen up and lean in. Enjoy.