This Saturday, August 30, the usual fanatic-level-attention will start being paid to Columbus, where over 100,000 people will flock to a stadium built to appear as if it was the Roman Colosseum itself right here in Ohio. In its over century-long history, the “Horseshoe” has gone through its fair share of renovations to keep up with the growing popularity of collegiate football, and more touch-ups are expected to be on the horizon as the sport continues to soar in financial success (for better or worse). One most prominent figure who will be in attendance could very well be one of the reasons why the Ohio State Buckeyes and hundreds of other programs across the country have benefited tremendously in the last three decades especially.
It all began in Columbus, oddly enough, on October 5, 1996. Lee Corso had become a standard and captivating personality on ESPN’s Saturday pregame show for all the afternoon and evening matchups, but he decided to add something to the drama build-up. It had become the routine for College Gameday to conclude with the people behind the desk making their predictions for some of the biggest games that day, but on that fall Saturday just outside the stadium rotunda on Ohio State’s campus, Corso donned the mascot headgear that had become just as synonymous with the entire state as the flag or scarlet and gray color combination. And so, in a few days, just before noon, when Ohio State will kickoff against the top-ranked Texas Longhorns, the 90-year-old Corso is expected to put on Brutus for not only his final headgear pick, but the last time he will be on the set that reeled in millions of people every fall Saturday morning.
And yes, before children came along, at least, I was one of the millions. There was something about him: there was this infectious enthusiasm that couldn’t be explained. He had this life jolt about him, almost as if for the casual observer who mostly had their television tuned to ESPN for background noise as they took care of household whatever, whenever his voice took over, you couldn’t help but be enthralled with what he had to say.
The worldwide leader in sports recently produced a special about this sport’s legend, who long before he ventured into the media realm, played at Florida State and coached at our neighboring Indiana University, among other places. One player’s recounting stuck with me: that Coach Corso not only cared about his playing time, but just as much the athlete’s life off the field. For many, he became a fatherly figure, to be sure.
There’s something to be said about that level of adoration for the whole person when it comes to the church. Oftentimes we fall into caring about someone’s respective responsibility to the organized religion operation, but maybe not carrying over to the rest of the individual’s life. After all, we worship the God who adores the entirety of us, and not just what we do under the auspice of congregation ministry. We cling to the God who has this relentless enthusiasm over all parts of our life, who insists on being with us through all matters of our day-to-day living, and who also believes that we are more than capable of proclaiming and living the Gospel in all circumstances. Sometimes it brings about an infectious enthusiasm over the ultimate victory that Christ has given for humanity, but sometimes it requires a Gospel-embodiment of simply embracing another struggling with whatever may ensue on or off a field.
Granted, we Lutherans aren’t exactly known for exuding life jolts in our worship or outside our ministry playing fields, of sorts. But maybe we can take a lesson from the one who captivated millions on a Saturday morning for nearly 40 years. No, we may not have it within us every week, even if we attempt to put on our “Sunday best” in all outward forms. But when we do feel the life jolt from the Holy Spirit for whatever the reason may be, may we know that with the Resurrection also comes the holy permission to set that joy free to share with others. Amen (so let it be)!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad