Two or three weeks ago, I read a snippet on the Internet that said that 15 percent of people who profess to be atheists nonetheless believe that a Higher Power takes sides in athletic contests.
It must be true, because I have read it five or 10 more times since then. And you know that anything you read on the Internet is accurate, especially if it comes with the injunction, “Even if you have never forwarded anything else before, forward this to everybody in your address book!”
Perhaps it does not show through, but I have great skepticism for most of the anecdotes that circumnavigate the globe via email, particularly the ones that declare: “You’ll never see this in the lamestream media!”
Yeah, sure enough, there is a daily meeting of all the newspaper editors and TV producers in the world every morning at 10 o’clock (GMT). We decide whether to print the latest proof that Barack Obama or John Boehner (or perhaps both) are godless aliens created from mushrooms and garlic and sent here from the planet Gork.
Oh, the stories we could tell if only we didn’t carry out a global conspiracy to keep the world in ignorance.
Holy Scriptures tell me that the God I worship knows about the falling from the sky of every sparrow, so I guess He probably has a few sports favorites, especially in football. How else can you explain Bobby Bowden’s record?
But out of a sense of fairness, I’m pretty sure He keeps His Almighty Nose out of most games.
Wide receivers, however, are not inclined to take chances.
After every touchdown catch, even if the entire defensive backfield was taking a break at the time (that happened at least three times in the Super Bowl Sunday night) the scoring player lifts the obligatory index finger Heavenward, acknowledging that he scored because God wanted him to score.
One player did it twice Sunday night, just in case God was watching the play on rerun and missed the first finger point.
Tim Tebow transformed his last name into a verb with his trademark act of Tebowing after every score. Actually, he is one of the few guys who made it look like something other than a meaningless gesture.)
And yeah, I watched Super Bowl XXXXVIII (I never learned how to count beyond X in Roman numerals) Sunday night, because that’s what a Man Is Supposed To Do.
Although my duties as a columnist and editorial writer don’t require my full-time presence at the office, I know enough to be prepared on post-Super Bowl Monday to be able to mumble a semi-intelligent reply when somebody comments on a remarkable play or a really great commercial.
Yeah, man, How ’Bout Them Seagulls!
(S. L. Frisbie is retired. He has no idea what God has against the Denver Broncos. Maybe He just figures somebody besides Bushes should be presidents and Mannings should be quarterbacks.)