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

What the NFL Draft Costs and Asks of Us

The NFL Draft is a three-day event where the 32 teams of the National Football League select the best college players to build their futures. It asks nothing of us. And yet, what it is—and what it has cost—is worth serious consideration.

The 2026 NFL draft took place in Pittsburgh, PA. The commissioner Roger Goodell told fans that the Iron City set a new attendance record. Around 320,000 people showed up for the first night alone, and hundreds of thousands more attended across multiple days. Over 700,000 people were expected to descend upon this great sports town—which is home to roughly 300,000 people. In light of such logistics, Pittsburgh public schools moved from in person to remote learning Wednesday—Friday April 22-24. In short, this increasingly popular football festival is redirecting the path and process of American education. I would also like to call into question what this reveals about us as fans and as a society.

I’m a football fan, but I have no interest in attending the NFL Draft. While you may feel part of a “moment,” the experience is largely the same sequence repeated: a pick is announced, a player embraces family, walks the stage, and puts on a new team’s hat or jersey. You might see highlights, but not performance. And you’ll see this play out again and again over seven rounds.

This is very different from the live events we covet. At a concert or a game, something unfolds in real time—unpredictable, unscripted, alive. At the draft, there is no play, no competition, no moment of athletic brilliance. We’re not watching something happen; we’re watching a decision about what might happen.

I understand the appeal—the crowd, the shared anticipation, the hope for a team’s future. But as a live event, it leaves me cold. It celebrates projection over performance—and notably, it centers only male athletes, with no comparable stage for women’s professional talent.

While the NFL Draft asks nothing of us, it quietly rearranges quite a bit. Schools adjust. Cities bend. Resources shift. I understand the logistical challenges students might face getting to school given the crowds, but the deeper question remains: What is more important?

When I presented this story to my seniors, several admitted what many already know but rarely say out loud—that their education, what they actually learn and retain, is not the same when they are remote as when they are physically present. One student noted that the social interaction of school is ssential to both his learning and his well-being. School is not simply the transmission of information—it is formation, relationship, and more.

We already pause regularly: for holidays, for rest, for professional development. Those interruptions serve a purpose. But redirecting education to accommodate the NFL Draft however popular, signals something different. It suggests that what is foundational can be made flexible, even secondary, in the face of spectacle.

And that should give us pause and consider: an important question. The text book for Sports and Spirituality, On the Eighth Day: Toward a Catholic Theology of Sport—the required text for Sports and Spirituality posits two essential questions for readers and students to consider. 

First, with the combined occurrences of a global pandemic, ongoing wars, gun violence, and an unsettledness in Western society, should we even be playing sport, let alone writing books about it? Amidst the martyrdom of unprecedented numbers of Christians in the twentieth and twenty-first century world, is sport not too frivolous for Christians to really care about? Johnston sums up this critical introspection about the value of sport with his first question: “What the hell are they doing?” That is, should we be affording so much time to sport, especially when it does not always support human communities?  

In theological terms, we can speak about sport as sinful in many ways, or as a part of our fallen world. Whereas Catholics have often critiqued the sin of sport in its bodily injuries, over-commercialization, and physical violence, sport sociology analyzes more specifically deeper problems of sport. Forms of discrimination (e.g., race and gender), systemic issues (tied to globalization, sport systems, labor migration), and the use of human performance drugs are topics that require careful research and cry out for justice and righteousness. These issues cause Johnston to question, “What the hell are they doing?”

I know I am a teacher so I have my bias. I think education is not to be undervalued. Ever. I think it can and should be made a priority for all. Sadly, I think Johnston's question is relevant. And for what it's worth, I'd like to add one: Why can't the draft be on Saturday or Sunday?!

If you would like to talk more about this topic, consider the following:

1. Last year's host city, Green Bay cancelled class entirely. My students do want to know if those days were added on as snow days.
2. Many times, the men drafted do not become the athletes they were projected to be. Sometimes, the draft is dead wrong—Niners know this as much as any team.
3. How much does the average attendee at the draft spend to be part of the event?
4. My students and I talked about how hosting the draft and taking time off of school is similar and different to when our school was not open on the day of the San Francisco Giants' victory parade. NB: many teachers are still upset about that...

Photo Credits
Mendoza Moment
32 picks
Draft City

Remembering and Celebrating, Sister Kathy Lang, CSJ and Her Crown Jewel

On April 18, 2026, I returned to my alma mater for the Celebration of Life of Sister Kathy Lang, CSJ. A Sister of Saint Joseph of Carondelet for 70 years, she served 26 of those years as principal and as the first president of Carondelet High School in Concord, California. It was a gift to gather for Mass, a shared meal, and a storytelling session honoring such an extraordinary leader. I sat with classmates, former teachers, alumnae, and parents representing five different decades.

As I reflected on Sister Kathy’s life and legacy, two words stayed with me—words that captured what she believed Carondelet to be and what we, as alumnae, were made to feel: crown and jewel. Let me explain...

When my friends and classmates got word of Sister Kathy's passing on January 25, 2026, we shared a slew of text messages —each one echoing the same sense of loss, gratitude, and appreciation for her many gifts. More importantly, the messages were consistent. "She was a caring and strong presence" and "She set a great example as a female leader." One friend wrote, "It's impressive how she knew something about every student and knew them by name." Sister Kathy's qualities then and now were never taken for granted. Her memory is indeed a blessing.

My memories of Sister Kathy are many—and blessed. She had the most piercing, beautiful blue eyes. She listened with them and was ever present on campus. She also had a lovely speaking voice, and I give her great credit for never raising it—even when she needed to. Perhaps that was her superpower: when things got heated, Sister Kathy remained calm. Temperatures might rise, but her voice stayed low. I graduated in 1992, long before chemical peels or Hydrafacials were commonplace. Otherwise, you might have thought she indulged—her skin was that radiant. She smiled often. But Sister Kathy was firm and she also kept a professional distance. She was not one to be fooled. 

Her obituary states that "Being a San Franciscan was an important piece of her identity." In her poignant eulogy tribute, former CHS teacher, Elizabeth Clemente-House recalled how much Sister Kathy loved to tell people she was from "The City." She was a proud graduate of St. Cecilia's and Star of the Sea Academy.

I have always held onto that detail because my mom is no different. A San Francisco native, she, too, attended “Star”—a connection they both recognized in one another. There was an unspoken understanding between them, rooted in a shared formation in the same sacred place. Both my mom and Sister Kathy carried a deep love for Stella Maris.

I have no doubt this is a key reason my mom enjoyed her tenure as the Parent's Guild president. In that role she worked with Sister Kathy and my mom was the one to tell me then and in the years since how much Sister Kathy loved Carondelet. "Anne, she believes it is the crown jewel of all their schools." I never forgot those words. 

Toward the end of  my senior year, my parents invited Sister Kathy and her great friend, Sister Eleanor to our home for dinner. My Dad, whom Sister E always called "Stan the Man," attended public school and was not as familiar with religious sisters. I know at the conclusion of that evening he was a little surprised by these deeply progressive female leaders. Meanwhile, my mom loved every minute of it.

Sister Kathy and Sister Eleanor who never wore the habit made a habit of walking after school. Together, they would get outside, exercise and converse with others in the community. Thinking about that now, I am certain it was part of their ministry. They met others where they were. It sounds a whole lot like Pope Francis' Theology of Encounter to me. I'd like to think Sister Eleanor and Sister Kathy walked with God—and God with them. 

The Celebration of Life for Sister Kathy made me aware of her great gift for fundraising. On some level, I wasn't surprised to hear that confirmation. Today, Carondelet—ever a beautiful campus—has new and outstanding facilities. But as someone whose athletic interests were given great opportunity at CHS, I see the as the Carondelet Athletics Complex crown jewel of her fundraising efforts. 

It is a six-acre, modern sports facility located in nearby Walnut Creek that serves as the primary home for many of the school’s outdoor athletic programs. It was developed to give Carondelet student-athletes a true “home field,” replacing decades of off-site practices and competitions.

Acquired in 2015, Carondelet was forward thinking in securing this place and space. Though she was retired, this sports gem would have never been possible without Sister Kathy's vision, foundation and prior success in fundraising.

I have taught at St. Ignatius College Preparatory in “The City” for 20 years now. When I interviewed for the position, the school’s president, Father Tony Sauer, SJ, asked where I had gone to high school. When I told him “Carondelet,” he smiled.“Ah.Then you know Sister Kathy Lang.”

“She was my principal,” I replied.

He laughed, then added, “I took her to a dance her first year of college. She left for the convent after that. My loss was the Sisters’ gain.”

I’ve never forgotten that story. Both Sister Kathy and Father Tony gave their lives in service to countless young men and women in Catholic education. They both had great social capital, power and poise. Still, there is a distinction in their styles that I’ve come to appreciate.

So many graduates of S.I. speak of it as the crown jewel of Bay Area schools—I know Tony felt that way. I’m genuinely glad they do, and I’m often amused by how eager they are to make sure others know it. People frequently ask if I went to St. Ignatius as well.

I never have to hesitate. I didn’t—and I’ve never felt badly about that. Why? Because I went to Carondelet High School. Under Sister Kathy’s leadership, and guided by her conviction, I came to understand that I was already part of something extraordinary. Like her, it wasn’t flashy or bold. It was a quiet confidence.

I have also always felt connected to De La Salle High School, even when others don’t fully understand the relationship between the two schools. Sister Kathy’s leadership extended beyond 800 young women; she collaborated with the Christian Brothers and helped shape a shared vision that included nearly 900 young men as well. Two jewels for the price of one. Lucky Cougars, lucky Spartans.

I remain deeply proud that my diploma, my yearbooks, and my experience all trace back to 1133 Winton Drive. Thank you, Sister Kathy for your commitment to Carondelet. The love and vision you shared as principal and president lives on. It shines so brightly.

Photo Credits
Principals
purple
Memorial Service

From "You Suck" to "Thank You"—How We Fans Show Signs of Respect

There’s a telling line in the documentary Nine Innings from Ground Zero. Curt Schilling, reflecting on pitching in Yankee Stadium during the 2001 World Series, said: “If they boo you as a visiting player, that just means you don’t suck.”

In other words, to be jeered by New York fans is, in its own way, a sign of respect. You matter. You’re dangerous. You’re worth the noise.

Sometimes we show respect in strange ways. And two recent events in baseball have given me pause to think a little more about how we show respect and why it matters. 

In Major League Baseball, April 15 is Jackie Robinson Day. It's not just tax day, it's a day to honor Robinson's 1947 debut with the Brooklyn Dodgers. 4/15 is a day when MLB's color barrier was broken. However, it's worth noting that Robinson's career was not always marked by signs of respect. He endured hostility in the form of racist remarks, derogatory slurs and taunting. The abuse he endured was, tragically, a backhanded acknowledgment of his impact. He is an American hero—a man that children still learn about and study in school and beyond. 

Baseball—the American pastime—has made meaningful efforts to reckon with its past. For example, statistics from the Negro Leagues are now officially included in the Major League Baseball historical record and recognized by the Baseball Hall of Fame. On Jackie Robinson Day, all players, coaches, and on-field staff wear Robinson’s number, 42—the only number permanently retired across MLB. The result is a powerful, league-wide visual tribute in every stadium at once. Optics matter. At the ballpark, fans watch video tributes and hear stories that highlight Robinson’s impact and enduring example. These efforts help ensure that Jackie Robinson Day is not just commemorated, but truly honored. To me, respect never goes out of style.

But what got me thinking about respect was a comment from one of my seniors. His “Sports in the News” presentation featured the Tigers’ closer, Kenley Jansen, who recorded his 479th career save on April 14. Jonah walked into class and said, “I should have featured Jackie Robinson on Jackie Robinson Day.” I assured him it wasn’t a problem; I had created a slide honoring Rachel Robinson, Jackie’s wife, who is 103 years old.

Then I added, “And for what it’s worth, I hate Kenley Jansen.”

My student looked at me quizzically.

“He played for the Dodgers, right? Put a whole lot of hurt on the Giants.”

He smiled.

“My hatred,” I added, “is a sign of respect.”

He understood.

Congratulations are certainly in order for Jansen—he is now number three on the all-time save list, behind Mariano Rivera (the last #42 in MLB)  and Trevor Hoffman. But this Giants fan can't forget who benefitted from this milestone: those pesky Dodgers! Hey! loyalty and fandom don’t go out of style either.

Regular readers of this blog know that an important part of my summer is my annual pilgrimage to South Lake Tahoe for the American Century Championship golf tournament. It features athletes, actors, news anchors, and musicians—perhaps they should add a “C” for “celebrity” to their official billing.

One time, I was sitting beside a green when former Phillie and National outfielder Jayson Werth walked by. We made eye contact.

“I hated you when you were with the Phillies,” I told him.

“You a Mets fan?” he asked.

“No—I’m a Giants fan. You always put the hurt on.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate the hatred.”

We both laughed. The respect was obvious.

Respect doesn’t always arrive as celebration. Sometimes it comes as resistance, as noise, even as rejection. But underneath it is recognition.

And maybe the question worth asking is this: Are we paying attention to the ways respect shows up—even when it doesn’t look the way we expect?

Photo Credits
Jansen
42
Boo

Jo Adell: Living in the Fifth Dimension of Sport

After reading "Rowing for the Lives" (America Magazine) and "How the Sports Stadium Went Luxe" (The New Yorker) my seniors in Sports and Spirituality my seniors in Sports and Spirituality were asked to answer the question: What are sports for? Is sport a pathway to meaning or a product to sell?

Upon reading these, they made convincing arguments on both sides. Some argued that athletics exist for the formation of character and the creation of opportunity for all. Others leaned toward a more public reality: today, sports are a business, and games are primarily a form of entertainment.

Both claims hold weight. But I wonder if they are incomplete. Because every so often, something happens in sport that doesn’t quite fit either category. It’s not reducible to character formation, and it’s not captured fully by entertainment value. It interrupts the game. It lingers. It feels—if only for a moment, like something more.

Angels outfielder Jo Adell added that kind of variable to our conversation—and it’s not just what he did, but how he did it.

According to Yahoo! sports, Adell "etched his name in the history books on Saturday night in Anaheim, robbing three home runs in a 1-0 win over the Mariners" 

This one man had three robberies. Check them out. for yourself: 

1. Top of the first, off the bat of Cal Raleigh.
2. Top of the eighth, off the bat of Josh Naylor.
3. Top of the ninth, off the bat of J.P. Crawford.

Kendall Baker writes,

There have been over 70,000 MLB games played in the wild card era (since 1995), and this was the first to feature three total home run robberies, much less three by the same player.  

While the first two robberies were spectacular in their own right, the third is the one everybody's talking about because this is where Adell ended up after making the grab… 

Adell's ninth-inning leap into the right field corner took him all the way over the fence into the stands. The Mariners challenged to see if it might still count as a home run, but the call was confirmed because he made the catch before falling out of play. That's in accordance with MLB's rules (page 148), but should it be? If you fail to keep the ball from going over the fence, did you really rob the home run? What do you think?"

What do I think? His spectacular defense is not simply about character formation, the cultivation of virtue, or creating community. Yes, Adell jerseys may increase and the Angels’ social media is lighting up—but something more is happening here. This moment resists our categories. It is more than an either/or proposition, and even more than a both/and.

Perhaps it is akin to the “fifth dimension” described in A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.

In the novel, a tesseract allows a person to move from one place to another not by traveling the distance in between, but by folding space itself. What seems far apart suddenly touches. The impossible becomes immediate. But here’s the deeper truth: the characters cannot access this kind of movement through knowledge or power alone—it is love that makes the journey possible.

Adell’s performance feels something like that. In three separate moments, he collapses what should have been inevitable into something altogether different. He bends expectation. He interrupts outcome. He brings together what should not meet: the certainty of the ball leaving the park and the sudden, almost disorienting reality of an out recorded.

For a moment, the game is no longer just business or formation. It becomes something that pulls us out of the ordinary experience of sport and reminds us why we watch in the first place. Not just to be entertained, and not only to be formed, but to witness moments that feel, however briefly, like they transcend the limits of the game itself. And, it's so good, it's something I have to share. I told my Dad to watch it on YouTube. I texted it to my friend Anthony. I said to my friends Bob and Mike—long time Angels fans, "I hope one of you will wear an Adell jersey soon." Connection.

The San Francisco Giants hosted MLB's Opening Night on Wednesday March 25. Opening Day was two days later on Friday, March 27 (yes dividing them up is a shrewd business opportunity).For those students not at the ballpark, I shared this picture. 

St. Louis Cardinals player Nathan Church makes a spectacular leaping catch at the
wall to rob a home run during a game at Busch Stadium on March 26, 2026. 

I said how excited I was for a new season of baseball because it always brings promise and possibility. I told them that last year, I saw one of the greatest catches of all time. I hit play and shared Denzel' Clarke's amazing feat. I reminded them of the language of baseball. I said that's one incredible "web gem." And then I asked the question "What will this season bring?"

I wasn't sure what we saw last year could be outdone. Just when we think inspiration or amazement is in short supply, I'm proven wrong. This is what it means to live in the Fifth Dimension. This is what we love baseball, and basketball, a golf, and music and so much more.
A whole lot in this life is scripted, but Jo Adell reminded me—convincingly—that it's not nor should it be.

Photo Credits
Jo Adell
STL