Author Archives: Stephen Copeland

Another Angle — Cody Zeller, a man of mischief

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Who is Cody Zeller?

What’s behind the even-keeled Indiana University freshman who acts the same whether he’s the victim of a bad call or catalyst behind a highlight jam—who would probably show the same seemingly emotionless stare whether he was swimming in a pool of crocodiles or a pool of swimsuit models?

With the help of his oldest brother, Luke, who plays in the NBA D-League for the Austin Toros, we’ve learned what lies behind Tom Crean’s prize recruit who has helped lead IU to its first Sweet Sixteen since 2002. The answer is simple.

A mischievous grin…

The Sprayer

Everything starts somewhere. A plant with a seed. A building with a brick. The proclamation that Indiana University basketball had returned with a buzzer-beating 3-pointer against Kentucky. (Just saying.)

Cody’s pranking career arguably began with “The Sprayer.”

Rubber band + kitchen sink sprayer + turning the faucet on = wet face.

Gotcha.

A Cody Christmas

Gift No. 1: Dating Survival Kit

Right when Luke started dating his wife, Hope, Cody created a “Dating Survival Kit” for his brother.  “He’s really creative with his Christmas gifts,” Luke laughs.

In the kit were three types of mouthwash, deodorant, cologne, and most importantly, a note from Cody reading: “If all else fails, call me, and I’ll help you out.”

“He was a sophomore in high school,” Luke laughs. “He had never even dated a girl.”

Gift No. 2: Welcome to the Family

It’s one thing to do the box-inside-a-box-inside-a-box trick, but it’s another to do it to your brother’s girlfriend during her first Christmas with the family.

As she fumbled through each box, Luke remembers thinking, “Okay, let’s get on with it.” She eventually opened the last box and found…nothing.

“This is terrible,” she joked. “This is all you got me?”

She eventually found money taped to the back of the smallest box.

Miracle she stuck around.

Gift No. 3: December Taxes

As much of a headache Cody’s gift was for Hope, at least he gave her a thoughtful amount of money. Luke, on the other hand, received a whopping $3.27 from Cody one Christmas.

And of course, there was a note to go along with it, reading something like: “Christmas gift: $200; Federal tax: 2.5%, Income tax: 2.4%, Sales tax: 2.0%, Social Security tax: 1.5%, Luke getting married tax: 90%.”

That comes to 98.4 percent in taxes. $3.27(ish) remaining.

Maybe enough for a gallon of milk?

Log Out or Pay the Price

NEVER forget to log off Facebook.

When his mother made the mistake, Cody made her pay, updating her status to read: “I’m so thankful for my boys, especially Tyler because he’s adopted.”

Then he watched her phone explode with confounded text messages.

“I may have had something to do with that one,” Luke smirks.

Really, people? You think the Zellers just happened to adopt someone who is as tall as his two brothers…who looks practically identical…who is also good at basketball?

“People really believed it,” Luke laughs. “For some people, Facebook is their only perception of you.”

License to Panic

On Luke and Hope’s wedding day, Cody managed to get his hands on Luke’s wallet and hide his license behind his insurance card. Pretty harmless.

Following their wedding night, however, Luke and Hope were supposed to meet their families for brunch that morning.

The problem was that Luke couldn’t get his car out of valet parking. He thought he lost his license.

“I knew immediately it was him,” Luke recalls.

The newlyweds eventually made it, but they were considerably late.

And you know what everyone was thinking…

Hoping to Bathe?

When three people in your household are practically on stilts, some of life’s small tasks, like bathing, become more complicated.

So what did parents Steve and Lorri Zeller do? They got an adjustable showerhead for their sons’ bathroom.

“We no longer had to feel like we were the hunchback of Notre Dame,” says Luke, who played four years for the Fighting Irish.

When Luke and Hope return to the Zeller household, Cody positions the shower head so the water flies over Hope—who is only 5 feet, 2 inches tall.

Columnist’s note: Personally, I would feel bad for Hope. Many of the pranks in this column oddly involve her. However, I recently discovered she went to Bethel College, which, if you’re familiar with NAIA Division II basketball in northern Indiana (I’m sure most of you are), you’ll know that their nemesis is Grace College.

I graduated from Grace. She deserves everything…and more.

Death Row Applicant

When Luke isn’t playing professional basketball, he’s managing his basketball ministry “Distinxion,” one of his biggest passions in life.

Anyway, at the beginning of Cody’s spring semester at IU, he decided to fill out a volunteer form for Luke’s ministry. But instead of using his own name for the application, Luke believes Cody spent three to four hours conducting research.

The name Cody chose was an inmate at the state penitentiary who happens to be on death row. For the sake of storytelling, we’ll call him Kelvin Sampson. And in the reference section, Cody put the penitentiary’s phone number.

While other students are out on Friday evenings making IU one of the top-20 party schools in the nation, Cody is delving into the life story of a convicted felon.

“He puts a lot of work into these,” Luke laughs.

The goal of the prank? Imagine this:

Luke: “Hi, I just had a couple questions.”

State penitentiary: “Yeah, how can I help you?”

Luke: “I’m thinking about hiring someone by the name of Mr. Sampson, and he listed you as a reference. I wanted to ask you about him.”

State penitentiary: “First name?”

Luke: “Kelvin.”

State penitentiary: “Uh…”

Luke: “Yes?”

State penitentiary: “Sir, this is the state penitentiary. Kelvin Sampson is on death row. He murdered 53 people in the 1960’s. Wouldn’t recommend hiring him.”

Fortunately for Luke, he caught it. (And no, Kelvin Sampson, the much despised former IU coach, didn’t kill anyone, but because of his numerous NCAA violations, he did kill a basketball program—one that Tom Crean has brought back to life.)

“He (Cody) can get away with it,” Luke says. “It’s part of being the youngest. He’d love to be able to tell you it was his idea…but he won’t tell you until three months later. He just likes pulling pranks and smirking.”

Indiana University will need Cody’s creativity on Friday night—as they look to take down one-seeded Kentucky for the second time this season and advance to the Elite Eight for the first time in a decade.

Unlikely, perhaps. But who knows?

Hoosier nation could use an early Christmas gift.

By Stephen Copeland

Read a four-page feature about Cody’s faith in the Spring 2012 issue of Sports Spectrum. Stephen Copeland is a staff writer and columnist at Sports Spectrum magazine. His column tackles sports and faith from another angle, whether it’s humorous, personal or controversial. Follow him on Twitter-@steve_copeland or email him at stephen.copeland@sportsspectrum.com.

Another Angle – The beauty of politics

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Remember when the Bears played the Lions on Monday Night Football a few weeks ago? The third presidential debate was that night, too, and there was a great divide across the entire nation. No one knew which to watch, and I understand why. After all, what’s more American: democracy or football? It’s a good question.

For me, I didn’t have to think twice about what I was going to watch. I wanted to watch the debate. I love political season. To me, it has every aspect of sports but magnified.

Plus, I don’t like the Bears or Lions.

Now, I will preface this column by saying this: There are two types of people who really irk the tar out of me during political season, and I see them everyday on social media.

The first are the people who make their status/tweet something like, During the debate tonight, I’ll be playing Madden 13 and doing my laundry, trying to sound mature and all, as if they’re too good for politics, not realizing that their unashamed apathy neglects the very freedoms we’re privileged to have, the foundations that make us unlike any other country, and consequently make them seem unappreciative as if they are tossing a plateful of food in the garbage in front of starving children. “Live in Syria,” I want to say, “And let me know if you’re too cool for debates.”

“You’re rude and ungrateful,” I want to say.

The other people that bug me are just the opposite—the people that care too much, as if Barack Obama or Mitt Romney holds the keys to the pearly gates, like our salvation depends on the next American president. And you know exactly what I’m talking about. Once every four years, people come out of the woodwork as self-proclaimed experts, making opinionated claims against a candidate, candidates who are—no matter which party—undeniably intelligent. I’ve seen people cry on election night before—some out of joy, others out of anger. “It doesn’t matter that much,” I want to say, “There’s this thing called Congress and also someone named God.”

Now, getting back to the point of this column, I like the presidential race because 1) I like democracy enough to value the process, 2) It’s not the end-all to my hope in this world, and 3) It’s like sports on steroids, like Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa’s home run race in 1998 (how awesome was that?).

Whatever sports has to offer, the presidential race has more. And here’s why…

Conflict: The conflict during debates is impeccable. It’s more than helmets pounding helmets, which results in penalties anyway. It’s personal. I don’t have a clue what they are talking about 80 percent of the time, honestly, but whenever there are two people calling each other liars, I’m sucked in, captivated, whether that’s Jersey Shore or the presidential debates. Although I do feel better about myself if it’s two Ivy League guys going at one another’s throats, not people named Snooki, Pauly D or Jwoww.

Rules: If you don’t play by the rules in sports, you’re penalized. If you don’t play by the rules in debates, if you don’t answer the question in the amount of time you’re given and you go over, well, nothing really happens—both candidates just shout over each other and talk longer, which is entertaining. Then the moderator gets angry, which is also entertaining. Then Jim Lehrer rolls his eyes at the President of the United States, which is even more entertaining. The moderator literally can’t do anything but speak louder. Imagine a football game where referees have no authority to call penalties. Now we’re talking.

Winners: Sports could be so much better if there were no scoreboards (this isn’t a socialist scheme). Just think: What if football was like the debates? Two teams beat the heck out of each other for a length of time; then the rest of the week, we count the bruises and decide ourselves who won. A three-hour game on Sunday becomes a week-long extravaganza of dissecting, analyzing and deciding the winner.

Media: Which brings us to the media. I’ll take Piers Morgan over any ESPN personality any day. That’s not a knock on any ESPN personality. I just have a journalistic crush on Piers.

Strategy: Everything is so much bigger than offensive game plans and defensive formations. Political strategies target races, genders, and personal dirt, like whether or not the candidate smoked weed in college.

Character: You can’t really tell lies during sporting competition. You either make the shot or miss it. Win or lose. I love the fact-checking aspect of the debates when we find out which one was lying about a certain subject. And then we elect one of the liars.

Election night: There are so many different factors that make election night entertaining. In sports, no team ever scores more points than the opposing team but still loses (like the Electoral College). No one ever miscounts points in sports and says, “Oh, wait, there’s a hidden box of points LaDainian Tomlinson scored that we forgot to add to the score” (likeFlorida in 2000).

Everyone participates: This is the big one. In politics, everyone participates. And that’s the point of this column, perhaps. Enjoy the political process. If it’s entertaining to you, like a sport, enjoy the entertainment. If you’re passionate, be passionate. If you don’t care, then start caring. Just enjoy it. We’re privileged to have the system we do, so, as men and women of faith, participate in it.

Campaign ads: I’ve always wanted to say this. I’m Stephen Copeland, and I approve this message.

By Stephen Copeland

This column appeared in the latest Sports Spectrum DigiMag. Log in to view here. Stephen Copeland is a staff writer and columnist at Sports Spectrum magazine. His column tackles sports and faith from another angle, whether it’s humorous, personal or controversial. Follow him on Twitter-@steve_copeland or email him at stephen.copeland@sportsspectrum.com. 

Another Angle — The beauty of politics

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Remember when the Bears played the Lions on Monday Night Football a few weeks ago? The third presidential debate was that night, too, and there was a great divide across the entire nation. No one knew which to watch, and I understand why. After all, what’s more American: democracy or football? It’s a good question.

For me, I didn’t have to think twice about what I was going to watch. I wanted to watch the debate. I love political season. To me, it has every aspect of sports but magnified.

Plus, I don’t like the Bears or Lions.

Now, I will preface this column by saying this: There are two types of people who really irk the tar out of me during political season, and I see them everyday on social media.

The first are the people who make their status/tweet something like, During the debate tonight, I’ll be playing Madden 13 and doing my laundry, trying to sound mature and all, as if they’re too good for politics, not realizing that their unashamed apathy neglects the very freedoms we’re privileged to have, the foundations that make us unlike any other country, and consequently make them seem unappreciative as if they are tossing a plateful of food in the garbage in front of starving children. “Live in Syria,” I want to say, “And let me know if you’re too cool for debates.”

“You’re rude and ungrateful,” I want to say.

The other people that bug me are just the opposite—the people that care too much, as if Barack Obama or Mitt Romney holds the keys to the pearly gates, like our salvation depends on the next American president. And you know exactly what I’m talking about. Once every four years, people come out of the woodwork as self-proclaimed experts, making opinionated claims against a candidate, candidates who are—no matter which party—undeniably intelligent. I’ve seen people cry on election night before—some out of joy, others out of anger. “It doesn’t matter that much,” I want to say, “There’s this thing called Congress and also someone named God.”

Now, getting back to the point of this column, I like the presidential race because 1) I like democracy enough to value the process, 2) It’s not the end-all to my hope in this world, and 3) It’s like sports on steroids, like Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa’s home run race in 1998 (how awesome was that?).

Whatever sports has to offer, the presidential race has more. And here’s why…

Conflict: The conflict during debates is impeccable. It’s more than helmets pounding helmets, which results in penalties anyway. It’s personal. I don’t have a clue what they are talking about 80 percent of the time, honestly, but whenever there are two people calling each other liars, I’m sucked in, captivated, whether that’s Jersey Shore or the presidential debates. Although I do feel better about myself if it’s two Ivy League guys going at one another’s throats, not people named Snooki, Pauly D or Jwoww.

Rules: If you don’t play by the rules in sports, you’re penalized. If you don’t play by the rules in debates, if you don’t answer the question in the amount of time you’re given and you go over, well, nothing really happens—both candidates just shout over each other and talk longer, which is entertaining. Then the moderator gets angry, which is also entertaining. Then Jim Lehrer rolls his eyes at the President of the United States, which is even more entertaining. The moderator literally can’t do anything but speak louder. Imagine a football game where referees have no authority to call penalties. Now we’re talking.

Winners: Sports could be so much better if there were no scoreboards (this isn’t a socialist scheme). Just think: What if football was like the debates? Two teams beat the heck out of each other for a length of time; then the rest of the week, we count the bruises and decide ourselves who won. A three-hour game on Sunday becomes a week-long extravaganza of dissecting, analyzing and deciding the winner.

Media: Which brings us to the media. I’ll take Piers Morgan over any ESPN personality any day. That’s not a knock on any ESPN personality. I just have a journalistic crush on Piers.

Strategy: Everything is so much bigger than offensive game plans and defensive formations. Political strategies target races, genders, and personal dirt, like whether or not the candidate smoked weed in college.

Character: You can’t really tell lies during sporting competition. You either make the shot or miss it. Win or lose. I love the fact-checking aspect of the debates when we find out which one was lying about a certain subject. And then we elect one of the liars.

Election night: There are so many different factors that make election night entertaining. In sports, no team ever scores more points than the opposing team but still loses (like the Electoral College). No one ever miscounts points in sports and says, “Oh, wait, there’s a hidden box of points LaDainian Tomlinson scored that we forgot to add to the score” (likeFlorida in 2000).

Everyone participates: This is the big one. In politics, everyone participates. And that’s the point of this column, perhaps. Enjoy the political process. If it’s entertaining to you, like a sport, enjoy the entertainment. If you’re passionate, be passionate. If you don’t care, then start caring. Just enjoy it. We’re privileged to have the system we do, so, as men and women of faith, participate in it.

Campaign ads: I’ve always wanted to say this. I’m Stephen Copeland, and I approve this message.

By Stephen Copeland

This column appeared in the latest Sports Spectrum DigiMag. Log in to view here. Stephen Copeland is a staff writer and columnist at Sports Spectrum magazine. His column tackles sports and faith from another angle, whether it’s humorous, personal or controversial. Follow him on Twitter-@steve_copeland or email him at stephen.copeland@sportsspectrum.com. 

One Year Gone

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There’s a stairwell that leads to a lonely apartment on Hinesley Avenue, down the street from Hinkle Fieldhouse.

Rotnei Clarke, one of the nation’s top college basketball players, used to crawl up the stairs to the second floor, casts on his feet, questions on his mind, doubts flying like arrows over the walls of his soul.

The sort of interesting thing about stairs is that they always lead somewhere, whether up or down.

Trials are like stairs. You can either get better or worse. Your spirits can either go up or down. And the choice is usually up to you.

Last year, Rotnei Clarke had a choice, a choice he was reminded of every time he crawled up and down the stairs to his off-campus apartment, unable to put pressure on his ankles.

He wondered if he did the right thing, if leaving his family in Oklahoma was crazy, if leaving the University of Arkansas after three years of hardwood stardom was foolish, if turning down a storied homecoming and senior season at Oklahoma for tiny Butler University in Indianapolis, Ind., was downright insane.

Clarke, a celebrity at the University of Arkansas, may have never felt more invisible than climbing the steps to his apartment where he lived alone, at a new school, in a new state, with his very identity, basketball, at stake.

Rotnei Clarke had a choice.

He could become a better man, or he could let this destroy him. He could go up. Or he could go down.

So Long, Arkansas

Rotnei Clarke’s journey to Butler University is about as unimaginable as the Bulldogs’ back-to-back Final Four appearances.

No one goes to school expecting to transfer, and Clarke was no exception. You expect to be there for four years, at least—maybe more if you live in a fraternity and have rich parents.

Clarke played at the University of Arkansas for three years. That’s right, three years. When you transfer with only a year remaining, people look at you like you’re building an ark, like you’re crazy.

No one wanted Clarke to leave. Arkansas actually wouldn’t even grant his initial request to be released, which is almost unheard of. But when you talk to Clarke—a polite, clean-cut country boy who has mastered the art of the faux hawk and is obsessed with Christian rap—you can kind of understand why, why they’d want to keep him, cage him, control him. He’s not easy to replace.

At the University of Arkansas, Clarke was treated like a god. The six-foot sharp shooter could play basketball. His sophomore season, ESPN’s Andy Katz named him the best shooter in the country. The first game of his junior season, Clarke scored 51 points (school record) and nailed 13 3-pointers (SEC record) against Alcorn State.

Short. White. Shooter from a small town. In a way, he was very Hoosier.

Also, on a Razorback team with many off-the-court issues, Clarke talked the talk, wore “Jesus” on his sleeve, and was the face of the program. He was a constant glimmer of hope for nettled Razorback fans wounded by negative press. He was a role model, a light in the darkness.

Character. Commitment. Selflessness. In a way, he was very Butler.

Transferring from Arkansas would mean sitting out a season to follow NCAA rules, which made his decision to depart even more desperate. But he needed out. His coach, John Pelphrey, was fired after finishing 18-13 in the 2010-11 season, and the year before, five of Clarke’s teammates were suspended at the start of the season for various disciplinary issues, one of which were rape allegations involving three players at a party, causing them to only dress nine players which included an Arkansas golfer and former football player.

“I just knew I was supposed to get out of there,” Clarke says. “I especially knew it when Coach Pelphrey got fired. I just didn’t feel comfortable with it at all. But it was hard because I dedicated so much to that program.”

With the best shooter in the nation back on the market, some interesting storylines began to develop, and Clarke’s final year of eligibility was shaping up to make a nice homecoming to the University of Oklahoma, the state where he led Verdigris High School to its first Class 3A state championship and became the state’s leading point scorer with 3,758 career points (33.2 points per game).

But Oklahoma was dealing with its own allegations, and Sooner or later, Brad Stevens and the Butler Bulldogs entered the picture.

“It was the last place I thought I would be, honestly,” Clarke says, his Oklahoma accent prevalent, something that has to make mid-west Butler girls blush and crumble. “In my high school process of recruiting, I was patient that if people wanted me enough, they’d keep on going after me. It was the same thing with Butler. I didn’t really have to make a decision. I just knew it was right.”

And thus began the most trying year of Clarke’s career.

Removed

The transition wasn’t difficult because Butler is nine and a half hours from home, or because it has harsh, gray winters that force you to see the world in all of its cruelty, or because it has basketball facilities as old as Betty White.

It was difficult because of what unraveled, difficult because life is only a moment away from spiraling out of control. Not because of Butler.

Clarke went to Butler because it felt right. At Arkansas, where coaches were getting fired and teammates faced felonies, Butler filled a void. Stevens and the Bulldogs did things the right way—the Butler Way—and it resulted in two back-to-back national championship appearances. Clarke fit the prototype. He was very Butler.

He knew the transition would have its challenges. He was leaving family, friends and an institution that treated him like Justin Bieber.

The toughest part was not being able to travel with the team, his friends, because he had to sit out a year. On those lonely, winter nights, he would escape to a dimly lit Hinkle Fieldhouse, shoot hundreds of 3-pointers, and imagine his comeback. He was sitting out a year, but he still had basketball. He still had Hinkle.

That’s when it was taken away.

For three years at Arkansas, Clarke says he would go into the training room every day and complain about his ankles. They caused pain every game, and he was losing his flexibility. They took x-rays. They took MRIs. Nothing.

When he arrived at Butler, he says the trainer took one look at it and, from experience, knew exactly what it was: a bone going across both of his ankles, something he had been born with. It required minor surgery but four months of recovery.

Clarke, who had never even sat out two weeks of basketball, saw the sport stripped from his life for the first time. Not only was he sitting out a season, but he could also no longer practice.

The worst, perhaps, was that he could no longer distract himself while his team was on the road. His late-night shooting sessions at Hinkle were over.

Instead, he was wheeling around campus and climbing stairs.

Believability

The sort of interesting thing about stairs is that they always lead somewhere, whether up or down.

To many, Clarke had every reason to be upset, every reason to let his hope fail, every reason to doubt his Christian faith and the belief that God is in control of his life. He left his family, his friends, and a school that loved him. He took a risk because he believed God wanted him to. He took a risk for one season of eligibility because he believed God wanted him to. And yet this is what he received, the possibility that his basketball career was already over and he may never be the same basketball player again.

“There was a time I definitely doubted God,” Clarke says candidly. “I left my family. I left my friends. I left diehard fans who just wanted to see me succeed. What I left was a comfort zone—I dove out of my comfort zone—but I see how much it has changed me as a person.”

There were nights that Clarke admittedly laid in his bed and cried. His mother visited him one weekend and started bawling when she left. “She hated seeing me like that,” Clarke says. “It was the ultimate low for me.”

Risks can be maddening because they don’t necessarily grant you anything. Job faced trial after trial, loss after loss. Peter followed Jesus and was crucified upside down. Paul followed Jesus and got rocks hurled at him. With each step comes the challenge of crawling up another one. It’s called “life.”

“That’s a mistake a lot of us make,” Clarke says. “It’s easy to praise God because I’ve had a great day or a great practice or a great game. It’s easy to praise him in success, but when you are really going through a struggle or something really tough in your life, I feel like I blame God. But this made me realized that if basketball is taken away from me, I know I still have my relationship with Him. I can still find Him. I can still seek Him. He’s going to be there for me no matter what—when basketball isn’t.”

Trials, perhaps, challenge the very consistency of our souls.

And if there’s a word that describes Clarke, it’s that: consistent.

Back in high school, Clarke remembers reading his Bible on the way to the state tournament, like he usually did.

“Come here,” a teammate said.

Clarke went and sat by him. “I want to read with you,” his teammate continued.

Situations like that weren’t unusual throughout high school. People noticed the way Clarke lived. He wasn’t a Bible thumper. He just lived out what he believed. And people—like his teammates—acknowledged, even admired, his consistency.

Like the time Clarke was sitting in his high school computer class, thinking about ways he could impact lives, and decided to write a letter—letters that were placed in every visiting team’s locker room at a tournament Verdigris was hosting. The letter explained what Jesus meant to him, sited Bible verses, and had “Rotnei Clarke” at the top. Everyone knew who Rotnei Clarke was. He was one of the best players in the state.

“Hey,” an opposing player said to Clarke in the middle of a game. “Thanks. I really appreciated you putting that in the locker room.”

Or the time Verdigris, a public high school, won its first ever state title Clarke’s senior year, and Clarke led prayer in front of a 14,000-person crowd as every player and coach knelt at center court.

Clarke had a consistent zeal about his faith that made what he believed, well, believable. His teammate asked to read with him. The opposing player thanked him in the middle of a game. The whole staff looked to him to pray.

Nothing changed when Clarke went off to college.

“I remember people saying, ‘He may be a nice kid and do the right things now, but when he gets to college, he’s gonna be crazy.’ I would just laugh at that,” Clarke says.

Clarke spoke in the Fayetteville area numerous times about his faith and would even drive 2-3 hours sometimes to speak at churches and basketball events. “I enjoy sharing my story,” he says.

He does. Clarke talks about Jesus more freely than he talks about his accolades. He is more concerned with souls than self. It’s kind of weird, really. At a young age, he just got it. While his teammates at Verdigris were kings of the halls, he was typing up a letter in his computer class. When teammates were partying at Arkansas, he was driving three hours to a speaking engagement to talk about some dude he’s obsessed with named Jesus.

And that’s what makes his phase of life at Butler University so interesting. Basketball—the very core of his being, his identity, something he had always had—was stripped, challenging the consistency of his soul. Challenging the strength of his identity.

Stairs and Springtime

There are few things more beautiful than Butler in the spring. Everything is better. The sun that beams through Hinkle’s trademark windows is a warmer sun. The white buildings around campus emerge like a painting when not disguised by snow. The campus comes alive again. It’s reborn.

It’s a refreshing reminder that, even after a bitter winter, life is still good. Seasons, after all, are only phases of weather, with positives about each one.

Last spring, Clarke was wheeling around campus when another student in a wheelchair came up to him. He could tell she had been bound to the wheelchair her entire life. She looked at him, smiling. “Wanna race?” she laughed.

He laughed, too.

Then he thought about how beautiful life was. She was in a wheelchair, and she didn’t feel sorry for herself. She could smile. Why couldn’t he?

“It says in the Bible that if you diligently seek Him, you will be rewarded,” Clarke says. “And it was hard at first with basketball being taken away from me because I was in so much doubt. (I’d wonder,) ‘Did I make the right decision? Is all this supposed to be happening?’ But it really put things into perspective on how important life is and just enjoying what is given to you.”

Life is difficult, but Clarke allowed his mind to climb upward, not downward. He got better. Not bitter. And now, the 63rd best player in the country, according to CBS Sports, is back, feeling better than he’s ever felt.

“I was joking with my dad the other day,” Clarke says, “and we were talking about how I’m just going to be bouncing off the walls when I finally get out there and play a game again.”

Clarke tries not to change with the wind, with the seasons. A follower of God who only follows sometimes, or when he or she feels like it, really isn’t a follower at all. Those people are just fickle participants. Clarke has a consistency about him that makes what he believes believable.

“I was able to find my identity,” Clarke says, “and I knew that if I didn’t have basketball I was going to be okay because I would still have my relationship with Christ.”

One year gone, and he is better for it.

By Stephen Copeland

Stephen Copeland is a staff writer at Sports Spectrum magazine.

Zealous Faith

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When you grow up a Zeller, you have some big shoes to fill. And it’s not just because Luke and Tyler wear size 18 and 19 shoes, respectively.

The eldest brother, Luke, led Washington High School to an Indiana Class 3A championship, swooshing a miracle heave from mid-court his senior season in 2005. The middle brother, Tyler, the 17th pick in the 2012 NBA Draft, led the Hatchets to another title in 2008 and set an Indiana scoring record during his senior campaign. And to top it off, both received the illustrious Indiana Mr. Basketball award and were named McDonald’s All-Americans their senior seasons.

Enter Cody. Big shoes to fill? Psh. If they were, it was only because his shoe size is 16.

The youngest Zeller did the exact same thing.

State championship (three, to be exact). Mr. Basketball. McDonald’s All-American. Division I scholarship.

With all that hardware, Steve and Lorri Zeller could turn their home into a museum. And their wardrobe—between Notre Dame (Luke), North Carolina (Tyler) and Indiana (Cody)—probably looks like a case of Crayola Crayons.

But that’s where the inconceivable parallel structure of their stories takes a sudden turn. Luke played at Notre Dame, a program that advanced to the Sweet 16 in 2003. Tyler went to North Carolina, a program that, well, it’s North Carolina, which won the NCAA title Tyler’s freshman season (2008-09) and has advanced to the Elite Eight the last two seasons.

And Cody went to Indiana.

Hoosier Bound

One hour up the road a storied college basketball program was catastrophically imploding. Cody was a freshman at Washington when former Indiana head coach Kelvin Sampson was caught in recruiting violations, a sin that crippled current coach Tom Crean and his program for the next three years.

During those three years, Cody won more state championships (two) than Indiana had post-season appearances (0), had fewer total losses (10) than the Hoosiers had in conference play last season (15) and nearly had an equal number of wins (68) as Indiana had losses (66).

You can understand, then, why the youngest Zeller was dubbed the savior of Indiana basketball once he turned down Butler and North Carolina to commit to the Hoosiers last November. “I don’t look at myself as a savior, because there is only one Savior,” Cody says.

But all of Indiana did. Quite a bit of pressure for an 18-year-old…at least you’d think.

“You’d ask Cody, and he’d say, ‘What expectations?’” says his mother Lorri. “He doesn’t worry about a lot of things. Good sense of humor. Flexible. Goes with the flow. Our other boys may be more detail-oriented. Cody is like, ‘Eh, it’s no good to worry about it.’”

“If anyone could handle it, it was Cody.”

The Big Handsome

Over 50 media outlets were in attendance when Cody made a simple two-second statement that was supposedly going to put Indiana basketball back on the map. “Next year, I’m going to IU.”

Luke recalls a member of the media asking afterward about pressure: “Cody responded by saying, ‘You guys put the pressure. I don’t feel any pressure. I just decided to go to college, and you guys cared.’”

That perspective is what Luke calls “childlike faith,” something Cody learned from watching his two older brothers undergo big game after big game throughout their careers and remain the same whether win or lose. At the end of the day, it’s just basketball…yes, even in Indiana.

Instead of wrapping his identity up in an orange ball, Cody just laughs it off, tweets that he’s going to wear a “#44 North Carolina jersey with big ears, a big nose and clown shoes” for Halloween and changes his mother’s Facebook status to read “I’m so thankful for my boys, especially Tyler because he’s adopted.”

“He’s the king of one liners,” Tyler says.

“His pranks are pretty diversified,” says Luke.

Even Luke’s wife, Hope, noticed while watching home videos that—at the mere age of three—Cody had the same mischievous and untrustworthy grin he has today.  “You can just see that the wheels are turning,” Luke says.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that the “chillest” of the Zellers wound up at Indiana. After all, if you’re the guy who routinely rubber bands the trigger on the sprayer in the kitchen sink so it shoots you in the face (“The kitchen sink prank is ongoing,” Luke jokes), you can certainly laugh about a fake Cody Zeller Twitter account called “The Big Handsome,” a Hoosier phenomenon that has generated almost 14,000 followers, student section t-shirts and a music video with nearly 80,000 views.

“We always talk, and it’s fun to be able to talk and share stories,” Tyler says. “Cody loves it. It fits his personality.”

Cody Zeller is the big man on campus. And perhaps you’re going to be when you’re nearly seven-feet tall, and you’ve helped resurrect Hoosier basketball from its crimson ashes with victories against three top-five teams.

But just like high school, he doesn’t feel it. Instead, he fills out fake applications for Luke’s basketball ministry, the latest of which was the name of a prisoner with the penitentiary’s phone number listed as a reference.

“Pressure,” Luke says, “is something everyone else puts on him, not that he puts on himself…Cody has a great big-picture perspective of the world and at an age most people wouldn’t expect.”

Roots           

The Zellers followed one another on the court. But they also followed one another off the court. Luke set an example for Tyler, who set an example for Cody. And they’ve all strived to stay on the straight and narrow, upholding the squeaky-clean Zeller reputation.

That ranges from academic (in high school, Luke had a perfect 4.0 GPA, Tyler slacked with a 3.97, and Cody did okay with a 3.99) to social (Cody calls the spotlight a “blessing” because whatever he does will be all over Facebook and Twitter) and even spiritual.

Cody remembers being a freshman at Washington and watching his senior and North Carolina-bound brother Tyler make an impact far greater than bringing Washington its fifth state championship.

“Tyler was a nationally known guy, but he used his platform to further Christ’s Kingdom,” Cody says. “I kind of realized, ‘That could be me one day.’”

That “one day” is here. And Cody’s platform may be bigger than he expected. His 38,000 Twitter followers who have seen his Christian symbol avatar and Philippians 4:13 background is just an example.

“At the end of the day, we could have a lot of awards, but what’s the legacy we’re going to leave?” Luke says. “What’s the impact we’ll echo into eternity?”

Cody says he hit the “jackpot” playing at Indiana under head coach Tom Crean. The fourth-year Hoosier coach prays with the team before and after every game, schedules Sunday practices around morning worship and is constantly tweeting encouraging quotes from pastor Jack Graham, evangelist Joyce Meyer and church planter James MacDonald.

In a long one-on-one meeting, Crean told Cody it was important to not only improve on the hardwood but also improve in every aspect of life. He also stressed the importance of church, which Cody attends regularly with a handful of his teammates. Some Indiana students have caught on, too, and have attended Cody’s church to—at the very least—catch a glimpse of the 7-footer behind Indiana’s magical season.

“I know a lot of people do look up to me because of my basketball ability,” Cody says. “But I try to be a good role model off the court and live for the Lord. I hope others will follow in my footsteps. I want to be a Christian and represent Christ’s Kingdom. I want people to look at me and want to know Christ.”

That passion, Cody says, comes from his brothers.

“They paved the way for me,” Cody continues. “So many people looked up to Luke, and as Tyler got better, so many people looked up to him. They just lived the Christian life.”

Hoosier nation hopes “The Big Handsome” continues to follow his brothers’ footsteps. Because that means the projected No. 1 pick in the 2013 NBA Draft will—cough—stay all four seasons.

No pressure.

By Stephen Copeland

This story was published in the Vol. 26, No. 2, issue of Sports Spectrum magazine.

Another Angle — From mascot to pastor

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In a moment of defeat, Bucky Badger put his hands on his knees and started dry heaving.

It was New Year’s Day, 2006. Troy Maragos, brother of current Seattle Seahawks safety Chris Maragos, woke up that morning more excited than ever to start a new year.

That’s because Maragos was Bucky Badger, one of the most iconic mascots in the Big Ten and all of college football. Wisconsin would play Auburn in the Capital One Bowl on January 2, and on New Year’s Day, he and the marching band would represent Badger Nation in the Orlando Citrus Parade, one of the largest parades in the country.

Maragos was fulfilling a dream he had since he was in middle school, when he was at a Wisconsin football game and saw Bucky grab Goldy Gopher from the University of Minnesota, slap Goldy on a table, climb the marching band’s ladder, and unleash the biggest body slam he’d ever seen—shattering the table, igniting an 85,000-person crowd, and turning Goldy into something that attracts flies and vultures.

“That was the exact moment I said, ‘I want to be Bucky,’” Maragos says.

And here he was, eight or nine years later, the face of Wisconsin, at the 2006 Citrus Bowl parade, his fur flying in the Florida air. He was living his dream.

It takes a surprising amount of physical strength and drive to be a mascot. There’s a reason why only 6-7 students are chosen every year to be Bucky—it’s not easy to do. Try doing pushups for every Wisconsin point in a 63-17 game with a 30-pound Badger mask on your head and a raucous student section counting every repetition. Maragos says there were times he felt like his chest was going to explode.

The 2006 Citrus Parade was another one of those times, but in this case, it was his stomach. Halfway through the parade, Maragos started to feel as if he had digested a badger. What happened next shouldn’t be written about (although that’s never stopped me before). It should only be forgotten.

Maragos, as if slowly dying, put his hands on his knees. Then he did the unthinkable. He blew chunks. Maragos blew chunks inside the Bucky mask.

To the parade, it looked as if Bucky was dry heaving. But to Maragos, it looked much worse—oranges and muffins, to be exact, his breakfast, dripping from the inside of his mask like sewage leaking from a busted pipe.

“It was fairly acidic in there,” Maragos recalls.

It was the Citrus Bowl, after all.

Desperate, Maragos turned to a friend, one of his teammates who rotates with him as Bucky, and broke one of the biggest rules in mascoting—he talked.

“I just threw up in this suit!” he yelled over the marching band, looking at his friend through Bucky’s limited peripheral vision, a five-inch by three-inch plastic mouth.

“What?” asked his friend, surprised he was talking.

“I just PUKED in this suit!”

His friend comprehended it, then looked back up at Maragos and slapped him on the butt, as if to say, “Get back out there!,” and repeated a slogan of theirs. “If the fur ain’t flyin,’” his friend said, “you ain’t tryin.’”

Maragos completed the parade, somehow, dancing in the Florida heat for another three miles, the fur flyin,’ and the puke drippin.’

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only Bucky in the history of all the Buckys to have ever thrown up inside the suit,” Maragos says proudly yet sheepishly.

Maragos learned a lot being Bucky. One of them was to never puke in an enclosed area. Another was to always pay attention to your surroundings when shooting half-court shots at halftime of a basketball game—unless you want your knee to meet a little boy’s cheek bone and listen to him yell, “Get away from me, Bucky Badger!,” as you try to apologize in front of an astonished crowd.

Embarrassing moments for a mascot, however, are like incompletions for a quarterback. They’re bound to happen.

His most meaningful lesson was one of his first Bucky appearances, when he surprised a group of kids at a grade school. He remembers changing into the Bucky suit, walking into the classroom, and feeling like a superhero. The kids treated him like a god.

When he changed out of the Bucky suit and left the school, he walked by some of the same kids who had adored him just moments before. But without the Bucky suit on, the kids didn’t care. He was invisible. He realized early on that it was never about him—it was never about Troy Maragos—it was about Bucky.

Now, Maragos is a pastor at Harvest Bible Chapel in Chicago, where well-known teacher and author James MacDonald serves as the founder and senior pastor.

MacDonald had a profound impact on Maragos’ faith at Wisconsin, where Maragos listened to MacDonald’s podcasts multiple times a week and decided that God was calling him into full-time ministry. They had never even met. Maragos had never even been to church at Harvest Bible.

So, like Bucky, working at Harvest Bible Chapel feels like some sort of a dream. And, like Bucky, he’s reminded that his job is never about him.

“I realized that my walk with Christ was similar to being a mascot,” Maragos says. “Scripture talks about being clothed with Christ and how we need to live our lives with Christ in view of the world to see. For me, whenever I was in the Bucky suit, everyone saw Bucky, but they didn’t see me. And I hope it’s the same way in my walk with the Lord.”

Maragos is still a mascot, in a way. But now, it’s even better.

There’s no suit to throw up in.

By Stephen Copeland

This story was published in the September 2012 Sports Spectrum DigiMag. Stephen Copeland is a staff writer and columnist at Sports Spectrum magazine. His column tackles sports and faith from another angle, whether it’s humorous, personal or controversial. Follow him on Twitter-@steve_copeland or email him at stephen.copeland@sportsspectrum.com. 

Faith as Fashion

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Aaron Baddeley was wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt and a backwards hat, far from his typical on-the-course attire—an Adams cap and his trendy Ogio clothing.

His relaxed, boyish wardrobe (Richelle, his wife of seven years, playfully jokes that he still wears American Eagle sweatpants with a number on them, which he does) isn’t rare for the handsome 31-year-old American-Australian professional golfer.

“Everyone thinks he cares about fashion,” laughs Richelle, thinking about the paper-thin tank-tops he wears around the house that Nike doesn’t even manufacture anymore. “I see him everyday, and sometimes I’m like, ‘Babe, no, you shouldn’t even wear those tank-tops around your own home.’”

Though hardly recognizable to golf fans, there, in a hotel conference room at the weekly PGA Tour Bible study, “Badds” was at his best. Aaron, who climbed from 274th in 2010 to 46th at the end of 2011 with a PGA victory and five top-10 finishes, was his raw, down-to-earth self.

Like his wardrobe, there’s a lot about Aaron Baddeley you wouldn’t expect.

First Impressions

Aaron certainly wasn’t what Richelle expected the first time they met—at a restaurant in 2003 on a blind date set up by mutual friends.

She remembers him rolling up to the restaurant (late, by the way) in a “loud, obnoxious, souped-up, blue Subaru.”

Who drives a blue Subaru? she thought to herself.

Walking toward the table, he was dressed in “tight, plaid pants,” very golferlike, a profession she knew nothing about.

Who IS this guy? she kept thinking.

Sitting down at the table and talking, she could hardly understand him because of his quiet demeanor and Australian accent. “Several times I just pretended to understand what he was saying,” Richelle laughs.

For a working-class American Christian girl who was the director of the largest children’s daycare center in Arizona, sitting across the table from a foreign, quirky, professional golfer was culture shock. She had already concluded Aaron was a guy she could never see herself with, plaid pants and all.

But the couple insisted Aaron and Richelle join them at their home after dinner, and they went.

There’s no doubt about it: The man who walked into the restaurant that evening was someone she didn’t expect, which made her expect little when they went to the couple’s house, which made him a man she didn’t expect even more when they sat outside and talked for five hours straight.

To her surprise, Aaron was quiet, gentle and authentic.

They hit it off.

“I knew there was something different about Richelle—something I had never seen in any other woman,” Aaron says. “ Not only was she beautiful on the outside but her passion for the Lord, her love for others, and her caring personality was so obvious and I could tell she was something rare and special.”

He would go on to call her his “Eve” during their dating relationship, frequently telling her, “God made you perfect for me,” and then wedding her in 2005.

“I’d never been able to talk to someone so much about my relationship with the Lord,” Richelle says, recalling the night when they talked for five hours. “It was so natural for him…I knew I had never met someone like him. Never met someone so genuine.”

As they talked outside that evening and the truth came out about his faith, the truth also came out about his tardiness to the restaurant.

He had to run home after his workout and drink a protein shake.

The Secret

Some would say Aaron lives a regimented life.

It’s why he had to drink a protein shake right after he worked out—it’s his schedule. It’s part of his routine. But it’s also what makes him disciplined. It’s what makes him unlike any other man Richelle had met.

Here’s the secret behind Aaron Baddeley: In 2003, two years before Richelle and Aaron married, Aaron met a man who told him something that changed his life. He told Aaron to wake up when it’s dark and pray and read the Bible for an hour.

He’s been doing it ever since. He gets up early. He reads. He prays. He journals. He dissects each word, digging through his Greek Bible like a scholar. He says his two favorite things to do are one, studying the word, and two, sharing it with others. If he weren’t a professional golfer, he would most likely be in ministry.

According to Richelle, even if he’s up all night taking care of his two daughters—Jewell, 3, and Jolee, 2, (the couple is expecting a baby boy in November)—he still gets up and reads the Bible.

“It’s the most amazing thing to know your husband is up worshiping God,” Richelle says. “He’s either in his office at home or a hotel bathroom on the road.”

In their seven years of marriage, Richelle says she usually wakes up to an empty bed—and that’s a good thing.

“I feel like it makes me a better dad and husband, and I feel more prepared when handling situations because I have spent time with the Lord. Only by His guidance and through prayer do I feel fully equipped,” Aaron says.

He and Richelle are a team, even in golf, where Aaron counts on Richelle for the mental side of things—the most important aspect of golf.

They love being at home. They don’t have a nanny. They have never spent a night away from their children at the same time.

Aaron loves to cook, and many days, he will come home from work, go straight to the “barbie,” and start preparing dinner for the family.

“One of Aaron’s key virtues, whether on the golf course or at home, is his patience,” Richelle says. “I have to admit, getting out of the house on time with my two girls can be a challenge, and he is always patient. Sometimes, to make me feel a little better, I remind him how he was late on our first date because he wanted a protein shake.”

In the Morning

Practicing his morning routine has made him a better husband and father, but Aaron also says it has enriched his walk with God.

“To me, it’s all about intimacy with Him,” Aaron says thoughtfully. “James 4:8 says to draw near to God. There’s nothing better than his presence.

“To know Him…it’s crazy to think you can get to know the God of the universe. It’s unbelievable. It’s hard to comprehend. The God who made everything you see wants to have a relationship with us.

“I accepted Jesus when I was 12 but didn’t realize you could actually draw near to Him and hear from him. I understood salvation but I didn’t understand intimacy.”

That’s what is different about Aaron Baddeley, not just from most men but also from many Christians. He has an aura about him that makes you realize he has something deep, something that goes beyond saying the right thing or having good morals. He has something you want.

“What drew me to him was his genuine, authentic personality and genuine, authentic walk with God,” Richelle says. “He has a soft-spokenness about him—doesn’t need to say much for people to recognize who he is and what he stands for.”

Returning

The format of the Bible study that night was an open forum. There were probably 30 people in the room. Questions were raised about marriage, free will, homosexuality, Scripture and more.

When 8 o’clock rolled around, the usual ending time of the study, the players with early tee-times, including the casually-dressed Badds, left to get a full night’s sleep.

Ten minutes later, however, Aaron unexpectedly returned to the conference room where discussion was still taking place. He said he had been walking around the hotel and it was on his heart to come back and share.

That’s not unusual. Richelle says that she’ll get phone calls and texts from Aaron apologizing for something she didn’t even know he said, or saying sorry for a look he gave her.

Sometimes he’s so convicted that he has to turn around.

“That’s the other thing that drew me to him,” Richelle says. “If the Lord puts something on his heart, we’ll turn around anywhere. He’ll be sick to his stomach if he doesn’t do the smallest things. He’s so sensitive to God and what he is supposed to be doing for his life. He really has encouraged me and my walk with the Lord. He is such a great example to our family.”

Aaron closed the group in prayer, then retired to his hotel room. He went to bed late, but there’s no question he still got up early.

Stephen Copeland is a staff writer at Sports Spectrum magazine. 

SIDEBAR: Bubba & Badds

Another thing you wouldn’t expect about the quiet, unassuming Aaron Baddeley is one of his best “mates,” the entertaining, center-of-attention Bubba Watson.

“They are opposites, but they balance each other,” Richelle laughs. “Bubba is very outgoing and outspoken—not gonna hold anything back. It’s him. That’s who he is. Aaron is a little more reserved—he has a soft-spokenness about him. But both of them have genuine hearts.”

Bubba and Badds are represented by the same agency, Pro Sport Management in Scottsdale, Ariz., and they room together at tournaments throughout the PGA season. (When this story was written, they were rooming together at The Open Championship in England).

They have regular ping-pong matches at the Baddeleys’ house when they are both in Scottsdale. Richelle says Aaron put the table smack dab in the middle of their beautiful, white, contemporary living room, because that’s where Aaron says the air-conditioning and lighting is best. When people walk into their house, the ping-pong table is the first thing they see.

Bubba and Badds’ relationship, however, goes far beyond ping-pong. The Watsons spent a lot of time at the Baddeleys’ home while looking for a place to live in Scottsdale, and the couples encourage one another in their faith walks.

“We’ve seen Bubba and Angie’s relationship with the Lord grow so much the last couple years,” Richelle says.

Angie and Richelle have a special connection that goes far beyond golf. Their passion for sports, their husbands and their faith have united them the past couple years to be the best of friends.

Aaron has been blessed with a close group of friends that not only help with his faith but also challenge his game, pushing him to work hard, improve and get better—guys like Michael “Simmy” Sim, Rickie Fowler, Jonathan Byrd, Webb Simpson and Zach Johnson. Some would say there is a special movement on Tour, where believers are meeting individually to mentor each other, renting houses together to encourage each other, and attending the weekly PGA Tour Bible study to learn from each other.

Still, there’s something unique and perhaps unlikely about Bubba and Badds. Aaron’s wife of seven years says she could see how much Aaron cared for Bubba when Bubba won the 2012 Masters.

“Aaron is not one to show much motion, but he was tearing up,” Richelle says. “It was something he’ll never forget.”

Training Table — Fruit of the Spirit (Week 8)

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Monday

“What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside. ‘Expel the wicked person from among you.’” I Corinthians 5:12

Kindness

I remember playing golf with a kid in middle school. We’ll call him Jud. We were on the ninth hole, and I was picking up my tee after hitting a solid drive down the center of the fairway. Jud looked at me and said, “I don’t know how you hit it like that. Your swing is so weird.”

The thing is, I liked Jud. I considered him a friend, or a golf buddy, at least. Jud had a nice swing and he was a good golfer. He had long hair, rode a skateboard, and had a portable CD player, which I thought was cool. I think he also listened to Simple Plan. But what he said really hurt.

The toughest thing about writing a devotional on kindness is that everyone says they are kind. Very few people would come out and say, “Yeah, I’m pretty mean.” It’s not really something—whether you believe in God or not—that someone would take pride in. No one likes a jerk. If you brag about being a jerk, there’s a good chance no one likes you.

Jud would say he was kind. I would even say Jud was kind. But Jud still judged when he shouldn’t have. I have still judged when I shouldn’t have.

Many Christians, though outwardly kind, have a judging problem, specifically when it comes to judging those outside the church—different religions, homosexuals, etc. Those who don’t know God cannot comprehend God, so what good does judging do? People need to be loved.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Tuesday

“Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.” Galatians 6:10

Goodness

Growing up in Indiana, I spent a lot of time playing basketball in my back yard. I remember always running drills modeled after a Steve Alford workout video that I had. Steve Alford, the head coach at the University of New Mexico, is a Hoosier legend. He helped lead Indiana University to a fifth national championship his senior season and became IU’s all-time leading scorer at the time.

Playing basketball out there made me feel like Steve Alford. I wanted to be as good as him, so to be as good as him, I practiced the way he said to practice. I remember duct taping a broom to a chair to practice shooting like it was over an outstretched arm. I practiced bank shots and reverse layups, which I could never do and still can’t do. I decided I’d never be Steve Alford. He was too good.

It’s crazy how good Jesus is. What’s even crazier is that he calls us to be good like he is—to have the fruit of the Spirit, to train under his workout video, if you will.

Goodness means working for the benefit of others, not oneself. No one in the history of mankind has worked for the benefit of others like Jesus did—his blood was spilled for billions. That is powerful blood. We’ll never be as good as Jesus. But He doesn’t want us to stop trying. We’re called to emulate His traits, to be holy as God is holy, to be good as He is good.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Wednesday

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.” I Corinthians 9:24-27

Faithfulness

My dad and I recently went to the Billy Graham Museum in Charlotte, NC. One of the things that amazed me most about Dr. Graham was that he never wavered from his calling. He held more than 400 crusades in 185 different countries and six continents. He went to communist countries. He went where he wasn’t welcome. He went to places where he needed a translator. Wherever God called him, he went. Dr. Graham, who counseled 11 presidents, was offered political positions. He was even offered a five-year $5 million contract from NBC. He could’ve done anything he wanted. But he knew his calling. “…I’ll preach until there is no breath left in my body,” Dr. Graham said in an interview. “I was called by God, and until God tells me to retire, I cannot.”

That’s the definition of faithfulness, consistently doing what one says he or she will do. In I Corinthians 9:24-27, Paul says that, like an athlete, he has one goal: to bring as many people to Christ as possible. Are you faithful to your calling like Paul and Dr. Graham? Or are you running aimlessly, fighting like a boxer beating the air?

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Thursday

“Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.” Philippians 4:5

Gentleness

Whenever I go to my parents’ house in Indianapolis, I usually don’t sleep too well. It’s not the bed I’m used to; it’s usually a couch. It’s not the environment I’m used to, dark and quiet; the sun glares through the windows and people get up early. I’m usually a heavy sleeper, but at my parents’ house I’ll wake up five or six times during the night, simply because it’s not what I’m used to.

My mother will tell you that when I don’t get a good night’s sleep, I’m not a fun person to be around. I’m irritable, grumpy, and rude. Like a marathoner who hasn’t been training, I don’t perform very well come race time. My inability to get a good rest—whether this is right or wrong—affects the way I treat others. Okay, it’s wrong. But it still happens time and time again.

Gentleness, I think, is most evident in us when we’re getting a proper rest—when we’re resting in Christ. And when we’re resting in Christ, we’re not focusing on ourselves, we’re focusing on God, which allows us to be more selfless, not selfish, which helps us strengthen and encourage others. True gentleness comes from abiding in Christ—spending time in prayer, reading His Word, whatever it may be. When we’re resting in Christ, God continues to mold us into the image of His son, which means we can more easily focus on others.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Friday

“Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable.” I Corinthians 9:25

Self-Control

Sin can be satisfying. That’s no secret.  I know it may seem wrong to say something like that in a religious magazine, but it’s true. Sin is pleasure. Pleasure feels good.

I think it’s important to understand that in the context of self-control because practicing self-control means that we recognize that God brings us more pleasure. Sin, though fun, is a road to emptiness. God is a road to holiness. Sin is temporary. God is eternal. When we practice self-control, we show God that He is more important than ourselves. When we choose sin instead of God, we are telling God that we are more important. We are telling Him that our plan is better than His.

I had a New Testament professor in college who told us that when Adam and Eve sinned, they basically gave God the finger and said, “Our way is better.” That has always stuck with me. It’s edgy and I like it. It’s true. Sin is despicable. When we choose our way instead of God’s—when we don’t practice self-control—that’s what we’re doing to God.

I’ve come to learn that I flip God off a lot. And if that doesn’t make you squirm, I’m led to question the authenticity of your faith.

A lot of athletes, as mentioned in a Sports Spectrum collaboration project, The Jersey Effect, never grow up. They are adored at a young age and continue to be adored throughout life because they are stars in their sport. Some become inward-focused and long to satisfy every need they have because their needs, as well-known people, can be easily satisfied. In those cases, like Solomon, self-control is rarely practiced. The world is theirs to gain.

It’s tough to practice self-control. Pride, lust, greed—it all needs self-control. But God’s way is everlasting. Ours leads to destruction. Trump temporary pleasure with the knowledge of an eternal pleasure.

—Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Weekender

“Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 5:10

Going Long

Read Matthew 5:10 and meditate on what Jesus said about those who were persecuted for righteousness. What is their reward? Is it worth it? If not, ask God to help you live a life pleasing to Him, and not to man.

Training Table — Pro Quotes (Week 4)

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Monday

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High, will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:1-2

“I felt like the Lord gave me (Psalm 91:1-2) my junior year in high school. I used to write it on my shoes. And now, years later, every time I get injured, or am scared, or have a bad day, I go back to that passage.” “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’” Aaron Rodgers, Green Bay Packers quarterback, Sports Spectrum Winter 2009 issue

Aaron Rodgers: Turning to the Word

Lately, I’ve been swimming laps at my gym. I used to run on the treadmill, but I have bad knees, and then I learned that running on a treadmill only makes your knees worse. So I stopped. It’s rare that I ever feel like swimming laps, except during the Olympics, because during the Olympics I wanted to act like I was Michael Phelps.

My goal is to always swim 20 of them, but the water feels like an ice bath, and I’m usually panting by the fifth lap because, well, I’m not a swimmer. Whenever I get in the pool, those thoughts of exhaustion come to my mind. I suddenly remember how painful each swim is and how stupid I am for doing it. It’d be a lot easier to just go home and watch Call of the Wildman.

But surprisingly, I usually complete the 20 laps. And I always feel better afterwards, even though I didn’t feel like swimming when I first entered the pool.

Someone once told me that when you don’t feel like praying is when you need to pray the most, and when you don’t feel like reading your Bible is when you should be reading the most. In Aaron Rodgers’ quote, he talks about turning to the Word whenever he has a bad day. He goes back to Psalm 91. The problem is that it’s tough to do.

I’ve never regretted swimming the laps because it benefits my physical health in the same way I’ve never regretted prayer or opening my Bible because it benefits my spiritual health.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Tuesday

“But now that you know God—or rather are known by God —how is it that you are turning back to those weak and miserable forces? Do you wish to be enslaved by them all over again?” Galatians 4:9

“I basically grew up in the church and my parents had to force it on me when I was young, like I’m sure most parents do, but once I started having a personal relationship with Christ it became easy from there. Here I am today, I’m married with kids…and trying to raise them to love God and really I haven’t looked back.” Carson Palmer, Oakland Raiders quarterback, Sports Spectrum September/October 2003 issue

Carson Palmer: No Looking Back

When a quarterback makes his throw, there’s no taking it back. It’s either a completion or it’s not. He either made the right decision or the wrong one. There is no rewind button.

That’s one reason why I can’t ever imagine playing quarterback. Behind every throw, every play, there’s a consequence—a consequence that affects the media’s perception of you come Monday and thousands of fans’ opinions of you.

A quarterback, I feel, has to be so confident and committed for every throw he makes. There is a certain gravity behind every decision. Once the throw is made, there’s no turning back.

I wish every Christian treated his or her faith like a quarterback’s approach to the game. When we accept Christ, there is a certain gravity and weight behind that decision. There is no rewind button. There’s no turning back. It’s a decision God intended for the rest of our lives. It’s only the beginning of a process of lifelong growth in Him.

And once you understand the intensity of the decision, like a quarterback, it’s difficult to treat following Christ lightly.

—Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Wednesday

“That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” II Corinthians 12:9-10

“God puts us in positions for a reason…you have to understand that it’s happening for a reason, and God is doing it to strengthen you.” Drew Brees, New Orleans Saints quarterback, Sports Spectrum Winter 2010 issue

Drew Brees: Enhancing Your Story

I was on a plane the other day reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Blue Like Jazz author Donald Miller, my favorite writer. He talks about the elements of story, one of them being conflict.

The coolest thing about conflict is that it makes a better story. Whenever there’s a mountain to climb, a struggle to overcome, a battle to win, it makes the story that much greater. That really changed the way I approach things.

I thought about Drew Brees—how he breathed life into the city of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina and led them to a Super Bowl, how he has another opportunity to lead the Saints after an embarrassing off-season bounty scandal. Brees has a tough challenge this year, but he also has an opportunity to enhance his story.

That’s how I want to approach trials, whether it’s a daunting task or mental struggle. I want to view it as an opportunity. Not a burden. Not a curse. An opportunity. An opportunity to become a better person, lean on God, grow in my faith, and enhance my story.

—Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Thursday

“His master replied, ‘You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.” Matthew 25:26-27

“That’s one of the huge responsibilities that we’ve been given: Am I going to work hard and do something with the talent God gave me? Every single one of us is given a talent. Are we going to go bury that talent? Or are we going to do something good with it? We all have an opportunity to do something with what God has given us.” Tim Tebow, New York Jets quarterback, Sports Spectrum Vol. 26, No. 4

Tim Tebow: Don’t Bury Your Talent

For some unknown reason, I received the Mental Attitude Award for my team during my junior season of high school golf. I remember wondering why I got it. One practice, our coach, a bird lover who would bring his binoculars to practice every day, caught me hurling a club from three holes away…all because of those dang binoculars. It still shocks me that I received that plaque.

When I received the award, I was humbled that he saw something in me that perhaps I didn’t even see in myself. With the award, however, I also felt a great amount of responsibility. I felt a responsibility to live up to the award. My senior season I was determined to never throw a club or curse. Halfway through my senior season, I decided that a more realistic goal was to do it less.

I do the same thing with God. There are days when I’m humbled to the point of tears out of gratitude for what God has given me. But with that overwhelming thankfulness, I also sense a great deal of responsibility. If you’re a Christian, you were given more than you could ever ask for, beginning with the cross; and with it comes an exciting, challenging, and rewarding responsibility.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Friday

“‘Go,’” said Jesus, ‘your faith has healed you.’ Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.“ Mark 10:52

“What I try to show them is that Christianity is real and that it works for those who believe it. And I also try to show them that all this stuff that they see around them and in the NFL is just so temporary. All the material possessions, all the fame. None of that is really going to last and what we want to do is to try to show them that the only thing that lasts is a relationship with Jesus Christ.” Stephen McGee, Dallas Cowboys quarterback, Sports Spectrum Vol. 26, No. 3

Stephen McGee: Making it Real

Every once in a while, I grasp the reality of the Christian faith. A lot of times, I think I just live it because I know it’s the right thing to do, but sometimes, like when I’m singing with hundreds of people at church on Sunday, I can see it, as if the heavens suddenly open up above me.

I think one reason I feel it at church is because I see how real everyone else treats it. I see hands raised. I see passion. I hear terrible singers belting unashamed worship. In Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, he talks about how, sometimes, you need to see someone else love something before you can love it yourself.

I like what Dallas Cowboys quarterback Stephen McGee says in the quote to the right—that he tries to show that Christianity is real. I think that starts with making it real to yourself in your personal walk and then allowing that authenticity to bleed over into other aspects of your life. Sometimes I’ve idolized Christians I look up to—mentors, athletes, friends—wanting my faith to be like theirs. But I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t work that way. It’s not an act. It’s real. And if I want to come across as real to others, I need to make it real to myself.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Weekender

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” Matthew 5:6

Going Long

Read Matthew 5:6 and meditate on what it says about those people who long for and chase after righteousness. What is the promise? What does that say about what is important to God?

Training Table — Fruit of the Spirit (Week 7)

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Monday

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” Galatians 5:22

Statistics: Selfishness and Selflessness

Statistics can be scary. I’m satisfied with my college golf career as a whole, for example, but I’m not satisfied with my average. I carded several rounds in the 70’s and even a few in the low 70’s. But then there were the other scores. My senior season, no lie, I shot a 73 and a 98 in back-to-back tournaments. Yes, the 73 was on a sunny day with little wind, and the 98 was in an all-day sideways sleet that made my hands feel like they’d been injected with Novocaine. But the bottom line was that I went from flirting with par to barely breaking 100, which made my average somewhere in the mid-80’s, which made me gag. Statistics make me gag.

If I could translate my thoughts to statistics, I think I’d want to gag, too. I wonder what percentage of my thoughts are about myself—my wants, my needs, the things that are bugging me, the way people are treating me—and what percentage of my thoughts are about others. Thinking about myself is probably the only thing I’d get an A in, actually. I could post that grade up on a refrigerator.

I’m selfish. You’re selfish. The works of the flesh according to Galatians 5:20 are all inherently selfish acts; and there is an ongoing war between the flesh and the Spirit, which is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Fulfilling the desires of the flesh leads to selfishness. Fulfilling the desires of the spirit leads to selflessness. What are your stats?

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Tuesday

“If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.” I Corinthians 13:3 

Love

When I interviewed PGA Tour golfer and Australian star Aaron Baddeley (featured in this magazine) at the Wells Fargo Championship this year, he had an interesting quote about the game of golf: “We always need to grow in our character, and this game is pretty much the best at doing that. This is a character building game.” It’s true. No one gets into golf expecting to master it—you can’t master it. No one gets into golf expecting to whiz through it. You can’t. You get into golf because you love it and want to get better in the process.

Love is the same way. I think I used to like “love” because I liked being loved. It felt good to have someone care about you—whether that was a friend, roommate, family member, or girlfriend.

I’d play games. If I didn’t feel like my roommate was treating me right, I’d be cold toward him.  If I didn’t feel like my girlfriend loved me, then I wouldn’t love back. Then I realized that my version of love wasn’t love at all. I was just making trades. I was a jerk.

Like golf, true love—whether it’s in a friendship, dating relationship, or marriage—should make you better through self-sacrifice and humility. True love, as I Corinthians 13:4-7 says, is not self-seeking.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Wednesday

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” John 15:11

Joy

I have this friend who thinks the world is out to get him. No matter what it is, sometimes I’m convinced he truly believes he has it the worst on this planet. It carries over to sports, too. It’s always the net’s fault in tennis or the rim’s fault in basketball. It’s the referee’s fault or the coach’s fault. But I think the thing that bugs me the most about him is that I see a lot of myself in him.

A lot of times I think about how bad my life is, which is a lie. I think about my job—how it’s not perfect. I think about my relationships—how they’re not perfect. I think about my struggles—how I’m not perfect. I think about my finances—how I’m poor and I’m a writer and I eat Ramen. It’s stupid, really. It’s pretty miserable. Not the Ramen. My pattern of thinking. Okay, the Ramen, too.

I think dwelling on our problems makes us miserable because we’re thinking about us. In my self-consumed, problem-focused mindset, I think about one thing and one thing only: me. Trying to satisfy me, ironically, robs me of joy. In church the other day, my pastor said to tell your problems how big God is; don’t tell God how big your problems are. I liked that. In that process, I think, we become more selfless. Because I’m most joyful when I’m not consumed in myself.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Thursday

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” Isaiah 26:3

Peace

I remember walking around Quail Hollow Club last spring watching the Wells Fargo Championship. I was alone. The weather was perfect. The course was gorgeous. I was doing a job I loved (reporting) in a sport I loved (golf). I can’t explain the peace I’ve felt in moments like that during my career, but they are moments I wouldn’t trade for anything. I don’t feel restless; I feel content. I’m not worrying about anything; there’s nothing to worry about.

I feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

When I go to church, I usually have a similar feeling, that there, singing, studying, becoming a better man, I’m right where I need to be. A few Sundays ago, I got sick of it—I got sick of feeling so peaceful at church but so restless and uneasy throughout the week. I decided I was going to start treating God like a spouse instead of an acquaintance I check in with on Facebook.

It’s interesting that Isaiah associates “perfect peace” with those whose “minds are steadfast.” True peace falls on those who are abiding in God (John 15:4). Abiding in God is continual. And when we’re continually seeking Him, perhaps we’ll feel more at peace—because we’re right where we are supposed to be.

— Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Friday “‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the LORD.” Isaiah 55:8 

Patience

I used to take golf lessons, A LOT of golf lessons, but it’s tough to say that I wanted them. Golf lessons are like surgery followed by intense physical therapy followed by more surgery. Sometimes, I think I would’ve rather just swung the club on my own, honestly. You can only undergo so many surgeries before you think you’ve got some sort of problem.

My golf instructor’s name was Brian. Whenever I had a lesson with Brian, I sometimes felt like someone was cutting me open and working on my heart. Seeing your swing on video is humbling because you realize how bad it looks to everyone else, and making changes in your swing is uncomfortable, like biking in boxers.

When you’re making major swing changes, it all just feels really weird and unnatural. There were times I didn’t feel like I was going anywhere. There were times when my scores went up instead of down. And there were times when I wondered if the whole golf lessons thing was a scam.

But the thing about Brian was that—when I trusted his agenda and allowed him to shape my swing—I never regretted it. In the long run, it always made me better. He wanted what was best for me. He wanted me to improve more than anyone, including myself. I don’t take golf lessons anymore because Brian taught me so much and helped me conquer my bad habits. Also, my parents no longer pay for it because I’m 24.

I like what it says about patience in my ESV Study Bible. “Patience,” it says, “shows that Christians are following God’s plan and timetable rather than their own and that they have abandoned their own ideas about how the world should work.”

Sometimes life is like surgery. It’s embarrassing. It’s uncomfortable. But God never said the Christian life would be easy, and there are times I desire to leave it and do my own thing. But He does say that His way is better—that, in practicing patience as we trust His agenda, He shapes us.

—Stephen Copeland, Sports Spectrum

Weekender

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.” Matthew 5:9

Going Long

Read Matthew 5:9 and meditate on what it says about peacemakers. How often do we have the opportunity to make peace (in a personal situation or between two feuding people) and, instead, choose to fuel the fire with our cutting remarks or heated comments? How important is it to God that people choose to make peace?

Uncommon Challenge