Faith Benched: Sports, TV, and the Vanishing Heart of American Culture

Paul Riverbank, 12/14/2025 From sports arenas to TV dancefloors, the search for meaning persists—sometimes in statistics, sometimes in spirit, always in connection. Beneath headlines and spectacle, we glimpse humanity’s longing for purpose and togetherness, even when faith or emotion seems just beyond the spotlight.

Let’s start in Detroit. The Lions, famous for bruising football and diehard fans, ironically became the focus of a newsletter less for their exploits on the field than for what reporters failed to discover: evidence of faith, namely Christian faith, in the fray of coverage. “We didn’t see Christian-specific content,” the editor said bluntly. It’s a peculiar admission when you consider how thoroughly faith and football often mesh in the American imagination—kneeling in prayer just before kickoff, coaches mumbling quiet invocations, athletes crediting God after the final whistle. And yet here was a string of articles, all tackles and touchdowns, but apparently no mention of belief. For some, that absence won’t even register. Others, especially readers who look for God’s shadow over every pass and punt, may find it oddly hollow. The message, at least from the newsletter, was clear: meaning sometimes hides where we expect it most.

A few states south, in Hickory, North Carolina, the scene shifts but the theme lingers. Appalachian State lined up against High Point, and the talk was all about numbers. Luke Wilson snatched nearly six rebounds a game for App State; Cam’Ron Fletcher posted big stats for High Point—almost 18 points, 9 boards per outing. If you step back, the entire contest is a numbers game: second chance points, shooting percentages, margins of error stretched thin as thread. No heated faith references here, just the scrape of sneakers and maybe the soft commiseration of a losing locker room. The spreadsheet rules, at least on paper. Is there meaning in victory? Of course—sometimes in defeat too. But in moments like these, meaning feels stitched into the fabric, glimpsed only when the stats are put away.

Then there’s the gentle chaos of Saturday night television in the UK—a particular orbit of neon and sequins called Strictly Come Dancing. British viewers, and a fair number outside Britain too, know the ritual: a clutch of celebrities step onto the ballroom floor, judges ready with pointed comments, while behind the velvet curtain, drama simmers. This time, it wasn’t just the dancing. Gorka Marquez—absent all season while working on Spain’s version of the show—suddenly appeared in the audience. His unexpected presence sent loyal fans into a fervor online; the word “Gorka” was on more lips than most contestants’ names.

Of course the dancing mattered as well. Karen Carney, a former Lioness, found herself moved to tears—twice—by standout routines performed with Carlos Gu. Judges, sometimes caricatured as stoic or smug, blinked back emotion. Karen’s mother, watching from her seat, caught some of the magic. Sometimes the lines between sport and spirit, effort and heart, are not as sharp as we draw them.

What emerges from these scattered moments? A shared hunger, perhaps, for connection that tugs beneath the surface. We assemble in stadiums and on sofas, watch strangers spin or sprint or shoot. Sometimes meaning shouts from the rafters; other times, it seems frustratingly absent, visible only in afterthought or in passing glances—a player’s quiet ritual, a judge’s unexpected return.

Maybe that’s the point. Whether you find purpose in tracking stats, parsing a coach’s sideline prayer, or simply in seeing a familiar face in a crowd, meaning is rarely handed to us. More often, it’s tucked inside the noise—hidden, but findable. From Detroit to Hickory to the Strictly ballroom, we chase it all the same. And in doing so, reveal more about ourselves than about the games, the shows, or the headlines that first get us talking.

Stories don’t always land where you expect. Some slip quietly from the roar of stadium bleachers to the hush of church pews; others never really make that leap. My desk was littered this week with examples—a few simple games, a television finale, and the usual search for something more.Let’s start in Detroit. The Lions, famous for bruising football and diehard fans, ironically became the focus of a newsletter less for their exploits on the field than for what reporters failed to discover: evidence of faith, namely Christian faith, in the fray of coverage. “We didn’t see Christian-specific content,” the editor said bluntly. It’s a peculiar admission when you consider how thoroughly faith and football often mesh in the American imagination—kneeling in prayer just before kickoff, coaches mumbling quiet invocations, athletes crediting God after the final whistle. And yet here was a string of articles, all tackles and touchdowns, but apparently no mention of belief. For some, that absence won’t even register. Others, especially readers who look for God’s shadow over every pass and punt, may find it oddly hollow. The message, at least from the newsletter, was clear: meaning sometimes hides where we expect it most.A few states south, in Hickory, North Carolina, the scene shifts but the theme lingers. Appalachian State lined up against High Point, and the talk was all about numbers. Luke Wilson snatched nearly six rebounds a game for App State; Cam’Ron Fletcher posted big stats for High Point—almost 18 points, 9 boards per outing. If you step back, the entire contest is a numbers game: second chance points, shooting percentages, margins of error stretched thin as thread. No heated faith references here, just the scrape of sneakers and maybe the soft commiseration of a losing locker room. The spreadsheet rules, at least on paper. Is there meaning in victory? Of course—sometimes in defeat too. But in moments like these, meaning feels stitched into the fabric, glimpsed only when the stats are put away.Then there’s the gentle chaos of Saturday night television in the UK—a particular orbit of neon and sequins called Strictly Come Dancing. British viewers, and a fair number outside Britain too, know the ritual: a clutch of celebrities step onto the ballroom floor, judges ready with pointed comments, while behind the velvet curtain, drama simmers. This time, it wasn’t just the dancing. Gorka Marquez—absent all season while working on Spain’s version of the show—suddenly appeared in the audience. His unexpected presence sent loyal fans into a fervor online; the word “Gorka” was on more lips than most contestants’ names.Of course the dancing mattered as well. Karen Carney, a former Lioness, found herself moved to tears—twice—by standout routines performed with Carlos Gu. Judges, sometimes caricatured as stoic or smug, blinked back emotion. Karen’s mother, watching from her seat, caught some of the magic. Sometimes the lines between sport and spirit, effort and heart, are not as sharp as we draw them.What emerges from these scattered moments? A shared hunger, perhaps, for connection that tugs beneath the surface. We assemble in stadiums and on sofas, watch strangers spin or sprint or shoot. Sometimes meaning shouts from the rafters; other times, it seems frustratingly absent, visible only in afterthought or in passing glances—a player’s quiet ritual, a judge’s unexpected return.Maybe that’s the point. Whether you find purpose in tracking stats, parsing a coach’s sideline prayer, or simply in seeing a familiar face in a crowd, meaning is rarely handed to us. More often, it’s tucked inside the noise—hidden, but findable. From Detroit to Hickory to the Strictly ballroom, we chase it all the same. And in doing so, reveal more about ourselves than about the games, the shows, or the headlines that first get us talking.