So much in sports is related to the eyes. A ball is dropped because a player takes her eyes off the ball at the last minute. A batter misses the pitch because he fails to keep his eye on the ball. As a coach you’ve likely cautioned your players, “Keep your head up,” so that an athlete will look at the right thing in order to avoid injury and be most effective.

We all have times when we feel unmotivated to do our work. It’s not that we don’t love coaching, or the athletes, or the sport, but we do get discouraged by what often seems like a fruitless and tedious process. We feel burdened by the monotony of working, and this detracts from the joy that Jesus Christ gave us.

There had not been an undefeated Kentucky Derby winner since Seattle Slew did it in 1977. Fans watching the 2004 Kentucky Derby saw a Pennsylvania-bred horse named Smarty Jones, with a trainer and a jockey who were both rookies, end the 27-year drought by winning the race, running the horse’s record to 7–0. Jockey Stewart Elliott later said:

"It is just unbelievable. We bunched up a bit on the first turn but things turned out great. It was a good trip. I crossed the wire and I can’t explain it; there aren’t words to describe it. At the three-eighths pole, I knew I had a loaded gun underneath me. I was just going to sit until he straightened up and switched leads. He really went to running."

As Christians, our ultimate purpose on earth is twofold: to bring honor and glory to our Lord and Savior, and to share His goodness and love with others. So often we forget that people are watching us and that God has commanded that we be a light to a lost and dying world. When I think of “letting my light shine,” I think of three ways that, as a coach and Christian man, I try to do that every day.

A recent study reports that only 6 percent of teens today believe that moral truth is absolute. I knew it wouldn’t be high, but that’s really low. Not good. Young people today are basically saying that life is a sliding scale. Truth has become relative because it all depends on the situation.

In the world of athletics, there are many truths that cannot be relative, such as wins and losses. Imagine if every athlete defined winning differently—one by score, one by hustle, one by the best fans, and so on. It would be chaos! Fortunately—or unfortunately—winning is defined by the scoreboard. Life without truths, absolutes and boundaries leads to chaos.

Hockey Chat:  Knowing what to count on from your line mates also helps them to know what to count on from you.  You’ve probably seen guys that work great together and always seem to be in the right place.  That’s because the treat their linemate as an extension of themselves by being where they are needed and making the play happen knowing that others will be there too. 

Is it possible that one man could have changed Mike Tyson’s problem-filled boxing career? Tyson believes his former trainer, mentor, and legal guardian Cus D’Amato, who died before he won the title in 1986, would have changed things. Tyson said, “It would have been totally different. Cus once told me, ‘You’re the kind of person who has to get hurt to learn.’ I didn’t understand he was talking about life…in the fight of life I am a pug, a palooka [a second-rate prize fighter].”

When I was 9 years old, I got a new pair of shoes and immediately wanted to race everyone in my neighborhood because I thought they would help me run faster. On one particular day, I dusted everyone who dared to step to the starting line, except one person . . . my own mother! “On your marks…Get set…Go!” I ran as fast as I could, and I even had a small lead. But when I decided to turn back and smile at my friends, my mom blew right past me! Can you imagine how embarrassed I was to get beat in a foot race by my own mom? That was also the day I found out Mom had run track in college at the University of the Pacific. (I joke that she should’ve been disqualified for having an unfair advantage!)

It’s been a while since I was in high school, but I still vividly recall one day during my junior year. It was the day my coach called me into his office and told me he was moving me from fullback to tackle. As a sophomore, I had weighed 200 pounds and was pretty fast. I gained 35 pounds over the summer and was a little slower at that weight. The coach told me I was too good of a player to sit on the bench, but that I was now too slow to be a running back. He asked me to make a personal sacrifice and move to a new position on the line so that I could help the team have a chance at the conference title.