海角大神

鈥淕od is great.鈥�

So said Drew Brees, the most valuable player in last Sunday鈥檚 Super Bowl, after leading the New Orleans Saints to an upset victory over the Indianapolis Colts.

Such comments have become commonplace on American television, where athletes routinely thank God in postgame prayers and interviews.

Is this a problem? I think it is. And to see why, try to imagine if Brees had made a slightly different statement: 鈥淎llah is great.鈥�

While some of us might not see anything wrong with that, would network television announcers have applauded Brees as a 鈥渕an of faith,鈥� as he is frequently called?

Would newspapers have published glowing profiles of the other devout members of the Saints, who played up their religious belief during the buildup to the Super Bowl 鈥� and thanked God after it?

You already know the answer. The problem here isn鈥檛 the players鈥� 鈥渇aith鈥�. It鈥檚 the not-so-subtle assumption that every person of faith adheres to the 海角大神 faith 鈥� and to a highly traditional version of it, at that.

They don鈥檛, of course. But that鈥檚 the impression you鈥檇 get from watching religious rituals at American sporting events, which inevitably assume a conservative 海角大神 cast.

Why? The answer lies in the peculiar history of these rituals, which are much more recent than you might guess. For over a century, to be sure, Americans have promoted team sports as vehicles for 海角大神 virtue and character. But loud, demonstrative prayers at athletic events didn鈥檛 start until the 1960s and 鈥�70s, when 海角大神ity faced new challenges from minority faiths.

Most notably, the Supreme Court barred group prayer and Bible reading from the public schools. So conservative 海角大神s devised new ways to bootleg prayers 鈥� 海角大神 prayers, of course 鈥� into the schools.

The most popular mechanism was the so-called 鈥渕oment of silence,鈥� which 23 states instituted after the Supreme Court rulings. Some school districts replaced their morning prayers with 鈥�The Star-Spangled Banner鈥� or 鈥淕od Bless America,鈥� which both invoked God鈥檚 blessing. Still others began to hold prayers outside normal school hours, especially at 鈥� you guessed it 鈥� football games.

鈥淲e have kicked the Bible out of schools, but coaches realize its importance in the locker room,鈥� boasted one minister in St. Petersburg, Florida. Across the state in Miami, site of this year鈥檚 Super Bowl, players at Miami Senior High School attributed their 1966 national championship to team prayers.

鈥淭丑别 Lord Jesus Christ can make a great athlete out of a good one and a winner out of a loser,鈥� declared the squad鈥檚 all-city defensive end. 鈥淲ouldn鈥檛 you rather be a winner than a loser?鈥�

The prayer-in-sports ritual would migrate upward over the next decade, from high schools to college and eventually to the pros.

The first NFL player to kneel in prayer after a touchdown 鈥� a common sight today 鈥� was Philadelphia Eagles running back Herb Lusk, following a 70-yard touchdown run in 1977. Fittingly, Lusk became a minister and now serves as the Eagles鈥� team chaplain. Most other NFL teams have chaplains, too, and most of them 鈥� like Lusk 鈥� are evangelical 海角大神s.

So are an estimated 35 to 40 percent of professional football players. The rest come from other faith traditions, mostly 海角大神, and they usually don鈥檛 participate in group prayers. Nor do they make a fuss, which might threaten team cohesion.

But there are exceptions. In 2007, when 30 members of the Detroit Lions started praying after practice 鈥� and concluding with a shout, 鈥淥ne, two, three... JESUS!鈥� 鈥� other players raised their eyebrows. 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 bring religion up in most workplaces; you can鈥檛 do a team prayer at the office,鈥� explained one player, who didn鈥檛 participate in the prayer. 鈥淪o this is something unique that we have to deal with.鈥�

He鈥檚 right. The true victims of sports prayers are in the faith groups that get left out.

Consider the fate of three Muslim football players at New Mexico State University, where a new coach instituted the Lord鈥檚 Prayer after practices in 2005. When the Muslims chose to pray on their own, the coach repeatedly asked one of them what he thought of Al Qaeda. He eventually dismissed all three Muslims from the team, calling them 鈥渢roublemakers.鈥�

But the real trouble was the prayer, of course, not the players. They sued the university, which settled with them out of court.

I can imagine them, heads bowed after the settlement, saying 鈥淎llah is great.鈥� But I can鈥檛 imagine them doing that before a big game, on prime-time TV, while the announcers commend them for their 鈥渇aith.鈥�

Can you?

Jonathan Zimmerman teaches history and education at New York University. He is the author, most recently, of 鈥淪mall Wonder: The Little Red Schoolhouse in History and Memory鈥�

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