Our father, who art in Denver. Tebow be thy name. Many people have experienced the joys of catching an important sporting event in Mexico—scrambling to find a TV at a small Mayan village or finding a radio at a bar in Baja. Like last spring, when several friends from Dallas were permit fishing at the Palometa Club near Punta Allen, and rallied into town to watch Dirk Nowitzki and the Mavs win Game 7 of the NBA Finals. Or on the East Cape in October of 2007, when I watched my beloved Oregon State Beavers beat then #2 Cal on a tiny black-and-white TV in Los Barriles.
But last night was even better in some ways. Because we are modern sports junkies, my friend Scott and I were watching the scrolling score of the Broncos v Bears game on my iPad’s ESPN app, and once again, just like the last six games, there seemed no way that Tebow could possibly pull it off. I know, I know—I couldn’t have done it without the defense, and the kicker, etc. But still—TWO minutes? For 10 points? AND they lose the coin flip in overtime?
As the Prophet Tebow said after the game: “If you believe, unbelievable things can sometimes be possible.” Like my friend Scott catching a permit on his first morning of permit fishing, on the first group of fish that appeared.
Preach on, brother, Tim. Preach on.