The collision of sports and scripture, of competition and communion with God, has always been something of a county two-lane pileup. The complication is how the two can favorably, literally coexist.
We all know religious people — Peter Priesthoods and Molly Mormons and Chris Christians — who normally are the calmest, nicest, sweetest, humblest, meekest folks on the planet, all ready to entreat their fellow men and women, to inherit the Earth and all, who play in or show up to watch a sporting event and transform themselves into raging, screaming, bitching, insufferable maniacs.
You’ve done it or seen it: Regular God-fearing churchgoers suddenly participating in ward ball or standing on the sidelines of their kid’s soccer game or sitting in the seats at their school’s basketball arena becoming Genghis Khan or Attila the Freaking Hun.