This year, the UConn Huskies played the Oklahoma Sooners in the Fiesta Bowl. Going into the game, they were massive underdogs. While they’d been 8-4 and won the Big East Conference, many considered their conference and schedule weak. Thus, the Sooners were highly favored to win the game.

Trust is a funny thing. It takes years to build but can be destroyed in an instant. Trust requires honesty, communication, loyalty and proven moral integrity. It is one of the foundational elements behind every great team.

Andy Pettitte knows all about the fragile nature of trust. He has spent his entire life building up trustworthy relationships with his family, his friends, his teammates, the baseball community and the public at large. Yet a single seemingly insignificant misstep can open the door for doubt, which often then results in a certain measure of distrust. In today’s society, it doesn’t take much for a cynical public (and an even more cynical media) to question one’s integrity and chip away at that bedrock of trust.

As of last Thursday, I only had three 10-mile tempo runs left before my upcoming marathon. Being a Christian competitor, God is why I run, so I was completely convinced that the He would want to bless me with great weather for each of my remaining tempo runs. Would God not want me to make the most of the time I had left? Surely He would! Imagine, then, my surprise when the clouds started to billow two hours before I was scheduled to hit the road.

What does it take to win the game? The answer to this question often dictates the primary philosophy that coaches use as the basis of their decisions. Under ever-increasing pressure to win, every coach and player has been encouraged to bend or break the rules. In the world of sports, why is it so difficult to discern what constitutes cheating?

Tuesday is always trash day. And on some Tuesdays, there seems to be very little good about the morning. Daily tasks often can become mundane, but not this one. Every Tuesday morning I am the member of the family who deposits the trash into the proper container. This morning, as I sat back at the table lamenting the fact that I had to take the trash out to the curb, I heard a song resonating from an upstairs bedroom. “I am C. I am C-H. I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N.” It was coming from my 7-year-old, who was joyfully ringing in the day.