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