In the 1964 Tokyo Olympic Games, sprinter Bob Hayes tied the Olympic record on his way to winning the gold medal in the 100-meter dash. Just a few months later, Hayes was dashing past defensive backs as a wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys. It was a radical idea at the time: taking a world-class sprinter and turning him into a football player. Hayes’s success altered defensive strategy and changed how football was played.

There are two sayings that I have heard hundreds of times in my life. One is “You can’t tell a book by its cover,” and the other is an advertising statement that assures us “It’s what’s up front that counts.” I would like to take a little liberty with those two statements and apply them to the world of sports. I think that anyone who has played baseball can attest to the fact that “You can’t tell a baseball by its cover” and “It’s what’s inside that counts.”

When it comes to endurance, the power of the resurrection is necessary. As a triathlete who constantly goes through training cycles that push my limits, I often get skeptical about how far I can go or how much I can push myself. After a long race, I feel completely spent, like I’m older than the hills and will never fully recover. But given time and the fact that the body is a work of God—a miracle by all accounts—and in spite of personal human doubt, I spring back, stronger and better than before.

As the quarterback drops back and throws, the receiver hesitantly extends his arms toward to the ball. Sensing a defensive player closing in, he’s not eager to complete the catch. His focus is more on protecting himself from the defense’s attack. In situations like this, when a receiver demonstrates partial effort in catching a ball, it can be said he has “alligator arms.” And likewise, our faith can be like having “alligator arms.” At times, we fail to take full advantage of our opportunities to grow in our relationship with Christ or share our faith with others because we are afraid of what the costs may be. We let fear of circumstances control us, because we prefer to stay safe in our “comfort zone” rather than stretching ourselves and trusting in God.

It was an ancient custom to shoot an arrow or cast a spear into the country which an army intended to invade. We see this in college football when the Florida State Seminole rider hurls the spear into the ground or when the USC Trojan warrior pierces the soil with his sword.

An open window in the pasage above symbolizes a variety of opportunities that come to us during the course of a competitive contest. The release of the arrow in this opportune moment is our ability to capitalize on the opportunity and turn into a surge of momentum for the team. The bow and arrow represent the strategic development of our talents and deployment of our assignments.

In my four years of college basketball, one particular weekend stood out to me more than any other. My teammates and I traveled down to Cookson Hills, OK, in the school’s two vans and loaded our luggage into the house where we would be staying. When we got there, however, we realized that the family we would be staying with had been stricken with the flu. We had no choice but to stay there, as other families already had teams they were housing.

The 2009-2010 Butler Bulldogs’ historic run to the NCAA Men’s Basketball National Championship was a Cinderella story that shocked America. They were overmatched in almost every game, yet they still persevered and defeated the odds. How did Butler accomplish what many national powerhouses failed to? Skill, determination, and school pride were factors in Butler’s success, but the true X-Factor was their coachability.

A Division I basketball school entered its conference tournament as the number eight seed, which meant a low probability of making it to the NCAA tournament. Despite the odds, they achieved that goal by knocking off the one-, two-, and four-seeded teams, thereby earning entry into the NCAA tournament. As one team member summarized, “We put it together when it counted most.” We all know that falling short of our expectations leads to disappointment both on and off the court. However, if we, like that eighth-seeded team, keep looking forward to even a small hope of success, we’ll often be glad we did.