It was common to see the former English teacher reading the classics. But he also read his Bible daily and rarely missed church, so some friends called him the “reverend.” That was probably for the best, since he disliked his other nickname — the Wizard of Westwood.

John Wooden’s own list of heroes was short and symbolic. At the top was his father, Joshua, followed by Abraham Lincoln. Among those who lived during his 99 years of life, he greatly admired the selfless service and deep faith of Mother Teresa.

It’s hard to find heroes in a world wracked by scandals, corruption, infidelity and greed, Wooden once told me, during a 1990 telephone conversation just before the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament ended in Denver. But these painful realities only raise the stakes for people whose callings can lead to fame.

“When anyone is in a profession that is constantly putting them in the public eye, then they have to feel that they have a unique responsibility,” he said. On the other side of this tricky equation, he added, some “people want you to be perfect. But we’re not perfect. We’re all fallible, flawed people. That’s the reality of life.”

Wooden had planned to come to Denver and take part in an event he rarely missed, the Fellowship of Christian Athletes breakfast at the Final Four. However, he decided it was too soon to return to a setting he had always shared with Nellie, his wife of 53 years, who died on March 21, 1985. He was still grieving.

After the coach’s death on June 4, waves of media tributes focused on his stunning final years at UCLA — when his teams won 335 games and lost 22, while winning 10 NCAA championships in 12 years. But Wooden was also an outstanding student at Purdue University and the first three-time consensus All-American in history. He was the first person enshrined in the Basketball Hall of Fame as a player and as a coach.

Many Americans also learned poignant details about the marriage of Nellie and John Wooden, including his ritual of writing a love letter to her on the 21st of every month after her death, producing stacks of envelopes wrapped in ribbons on her pillow.

Wooden’s favorite scripture passage was 1 Corinthians 13 and it guided his relationships with his wife, family and players. That chapter ends with these famous words: “So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

When working with secular audiences, Wooden used a nondenominational approach to life’s great lessons — which led to his famous “Pyramid of Success” image, built on common virtues such as “skill,” “enthusiasm,” “industriousness,” “patience” and “faith.” Former players also learned to recite his folksy sayings, such as, “Be quick, but don’t hurry,” and “It is what we learn after we know it all that really counts.”

But Wooden shared other sayings, when the time was right, including this one: “Basketball is not the ultimate. It is of small importance in comparison to the total life we live. There is only one kind of life that truly wins, and that is the one that places faith in the hands of the Savior. Until that is done, we are on an aimless course that runs in circles and goes nowhere.”

In the 1990 interview, the coach stressed that sports are important and can be used to build character. However, sports can also “tear down character” if twisted into a win-at-all-costs brand of faith.

Sports are like politics, business, the arts and organized religion, he said. All of these callings require people to make hard decisions and people are free to make good choices and bad choices. People are also free to admire and follow bad leaders, as well as good ones.

“You see, the truth is somewhere in between. It’s wrong to turn people into idols. But it’s also wrong to lose hope, to believe that we can’t find good examples to inspire us,” said Wooden. “We need role models. … Maybe role models are getting harder to find, these days. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t any worth finding.”

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But there was one big complication. Steven didn’t want to abandon his buddy Michael Oher (pronounced “Oar”), a street kid who slept on their floor most nights. “Big Mike” was afraid to return to the bleak foster homes he knew after police tore him away from his mother, her crack pipe and her 13 children.

So Henderson took both boys to Briarcrest Christian School on the rich side of town, hoping for scholarships that would make a grandmother’s dream come true. School officials were impressed by Steven’s grades. Coaches were impressed that Oher was 6-foot-4, weighed 340 pounds, could dunk a basketball and looked like God’s gift to quarterbacks who needed a left tackle to guard their “blind side.”

The rest is a long story, one that weaves together themes of race, sports, money and education. But a key player in the real-life version of “The Blind Side” stressed that this is also a story about faith.

“We’re convinced that faith guided and controlled this whole thing,” said Leigh Anne Tuohy, the steel-magnolia matriarch of the rich, white, evangelical family that finally embraced Oher as a son, after providing food, shelter and clothing. “We absolutely believe that none of this was a fluke. … This was God-driven from the start.”

Author Michael Lewis didn’t hide that faith element while writing “The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game,” a bestseller that mixed Oher’s story with information about how the left-tackle position evolved into a crucial, and lucrative, slot in any National Football League offense. Then writer-director John Lee Hancock included religious details about the family in the new movie, while avoiding heavy-handed sermons. “The Blind Side” grossed $34 million at the box office on its opening weekend, while scoring a rare A-plus CinemaScore audience rating.

On screen, the Tuohys attend plenty of sporting events. After all, Sean was a University of Mississippi hoops star and Leigh Ann was an Ole Miss cheerleader. Their daughter Collins is both a cheerleader and volleyball star, again at Ole Miss, and their young son, Sean Jr., seems to have inherited his father’s gifts as a tireless sports entrepreneur.

The movie does skip the ritual when everyone heads to Grace Evangelical Church, a growing congregation the family helped start. Oher began attending soon after the wet winter night when the family first spotted the shivering giant in shorts and a floppy shirt, walking back to the shelter of the warm Briarcrest gymnasium.

Leigh Anne Tuohy said that “from day one,” Oher was the first person ready to go on Sunday mornings. Church was part of everyday life, like homework, piano lessons and trips to sports events and practices.

The key is that expressions of faith were a natural part of this true story, said actress Sandra Bullock, who plays Leigh Anne. No one was faking anything.

“This family, they were themselves for no other benefit other than because they wanted to reach out, lend a hand, and had no idea that they would get a son in return,” she told reporters, after a press screening of “The Blind Side.” Bullock said that, while making the movie, she regained a little “faith in those who say they represent a faith. … I’ve finally met people that walk the walk.”

While Tuohy stressed that she can now see God’s work in the events that changed Oher’s life, and their family, that doesn’t mean the details were clear at the time.

The family had reached out to others before, but not to the same degree. Now, it’s impossible not to think about how many other talented, gifted children are, literally, on the run in America’s cities, she said. What is the family supposed to do now? What should Oher do, now that he plays for the NFL’s Baltimore Ravens?

After one of her Southern chuckles that Bullock had to master to play her on screen, Tuohy said that it’s hard to talk about the future when she is still trying to understand the wild changes that have changed her family forever.

“A miracle is what this is,” she said. “Childbirth is easier to explain than all of this.”

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Viewers would be looking for signs that the quarterback was OK after a nasty concussion. Many would also want to see which Bible reference would be written in the patches of eye black that would be visible whenever television cameras focused on the face of America’s most famous muscular Christian.

Tebow was wearing Isaiah 40:31 when he got hurt against Kentucky: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

This biblical commentary continued when he returned against LSU, with a reference pointing to 1 Thessalonians 5:18: “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

The Palm Beach Post put it this way: “Give thanks in all circumstances.”

Not exactly.

You see, it’s hard to avoid quoting the Bible when you’re writing about an athlete who refuses to stop quoting the Bible.

Viewers who used an Internet search engine could find the full scriptural reference. Those who relied on news reports, however, tended to find language scrubbed clean of the fervent, conservative and, for many, offensive faith that shapes the lives of Tebow and his missionary parents and siblings.

Bob and Pam Tebow already consider his life a gift from God. During that pregnancy, his mother slipped into a coma after contracting amoebic dysentery. Doctors in the Philippines, where the Tebows are evangelical missionaries, feared that the strong medications she received had damaged her unborn child. Doctors advised an abortion. She refused, the family prayed and Tim Tebow survived.

Thus, Bob Tebow told Sports Illustrated, “I asked God for a preacher, and he gave me a quarterback.”

The son has done his share of preaching and missionary work, both overseas and in U.S. prisons. Meanwhile, he has refused to retreat during the many media marathons he endures as a superstar. This is, after all, the guy who seized the podium when he won the Heisman Trophy and, after taking some nervous gulps, immediately gave thanks to “my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave me the ability to play football.” In his rush, he said almost exactly the same thing moments later. The news reports that followed steered clear of these references.

While Tebow has been outspoken about his beliefs, he has avoided making openly evangelistic remarks while in the hot spotlight at a secular university in a highly diverse state. The closest he has come to giving an altar call was when he put John 3:16 under his eyes during the 2009 BCS championship game.

For those who have never seen Billy Graham in action, that verse proclaims: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

But that was a mere tremor compared with the quake that followed Tebow’s candid response when asked during a press conference: “Are you saving yourself for marriage?”

Laughing, he said, “Yes, I am.”

While another reporter struggled to ask a question, Tebow continued. “I think ya’ll are stunned right now. Ya’ll can’t even ask a question. Look at this. The first time ever. Wow. I was ready for the question. I don’t think ya’ll were, though.”

Thus, a simple Google search for “Tebow, virgin” yields 70,000-plus hits. Journalists and commentators can’t seem to decide if they were more offended by the question or by Tebow’s unapologetic answer. Was this a victory for the religious right or for crass, “gotcha” journalism?

The columnist who pushed that button has refused to apologize, noting that Tebow considered it a logical question in light of his highly public faith.

“Tebow demonstrated that he lives his life according to his own religious principles,” noted Clay Travis of the Fanhouse.com website.

“I asked because I believe it’s newsworthy and because, believe it or not, I thought Tim Tebow would answer the question by saying: ‘Yes, I am.’ … Why did I believe this? Because Tebow lives his faith. And I believe that living his faith is not artificial, he’s not pretending to be something he’s not.”

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It was the stuff of headlines. After all, it would make history if two African-American head coaches reached the Super Bowl. However, both men went out of their way to stress that it was also symbolic that two devout Christians were poised to compete, as friends, on their sport’s biggest stage.

“I?m so happy for Lovie, who does things the right way, without cursing and shows that things can be done differently,” said Dungy, in a pre-game report by Baptist Press. “We give God all the credit.”

Dungy and Smith talked the talk and tried to walk the walk, while armies of mainstream journalists responded by ignoring most of the Godtalk.

Sportswriters never know quite what to do when athletes and coaches turn into preachers and evangelists. It’s an old tension, one that been around since the birth of what historians call “muscular Christianity” in mid-19th century Victorian England.

Then, in the early 20th century, the “flying Scotsman” Eric Liddell proved that — with the right blend of skill and charisma — a superstar athlete could hold his own in the pulpit. The Olympic champion, whose story was later told in the Academy Award winning movie “Chariots of Fire,” inspired legions of athletes to dare to be evangelists, especially in youth rallies organized by Athletes in Action, the Fellowship of Christian Athletes and similar groups.

So what are journalists supposed to do when gridiron giants start holding hands and forming prayer circles at midfield? It’s one thing to point in thanksgiving toward heaven after a touchdown. Most journalists think it’s something else to mention Jesus Christ a dozen times a minute on live television.

Take, for example, Heisman Trophy winner Tim Tebow of Florida. The first words he uttered in his nervous acceptance speech was: “I’d just like to first start off by thanking my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who gave me the ability to play football.”

This quotation didn’t appear in any mainstream news reports, wrote sportswriter Kathy Orton at WashingtonPost.com. Her “On Faith” column ran with this blunt headline: “Tebow Talks God, Media Ignores Him.”

Orton noted that columnist Michael Wilbon offered this explanation for why journalists ignored Tebow’s testimony.

“People are entitled to express their religious beliefs whenever and wherever,” said Wilbon, known for his work with the Post and ESPN. “But a newspaper (or network) has an obligation to serve a community of people that have all kinds of religious beliefs. … There are times when we explore the relationship of competition and spirituality … but I know I’m not going to be hijacked by those feelings, to let someone preach their beliefs when they’re not important to what’s going on.”

In other words, one person’s bold “evangelism” is another’s pushy “proselytizing.”

There are also political implications lurking in the background, in an age in which recent U.S. elections — decided by razor-thin margins — have pivoted on moral and religious issues. Thus, it was controversial when the late Rev. Reggie White and other black superstars began speaking out on issues of marriage, family and sexuality. Dungy has made similar, but more graceful, remarks rejecting same-sex unions.

Finally, any mixture of rhetoric and hypocrisy is sure to repel many sportswriters who study locker room realities year after year. After all, it was quarterback Michael Vick who — when facing jail time — suddenly announced that “through this situation I found Jesus and asked him for forgiveness and turned my life over to God. … I will redeem myself. I have to.”

Nevertheless, Orton has decided that her colleagues need to realize that faith is a crucial element in many dramas and, thus, it’s wrong to edit that out of the new. It’s appropriate to ask an athlete like Tebow hard questions and then quote his answers.

“I’ve also seen plenty of athletes who say one thing and do another, and it’s hard for me to be anything but skeptical,” she said. “Maybe that is why so many sportswriters shy away from writing about religion. Because the moment we do, it comes back to haunt us when that athlete is discovered to be less than a man (or woman) of God.”

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The environment is brutal in there, and not just because the Bears play Texas, Oklahoma, Nebraska and other Big 12 powers. Central Texas offers searing heat and then its share of ice. Since 1950, Baylor has tried grass, various brands of fake grass, real grass again and now Prestige System artificial turf.

“We’re committed to making changes,” said McCaw, a young sports management professional who arrived in the midst of Baylor’s recent siege of scandals and woe. “We’re moving forward. We think this is going to work out fine.”

McCaw was talking about the grass, but he could have been defending his own turf. The environment has been brutal for months, with the world’s largest Baptist school facing a searing media spotlight and the cold reality that when many fans hear “Baylor” they now think of death, drugs and dirty dollars, not dedication to Christian principles.

Surely the grass was greener at the University of Massachusetts, where McCaw had done his graduate studies and returned to direct a 23-sport athletic program. But after one successful year, and two weeks before moving his wife and four children into a newly constructed home, he answered the call to help resurrect Baylor’s reputation.

“From a branding, marketing standpoint, we know what we have to do,” he said. “We have to position ourselves to the whole Baptist and Protestant community as the flagship, much as Notre Dame always has been for Catholics. … To compete at the highest level, we’re going to have to have that kind of brand.

“We certainly can’t try to hide what Baylor is, or what Baylor is supposed to be.”

But that brand name also raises questions in an era when schools with small markets and high academic standards face brutal pressures to cut corners. Meanwhile, this is a boom time for Christian colleges and universities, along with their athletic programs. Many are now asking: What does it mean to have “Christian” athletics?

It doesn’t mean all of the school’s athletes have to be Christians, said Grant Teaff, a Baylor coaching legend and, for the past decade, executive director of the American Football Coaches Association. But dedicated Christian coaches are a must.

“You can’t say, ‘Find me the best Christian defensive back you can and go sign him.’ You can’t compete like that,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that, if one of the top defensive backs in the country is a strong Christian kid, you can’t look him in the eye and tell him Baylor is where he would feel right at home.”

It’s also time for these coaches to admit that larger schools will sign almost all the top blue-chip recruits. However, Teaff noted that most of these phenoms — in basketball and perhaps soon in football — linger only one or two years in college. At some point, teams led by experienced, loyal juniors and seniors may start winning more games against the freshmen and sophomore superstars.

“The world says to these young men, ‘Get as much as you can as soon as you can. Get your hand out — right now,’ ” said Teaff. “Schools like Baylor can’t compete in that game. … But a school like this has other strengths and it can’t be afraid to use them.”

Schools that emphasize academics and spiritual values will also need stronger ties to national networks of ministries, home-school families and Christian high schools that stress athletics, noted McCaw. The evidence is strong that schools emphasizing faith are especially attractive to top female athletes.

Another trend may help. As Third World churches grow in power, global recruiting efforts will increasingly affect sports such as soccer, track, baseball and basketball. Missionaries often packed sports equipment with their Bibles.

But earning the trust of parents remains the key.

“There is a growing percentage of parents that want their children to go to a Christian college, yet they also want to see their children compete in Division I athletics. If you want a quality, Christian education and you want to compete at the highest level in athletics, how many options do you have? Where are you going to go?”

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All he had to say was that his house was one block from Wood Creek Baptist Church and a vacant lot away from the Camp Bowie Sports Complex. That would cover the essentials, out where nobody talks much about the separation of church and sports.

“The first thing you need to understand about West Texas is that even local video stores have announcement boards out front with messages like, ‘Keep Christ in Christmas,’ ” said Morris, in the first line of “The Rookie,” the book about his middle-aged ascent into major-league baseball. “The second thing to understand is that, if Jesus Christ himself were to show up on a Friday night in the fall, he’d have to wangle a seat in the high school stadium and wait until the football game ended before declaring his arrival.”

Naturally, a whole lot of praying and Bible reading vanished when Walt Disney Pictures got a hold of this story. But the good news for fans of old-fashioned movies is that God wasn’t totally written out of the plot when the “The Rookie” moved to the big screen. It’s hard to drain the faith out of a West Texas tale full of baseball, babies, wedding rings, tears, tough love and nuns appealing to the patron saint of impossible dreams.

Morris was natural athlete who almost reached the big show as a youngster, before his body broke down. So he got married, settled down, started teaching school and coaching a little baseball.

Then the kids on his ragged high school team make him promise to give baseball one more shot, if they won the district championship. The team won district. Morris went to a free-agent tryout and discovered that his blown-out shoulder was serving up 98 mile-per-hour fastballs — light years past what he threw in his prime. With the stunned blessing of his wife and three kids, Morris headed to the minor leagues and then, at age 35, to the big leagues.

Roll out the clich? No Hollywood ink slinger would dare concoct such a story.

“It was God,” said Morris, who is busy as a motivational speaker in both religious and secular settings. “What other explanation could there be for what happened?”

“The Rookie” has already passed $70 million in ticket sales, which means Disney succeeded in creating a feel-good hit for baseball season. But the movie also raised eyebrows with its G rating, which is often box-office death with adults.

The key is that “The Rookie” is basically an updated version of one of old Hollywood’s most popular products - the inspiring story of a good man who beats the odds and wins big. Moviemakers used to tell this kind of story all the time and they almost always included a healthy dose of faith and family.

As it turns out, this formula still works - if the story is good enough.

“Quite frankly, faith played a big role in my life, so it would have been impossible to have left that out of the movie,” said Morris. But the producers of the movie “didn’t draw much attention to the religious side of the story.”

They didn’t have to. It was shocking enough to watch Hollywood tell a simple story about grown-ups and kids chasing their dreams, while keeping their vows and saying a prayer or two. But those who read the book will wonder, in particular, what happened to its major theme — which is the pitcher’s ongoing efforts to fathom “God’s mysterious ways” of working through both the agony and the triumph of his life.

Nevertheless, God remains in the details, soaked into the images of family and commitment. Morris said his story makes “no sense whatsoever” without faith.

“They just sort of hit it, then back away a little,” he said. “I thought that was appropriate, to tell you the truth. They didn’t try to jam anything down anybody’s throat. You didn’t want people sitting in theaters saying, ‘What are you trying to do here?’ … This is a movie. You really can’t preach at people.”

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Football fans watch this colorful scene Sunday after Sunday on television. Many combatants trudge together to the locker rooms, while others rush to embrace former teammates. Soon, a circle forms as players from both teams kneel in prayer.

“That’s when we pull back to that wide shot of the stadium and cut away as quick as we can to the studio in New York,” noted Pat Summerall, who recently called his last Super Bowl with John Madden, his professional partner of 21 years. “For years, I’ve been trying to tell people up in the booth that something interesting was going on down there and we ought to show it. …

“Those players praying together on the field stand for something. This is one of the uncovered stories in sports today.”

Summerall knows what is happening in that circle because he has lived it.

It would have been unthinkable, said the 71-year-old broadcaster, for his old New York Giants teammates to exchange friendly greetings with their opponents before the game and they sure wouldn’t have been seen praying with them afterwards. There were unwritten rules about that sort of thing 40 or 50 years ago in the National Football League.

Today, there are prayer groups inside and outside locker rooms. More players are openly talking about their faith and they don’t care who listens. This has caused tension in some teams, while creating unique bonds of unity in others. Meanwhile, there are — as always — scores of professional athletes who abuse alcohol and drugs and whose private lives are, at best, confused.

Summerall has seen it all. He almost drowned in alcohol before drying out in 1992 at the Betty Ford Center. Then, at age 66, he found new life in the waters of baptism. Now, as he enters a new stage of his media career, Summerall is trying to figure out how to tell both sides of this story.

“You don’t stay in the business he has been in as long as he’s been in it without being able to grow and change and learn. That’s just part of being somebody like Pat Summerall,” said the Rev. Claude Thomas of the First Baptist Church of Euless, outside Dallas. “But as his pastor, I think it will be fascinating to see how his growth as a professional is going to fit in with the continuing growth in his faith. …

“I know one thing: God has a purpose for Pat’s life and his talents.”

In the weeks since Super Bowl XXXVI, Summerall said he has spent most of his time responding to the hundreds of letters and telephone calls that followed his graceful swan song with Madden and Fox Sports. It’s too soon to start talking about contacts with other networks, but it isn’t too soon to start thinking about options.

It would be easy to spend months doing nothing but public speaking, said Summerall. But even this part of his life is changing. In the past, groups asked him to come tell a few funny stories, share a few touching memories and serve up some insider sound-bites about sports and television. Now, Summerall is being asked to focus on something totally different — the very personal story of his battle with alcohol. That will mean talking about his faith.

“I know that I have a story to tell,” he said. “What I’m discovering is that quite a few people actually want to hear about the baptism part, too. I can’t be silent about that.”

Summerall said it helps that he no longer feels helpless and alone. Wherever he travels, he has been able to find athletes and coaches who are on the same path. Sometimes they even have to meet in football stadiums. It’s getting easier to spot them.

“It’s like an alcoholic looking for a drink. If he wants it bad enough, he can find it — no matter what,” he said. “I’m like that when it comes to finding prayer services and Bible studies. No matter where I am working, I know that they’re out there and I can find them.”

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