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

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.

Let the Game Be Loud: Thoughts from the Shamrock Series at Lambeau Field

In 2020, the Shamrock Series was supposed to take place between the Wisconsin Badgers and the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame at Lambeau Field. Rescheduled for 2026, I was finally able to travel to Green Bay for the gridiron contest. There is no shortage of sights and stories, tastes and treasures that I will savor for many years from this Labor Day weekend—or that I could write about for this blog. There is, however, one significant sense that I cannot let pass: sound. And it might be my strongest, most urgent request for not just college football, but sports on every level, including high school. Please, please: let the game be loud.

So grateful to have attended this game with my friend and fellow Farleyite, Eileen '95.
Great fans make games that much better!

The day started with the sound of more than 1,000 members of the Notre Dame family gathered inside The Nativity of Our Lord Parish in Green Bay. Although we arrived a half hour early for Mass (an atypical Catholic move!), we migrated to the overflow room for seats and a simulcast of the liturgy. Father Bob Dowd, C.S.C., president of the University, welcomed everyone by assuring us that the Alumni Association had looked for the biggest Catholic church in Green Bay. “I guess we should have held Mass at Lambeau.” Gratefully, joyfully and collectively, we clapped as one. What an awesome way to start game day.

SFND leadership and the overflow room.

From church, we—a pilgrim people—headed to holy ground: Lambeau Field. Along the way, we toured Titletown, visited with classmates, fellow alumni and friends at a number of tailgates, and found our way to one we weren't even invited to. With the wrong address in hand, we were welcomed by a woman with a friendly face and the strongest Wisconsin accent I have ever heard. The four of us stood on the patio, and she warmly greeted us by asking who we were there to meet. I gave her the name of my friend Don. She said, “Hmm… I don't know him.” I responded, “He's class of ’78.” She said, “We are class of ’86.” She asked us where we were from and then offered us beer, water or soda. Truly, that's the sound of hospitality. The Midwest does it so well.

There's not a bad seat in the house. All bleachers in there. Tight quarters!

Given that the Shamrock Series is a home game, we expected the Band of the Fighting Irish to be in full force. The trumpets came to play the Alma Mater at the conclusion of Mass, and when I saw the empty seats near the end zone, I knew we were in for a musical treat. They don't just play music at a football game, the band is part of the institution. It predates Notre Dame football by decades and is one of the oldest collegiate bands in continuous existence.I love the cadence of the drum line, the call of the horns, the staccato of the flutes against the action on the field. The roar or the crowd, the cheers and jeers, the whistle of the official, the cadence of the quarterback: those sounds are part of the texture of college football. That's the soundtrack I want to hear.

What I heard and didn't hear on Sunday was different. With no down time in sound, I didn't talk as much to the people around me. At times, I couldn't even hear my friend Eileen, who sat in the seat next to me. At one point, I wondered if there had been a delay of game because the crowd was so busy singing “Country Roads.” And this isn't just a Lambeau thing. I've noticed it at high school basketball games. It's been part of the NBA experience for years. At the Notre Dame-Purdue game last year, I realized that instead of hearing the band, I was hearing “Crazy Train.” I can't help but think of what Simon and Garfunkel sang about more than 50 years ago: the sound of silence. Except that's not quite what I'm asking for. I'm not asking for silence. I'm asking for something better: the sound of the game.

Don't get me wrong. Sound is incredibly important in sports. Let me be clear here: I think there is an important distinction between the different kinds of sound we hear at a sporting event. There is the band playing—music that belongs to the place and the tradition. There are fans chanting—sound that arises organically from the community. There is the roar of the crowd—the emotional response to what is actually happening on the field. There is the game itself—the whistles, the pads colliding, quarterbacks calling signals, coaches yelling and players communicating. But, my gripe is with the constant manufactured stimulation. It is the stadium operator pressing play on another song because there are 27 seconds until the next snap. It is the assumption that every lull needs to be filled, every moment needs a soundtrack, every pause needs to be entertained.

wearing the Shamrock Series game day jersey. Thanks to Eileen's husband, Joe!

I left wondering if I was just getting old. Seems like the something a young person might not complain about. Still, I wondered is it possible for the pendulum to swing the other way? Since we are saturated in noise, where else might be go...but to the other direction. My colleague and friend Owen offered a response to my question (he's the best!). He said "check out the remarks from the head coach at Memphis." Chris Huff is doing something different: no music at practice. He certainly bent my ear. 

Coach Huff's reasoning is simple. Practice is about focusing on the next play and he doesn't want his players worrying about who is on the aux or what song is playing. "Why the Noise? The Real Story Behind Memphis' Silent Practice" states, "In a game where one missed assignment can swing the scoreboard, silence becomes a tool. It sharpens senses and forces communication. It amplifies voices that matter, coaches, teammates, and the player’s own inner dialogue. Let’s be honest, practice is not about entertainment. It is about execution."

That got me thinking: If the players need silence to pay attention to the game, maybe the fans do, too.

We'll undefeated!

What happens to our experience of sport when we are never allowed to experience silence? What happens when we don't get to hear the crowd because the speakers are louder? What happens when the stadium doesn't trust the game—or the people in the stadium—to generate enough energy on its own?

Perhaps this is really an issue of attention. And attention matters in sports. It matters in spirituality, too. To be attentive is to be present. To be present is to notice. And sometimes the most important things we notice are the things we can hear only when everything else stops.

I don't want football to be quiet. Quite the opposite.

I want to hear the band. I want to hear 80,000 people roar after a touchdown. I want to hear the student section erupt. I want to hear the collective gasp when a pass is intercepted. I want to hear the quarterback's cadence, the referee's whistle and the sound of shoulder pads colliding. I want to hear people around me laughing, groaning, cheering and arguing about the call. And I want to hear the band. Not AC/DC, Guns n Roses, or even Duran Duran (I mean, I do...but not at the expense of the ND band). Heck I even want to hear the guy two rows in back of me saying "I need the Irish to score again to cover the spread."  I want the game to make its own soundtrack.

Please, please turn down the stadium and let the game be loud.

NB: There is one moment in the game...unless you are the grinch, you have to admit...it's fun. At the conclusion of the third quarter, the announcer gave context for two of CFB's traditions at the conclusion of the third quarter. At ND, it's the 1812 Overture—which in my day, honored Lou Holtz (with the L until we switched to BD for Bob Davie). The other is the "unadulterated chaos" of "Jump Around" by House of Pain. It's hard not to long. It's hard not to move. Just see Ted Lasso, Season 4, Episode 6 if you don't believe me.

Risk or Rust —A Theology of Sport from Justin Buzzard

Two weeks ago today, I started my 21st year of teaching at St. Ignatius College Prep in San Francisco. This marks my 28th year in the classroom and a Sweet 16 for the course, Sports and Spirituality. Wow.

Justin Buzzard is also the author of a book "Date Your Wife."

This might sound strange, but I still use a textbook.

Strange? you ask. How’s that? The required reading can be found online. Several courses use a collection of articles or journals. But the reader I once used has been replaced by On the Eighth Day: A Catholic Theology of Sport, and it’s far better because of it. Thank you, Drs. Hoven, Carney, and Engel!

Although one of my seniors asked, “Who ever reads the introduction?” I politely informed him that we would—and explained why it’s important. Not only does it explain what the Canadian among the three authors believes God created on the eighth day (his answer is Wayne Gretzky), it defines theology and, more specifically, what a theology of sport is.

The “why” of a theology of sport is the question we will wrestle with from start to finish. I have more than a few answers.

Max and Jay are two of the three authors

The truth is, however, that one need not look long or hard to find one. And my students didn’t have to look very far. An answer—a compelling example—was taking the field just 45 miles south of our campus.

In case you haven’t heard, allow me to introduce you to Justin Buzzard.

Standing 6'2" tall and weighing 210 lbs, Buzzard certainly looks the part. He played football at Whitworth University decades ago—but an injury during his freshman year ended his college playing career. The father of three boys, his eldest son  encouraged him to try football again after seeing a video of a 60 year old man, Tom Green, playing college football. Buzzard spoke with the coaching staff at San Jose City College to determine if he could try out. He underwent conditioning, summer practice and became a Jaguar. Playing at defensive end, he proudly wears the number 48—reflective of the age he will turn in September!

To the surprise of some of my students, Buzzard is also the pastor of Garden City Church (which he founded 15 years ago). He sees his return to football as "an expression of his faith, not separate from it." In an interview on Fox News, Todd Piro asks him, How has your faith and your relationship with God guided you on this journey? He responds,

I think God cares about all of life and not just some separate—religious slice of you and football is a lot of fun and as a man, it's something I love doing. So, as I wrestled and thought through, "Do I really want to do this crazy thing?" I thought "God thinks football is a fun thing." I'm going to go for it and I'm going to enjoy it. I pray a lot that he will protect me from injury. I know what I am doing is high risk. I've been praying big, specific prayers. God, protect me. I want to go the distance and help my team—San Jose City College in anyway that I can. 

If that's not a theology of sport what is?! 

But one person’s personal and practical testimony cannot be the whole story. Fortunately, "On the Eighth Day" gives us some guidelines and guardrails. It defines a theology of sport as “faith seeking understanding, justice, mercy and contemplation in and through sport.” The authors ask: How might play and sport speak to us about God and living the Christian life? Does God care about play? Should people of faith participate in competitive sport? If so, how can their involvement develop a deeper connection to Jesus?

Importantly, the authors describe theology of sport not as a simple transition from theory to practice, but as “a dialogue between sport and faith that is both reflective and critical.”

That dialogue—and the questions it raises in light of both the positives and negatives, consolation and desolation, light and darkness—is the story of this semester.

As a teacher, I make a point of using compare and contrast to help students understand. So I couldn't help but notice another example this past week.

Drew Dougherty at Strake Jesuit in Houston teaches Sport and American Culture. This past week, he welcomed Gary Kubiak, who coached the Denver Broncos to a championship in Super Bowl 50 and also coached the Houston Texans. I wish I could take that class! I would have loved to hear Coach Kubiak speak, and I would love to know what he addressed in light of the course’s themes and essential questions.

I have no doubt there is considerable overlap between our courses. But there is a distinction. Sport and American Culture is not a Religious Studies course. It could certainly ask theological questions, but Sports and Spirituality explicitly asks students to discern the holy and transcendent in everything from a world championship to the daily practice that makes it possible.

Even 16 years later, I think it is a risk for students to take a class like Sports and Spirituality.

They probably love sport. They play it, watch it, celebrate it, argue about it, and sometimes hate it. But asking them to consider how sport connects to their faith—and ultimately to their own lives—is something else entirely. It asks them to risk seeing something familiar in a new way.

And that’s where Justin Buzzard’s motto—risk or rust—becomes more than a clever phrase.

There is a risk in this course: asking questions that don’t have easy answers; bringing something as familiar as sport into a Religious Studies classroom; looking for the holy and transcendent in winning and losing, excellence and failure, competition and community. Most of all, it is the risk of allowing those questions to become personal.

The opening assignment in Sports and Spirituality asks students to name a passage of Scripture, a quote, or a motto that is important to them. What words have shaped them? What do they return to when they need direction, encouragement, perspective, or courage?

Not only did we find an answer to the big questions of the course in Justin Buzzard, we found a motto worth remembering. 

JB: we will keep you and your team in our prayers. Thanks for your words and for taking the risk!

Photo Credits

Two Sisters, Two Pitches, One Gospel

While working alongside a sister in full habit in Chicago this summer, I realized that many of my students had never met a religious sister before. When I mentioned this to someone, they responded, “I wasn’t even sure the Catholic Church had them anymore.”

Once the driving force behind Catholic schools in the United States and around the world, women religious have seen their numbers decline dramatically. Some communities are growing and thriving, but sadly, many convents have closed, and religious orders have turned out the lights for good.

We are always called to read and respond to the signs of the times. Still, I can’t help but look back and recognize what a tremendous gift women religious have been—and what a tremendous loss their decline has been for the Church and for our world. But they’re not dead yet. 

This summer, I encountered two dynamos: one in person and the other through Instagram. Their vocations reflect the joy of the Gospel. They bear witness to the truth that a life lived for Christ can provide not only meaning and purpose, but great joy, too. They have a lot to offer. And I’d like to share their stories with you.

Sister Stephanie
Day one of the St. Ignatius College Prep Immersion began with my not being particularly happy about the 5:45 a.m. alarm. The Brother David Darst Center summoned us to an early breakfast so we could head out to the Mission of Our Lady of the Angels in West Humboldt Park on Chicago's west side. I grumbled as we walked to our bus, wishing I were time-zone agnostic. Chicago, after all, is two hours earlier than PDT.

We were greeted by a petite, young woman standing in a full brown habit: Sister Stephanie.

The Darst staff member Maggie had warned us about her ahead of time. She said, 

Sister Stephanie is a force. She oversees the Food Pantry, which provides food to about 4,000 families each month.

We soon learned that the purpose of the Mission is twofold: to assist the materially poor and to share the treasure of our Catholic faith. In addition to feeding the hungry, the Mission distributes clothing and household goods and provides emergency assistance, after-school programming, senior citizen programming, community dinners and special events. At its heart, the Mission of Our Lady of the Angels is about establishing and sustaining a Catholic presence in West Humboldt Park.

It was a good thing Sister Stephanie wore running shoes, because she did not stop.

Someone told us that if we couldn't find her, we should simply stop and wait a few moments. She was sure to barrel through again—directing, loading, unloading, negotiating, and, in general, taking care of business in a flash.

While she was certainly the leader, Sister Stephanie did not work alone. Several other women from her religious community assisted a regular volunteer crew of at least 25 people, including the 12 St. Ignatius students, another teacher and me.

What these rising seniors encountered looked nothing like the angry, mean or pious-and-petty nuns they might have seen on television or in movies. These women smiled. They led through service. They radiated the love of God.

It is important to mention that the Mission's work takes place in what was once the Catholic grade school at Our Lady of the Angels. The school closed in 1999, but its story cannot be told without acknowledging what happened there in 1958, when a devastating fire in the school took the lives of 92 children and three religious sisters. We took a photo in front of the statue honoring those who died.

At our evening reflection, every student commented on the impression Sister Stephanie—and the other sisters—had made on them. My immersion groups gathered nightly for reflection, and without a doubt, Sister Stephanie had made a noteworthy impression on all of us.

Sister Stephanie is part of the legacy of Mission and church that aims to "share the treasure of our Catholic Faith." My colleague Dan noted the paschal mystery we bore witness to that day. In the very same building where school children perished, is a place that brings people hungry for food, community and faith together. None of this is possible without hearts to lead and to serve. 

Sister Stephanie showed us the way.

Sister Mary Jo, Sobieck, OP
Trust me, people send me social media posts and Instagram reels of religious women all the time. I have never wanted to be a Sister, but I have nothing but love, gratitude and respect for so many of these she-roes in the Catholic Church. I watch them and wait. Are they a spectacle, or do they speak to me? This inquiring mind wants to know.

I started to see a Dominican Sister, Sister Mary Jo Sobieck, OP, on the daily. It's hard not to notice her. (Take a look and you will see why.) A Dominican Sister of Springfield, Illinois, Sister Mary Jo is probably best known for becoming an internet sensation after throwing one of the most memorable ceremonial first pitches in baseball history.

On August 18, 2018, Sister Mary Jo threw out the first pitch at a Chicago White Sox game as part of Marian Catholic's 60th-anniversary celebration.

She stepped onto the mound in her distinctive Dominican habit—white dress and black veil. She bounced the ball off her bicep and then threw a perfect strike over the plate. The video went viral internationally. She subsequently appeared on programs including Good Morning America and ESPN and even ended up with her own Topps' baseball card.

According to Chicago Catholic, she didn't just enjoy the attention. She used the unexpected platform to talk about God, vocation and religious life, particularly with young people. And it didn't stop there.

Today, she offers a "Daily Pitch" on Instagram. The posts connect a passage of Scripture with a real-life lesson. She makes personal and profound connections—continually connecting our joys and struggles, desires and shortcomings, needs, hopes and prayers with the Word of God.

It's wonderful.

And here's the thing: the more I watch, the less I see the spectacle and the more I see the Sister.

The first pitch may have put Sister Mary Jo on the internet's radar, but her daily pitch is something else entirely. She isn't simply throwing a baseball anymore. She's throwing out an invitation—to pay attention, to reflect, to pray, to recognize God in the ordinary stuff of our lives.

Maybe that's what makes her worth watching.

I encourage you to follow Sister Mary Jo. You might come for the first pitch but you'll stay for the daily one. 

I'm so glad we still have sisters in the Catholic Church—past, present and with the grace of God: forever.

Photo Credits
Sister MJ
Sister Steph