30th Year Reunion Prayer: Help, Thanks, Wow

The Class of 1996 continues to grow more legendary.

When our 25th reunion was canceled because of COVID, we rallied and returned a year later to celebrate together. This year, more than 400 classmates gathered on campus for our 30th reunion. As noted in our official class communique, the efforts of Larissa Herczeg and the class leadership group resulted in "an all-time record attendance for a 30 year class and the most memorable reunion we have had." Here, here!

When I tell others about reunion, they want to know: Don't you have Homecoming? Why attend a reunion? Is it mostly networking? Why hold it in the spring rather than during football season? These are fair questions.

Notre Dame does not have an official Homecoming. In many ways, every football weekend feels like one. Reunions are held when school is not in session because many alumni stay in the dorms—which I have said more than once I will never stay in again...and yet, I know I will. While networking undoubtedly happens, that is not why most of us come back.

I know why I come. Upon returning home, I found the answer on the front of a card I received in the mail while I was away. It says:

Ask yourself what makes you come alive and go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.— Howard Thurman

That is exactly why I have returned to my class reunion in recent years. Time with friends and classmates, walking the campus, sharing stories, laughing about old memories, and creating new ones—these things make me come alive. I suspect the same is true for many of my classmates.

Farley girls. All non-smokers

For one weekend, hundreds of people stepped away from their routines and reconnected with a place and a community that helped shape them. The result was more than nostalgia. It was renewal. So, rather than editorialize my experience or give a (Keenan) review, I thought I would share my highlights in the form of one of my favorite prayers. 

A spiritual writer whose work I return to often, Anne Lamott, has said, "I do not know much about God and prayer, but I have come to believe that there's something to be said about keeping prayer simple: Help. Thanks. Wow." She writes that authentic prayer can be distilled into three simple responses to life:

1. Help — When we are overwhelmed, frightened, confused, or in need, we ask for assistance.
2. Thanks — When we recognize gifts, blessings, or simple goodness, we express gratitude.
3. Wow — When we encounter beauty, mystery, love, or wonder, we respond with awe

Thus, allow me to frame my thoughts about the 2026 reunion and offer them as a prayer. Amen.

Help. 
I wasn't sure if I could or should attend reunion, given that my mom is in hospice. Diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer in December, my mom's prognosis took a hard turn on Mother's Day. Rather than celebrate my mom, we ended up in the E.R. only to discover her cancer had spread. She came home later than week with hospice care underway.

As a teacher, I love to make travel and adventure plans for summer. My mom has been one of my co-pilots and compatriots in these experiences for years. This year, I am grateful that June and July give me time to be with her and help out. But going to campus was a risk. With cancer, the hospice timeline is unpredictable And yet, my one hope was to be able to return to my spiritual home, Notre Dame for reunion. I asked Our Lady to protect my mom when I was away. She answered my cry for help and my mom is holding on and hanging in there.

What I did not expect from my three days on campus is the help I received from my classmates in the form of empathy and compassion. So many of my peers have already dealt with the challenge of aging and ill parents. Although I don't wish suffering on anyone, it did help to hear the struggles and the graces the moms and dads of my classmates have endured. Perspective. Community. Wisdom. Their offers to pray for my mom and my family, to listen and let me cry provided much more than help, it brought healing. Thank you... which leads to...

One aspect I love about ND is that you often make friends with your classmates after graduation

Thanks.
I arrived at Notre Dame sight unseen in August 1992 (times were different back then). In an effort to save money, my mom brought me to campus, while my dad planned to visit during a home football weekend with my uncle (he may have gotten the better end of that deal!).

I still remember my mom and I not knowing exactly where to go or what to think. We entered through the Stepan gate—not quite the iconic arrival down Notre Dame Avenue and into the Main Circle. However, when I got to Room 213 of Farley Hall, I was delighted to discover that I had a view of the Dome. (That's a "Wow!") My roommate, who had grown up in South Bend, was not impressed.

My mom helped me get settled and then left me to begin my new life. I was homesick. I knew only one other person on campus. Yet I found my way.

Returning 30 years later, I realize that I succeeded academically, socially, and spiritually because my parents believed that I could. Through every challenge and every uncertainty, I knew I had their support.

At our class Mass, Father Joe Carey, C.S.C., encouraged us to thank our parents for the opportunity they gave us to attend Notre Dame. For those whose parents have died, he invited us to share with our siblings what Notre Dame has meant to us. What a beautiful invitation to gratitude.

This mass was made that much more meaningful because it was held in memory of the 27 men and women from our class who have died. We read each name and honored them with a yellow rose. This bouquet was taken to the Grotto as an offering to Our Lady. 

Traditions and rituals like these are what animate the ethos of Notre Dame. I have never taken that for granted. I love that Father Carey noted that the chapel where we gathered—Saint Patrick's chapel inside of Dillon Hall— opened in 1931. Construction was funded in part by revenue from the famous 1925 Rose Bowl team coached by Knute Rockne. The head coach of Notre Dame football, Knute Rockne died on March 31, 1931, just months before the hall opened. This explains why there is a shrine honoring Saint Olaf—the patron Saint of Norway—in remembrance of The Rock, who was born in Voss, Norway. Indeed, Sports and Spirituality is part of that ethos.

The Shrine to Saint Olaf inside of Saint Patrick's Chapel
Dillon Hall

Wow.
Ask anyone of my classmates their favorite part of the weekend and I have a feeling we might offer the same response—being together. Football weekends are incredibly hectic. There is so much packed into a short amount of time and for me, all the hype around, before during and after the game make those visits exhausting. Reunion however runs in a liminal space...a kairotic time. Wow!

The dinners, parties and after parties are tremendous, but I enjoyed the simple pleasure of reconnecting for a meal in North Dining Hall (NDH). Given the amount of time I spent there as an undergrad, this might not be a surprise. But it was at that table and the eucharistic table that we share our authentic selves.

Inside NDH

When it was time to gather for our class photo, the photographer had to keep adding more chairs and benches. Our class smiled as we shared stories e.g. "What P.E. class did you take?" (The best answer came from Aaron V who said he took gymnastics because he thought it would be all girls. It wasn't). At the conclusion of that picture—a snapshot in time—someone started the cheer "Let's go Irish!" It caught fire. We responded. We cheered. We clapped as one. Again, Wow! Wow!

I absolutely loved Garret Gray's Improv show: "Cheer, Cheer for Main Stage Improv," reconnoitering with members of ACE 3, and taking over Legends once again. I don't know how or when my class became so awesome. We know who we are and appreciate each other. We know that we are part of something special...and for that I can only say "Thanks" and "Wow."

Why go to reunion? Sure, it's the beer tent and closing down the Backer. But, it's fortified by continued learning in sessions like. the University Leaders' Forum—a conversation between Irish Athletic Director Pete Bevacqua '93 and Alumni Director, Dolly Duffy '84, participating in the Notre Dame Women Connect retreat and even meeting up with Father John Jenkins, C.S.C. in his President Emeritus office before walking to the all class mass (I got to know him thanks to my time in ACE). I hope my prayer spoke to a gathering that IS a homecoming. It is networking in its most basic form. And yes, we will have smaller ones during the football season.

I watched the movie Song, Sung Blue on my flight out to South Bend. My favorite moment in the film is when Eddie Vedder invites Lighting and Thunder to open for him. He joins them on stage to sing "Forever in Blue Jeans." I can't help but think that message of that song underscores what I found at my 30th reunion: love, companionship and joy in the simple memories of the past and new ones of this past weekend. So helpful. So grateful. Amazing.

Photo Credits
None! All taken between June 5-7

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

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

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

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

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

Is the "F" necessary?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credits
Georgetown
LFG
ATL

Still Learning: Tim Shriver at Notre Dame

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credits
Tim Shriver
Special Olympics Logo

The Problem of Favorite Athletes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love these kids too. I mean it.

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credits
The Met
Aaron in PGH
8 and 30

The Geography of Relationship: A Case for GeoSports

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credits
GeoSports
Judge
Dog Book

Tom Coyne and A Course Called Home: Living the Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credits
Tom
Book Cover

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 Memorial 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 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