The Hoosier Daddy

By Paul Lintern, Editor, the Joyful Noiseletter

Indiana. Hoosier Daddy now?

Indiana?

Football?

Can anyone not see this as divinely guided, prophetically proclaimed, a miracle?

The only game I watched all season from start to finish (while doing others things, of course; I didn’t want to have nothing else to show for it), I was struck last night with how God himself must be a Hoosier, the Hoosier Daddy, because the world of sports ordains that only certain teams can win national championships at this level, and the other one in the game had been away for awhile, so it was their turn.

But Indiana?

I grew up rooting for the Cleveland Indians; they have not “won it all” in my lifetime, but they have won it.

But Indiana? Not only people my age, but their parents and grandparents had not seen Indiana win a national championship with a ball that was not round. (Notre Dame is in Indiana, but everyone knows they are not from Indiana; they are from Rome.)

We know the teams that are supposed to win, and we pretend to describe them as underdogs if their ranking is worse than the other prescribed winning team in the game. We know the teams that expect to win, are ordained to win, are primed to win, are recruited to win, are paid to win.

But Indiana?

Oh, yeah, I know they recruit, too; I know this portal thing means you don’t have to go pro to go pro; I know we are in a new era of college football.

But, Indiana!

The state with the name that my Cleveland baseball team would still (and always will) have.

Truly, I know that God does not favor teams, that God does not care who wins a championship; he cares only for the children playing, the children interacting, the children walking, and invites all to walk the way of the Lord, to touch down in humility (such a homily!) before the throne of grace, to worship the one who made an end run around the devil, to cast their trophies before the Lord. God loves a repentant sacker, and forgives us our dropped passes.

Truly, God has better things to do than listen to three hours of commentary about men running into each other, four-to-six seconds at a time.

But, Indiana?

The Hoosier Daddy was watching, and maybe did a little nudging in the spiritual battle that was going on. (Hey Satan, that was a cheap shot, obvious targeting, and you blinded the referee from that, even with instant replay? Hey Satan, that flinch prevented an easy ending to the game. Hey Satan, I think I will put an end to this with an interception of your intentions!)

And don’t you go accusing me of painting the ‘Canes as the bad guys; theirs was a remarkable story, too, I know, and God loves each of them, each of them, as much as He loves each of the Hoosiers.

Just not as much as all of the Hoosiers! (C’mon, lighten up!)

And who but God could grow of a couple of boys in Miami, one in particular who wanted to play for the Hurricanes but they didn’t give him a walk-on of a chance, and then bring him to the very stadium he sat in many times, fueling his gridiron dream, and bring him to the biggest game of the NCAA year — it would be called the Super Bowl if someone else hadn’t bought the rights to the name — as the number one player of the college season, Mr. Heisman’s choice?

Who but God could make his child, redeemed by the blood of Jesus, to have a national stage and honor God so clearly? (In all fairness, any number of the Miami players would have done the same thing, because God’s blood flows freely.)

And who but God would make this player’s name “Mendoza,” a name that for the last 50 years has signified mediocrity in baseball batting average, thanks to a Pittsburgh Pirate (speaking of mediocrity) shortstop Mario Mendoza, whose .200 batting average became the threshold of poor hitting, back when shortstops were still allowed to be poor hitters.

Suddenly, the Mendoza line will be the highest in sports, the line where a football team wins 16 games in a season, all of them. And as of this morning, only one team has ever done that!

Hoosier Daddy?

Only God can redefine a threshold with a simple gesture. (Watch, we are about to go sermonic!). A manger can become a throne, a cross can kill death, a tomb can hold life (no wait, it can’t contain life, and that’s the point!).

And you Bethlehem of Indiana are by no means, least among the football nations.

I slept well last night, not because Indiana had won; I would have slept just as well if they had lost, just as I did when Ohio State lost, Alabama lost, Michigan lost, Arkansas lost and Mt. Union lost.

And I woke up early only because God put this message in my heart and mind and said, run it through your fingers onto this keyboard. And so I have.

If there is such a miracle for Indiana, I know there must be hope for the Indians, regardless of what they are called.

Just no hope for the Browns. God has his limits; just ask Isaiah.

But I will sleep just as well, regardless; it’s just a game.