Jesus would have Tim Tebow on his fantasy football team. People refer to Tebow as the Denver Broncos' savior, which is really just another way of ascribing deity−like capabilities to a mortal. And if God ever manifested himself in a mid−level NFL quarterback with quick feet and an elongated release, it would probably be through Tebow, the gun−slinging embodiment of faith.
Tim Tebow has poise. Heart. God on his side.
The Florida product engineered a nearly impossible comeback on Sunday against the Miami Dolphins, bringing Denver to an 18−15 overtime win after overcoming a 15−0 deficit with under three minutes remaining. And as such, we're forced to endure phrases like "unshaken faith," "the man, the myth, the legend," and "Tim Tebow is God," until we somehow manage to relieve ourselves of these absurd correlations.
The problem is, this will likely never happen. Tebow wants to be known as the God Guy, the one who penned Bible verses on his eye black and prayed before the Wonderlic test. It's an identity and a catchy one at that. I don't doubt Tebow's faith; that has proved unshakable.
What I doubt, however, is our abilities to separate Tebow the football player from Tebow the God figure. It's become impossible to objectively analyze Tim Tebow without talking about "the myth and the legend," without analyzing the "God versus man" relationship more so than the "Broncos versus Dolphins" one. To avoid a theoretical discussion on the purpose of religion, I'll settle on this simple fact: Religion is subjective. Proof primarily exists within the self, in the spiritual feeling. There's no scientific way to prove that God exists, nor is there any method for disproving his existence either.
So in an objective game like football, one in which the outcome is predicated on a simple formula — you win, lose or, if you feel like kissing your sister, tie — it's very simple to determine the heroes and the goats. It's easy to attribute results to the subjective because, well, we can't prove otherwise. In this case, it's not God to whom we attribute a believer's failings, but he who believes in the mystical who inserts his subjective beliefs into a wholly objective atmosphere.
Religion is still very much a part of the NFL. Players thank God after touchdowns and flex their muscles clad in religiously symbolic tattoos. Catholic and nondenominational church services are offered to players in hotels the nights before games. Bible studies among players are also commonplace.
So what makes Tebow different? At what point did he become the media's Messiah, the football manifestation of religion? Other players pray. Other players are religious. But Tebow is the only one to whom we actually correlate faith with performance.
Tim Tebow won a football game against a team that starts Matt Moore at quarterback. In his first start of the season, Tebow did what he was supposed to do, even though he struggled through three quarters of subpar play. He went 13−for−27 for 161 yards and two touchdowns. He did not turn wine into water, and he did not die for the sins of the living, although he did somewhat resurrect a terrible Denver offense.
Drew Brees threw for five touchdowns and the Saints put up 62 points. Aaron Rodgers was nearly perfect and out−dueled an impressive rookie in Christian Ponder. Cam Newton was, again, solid. And yet the spotlight continues to shine on Tebow, on the quarterback who hardly needs any favors because he has God as his PR director.
Religious phrases are embedded in sport. We talk about having "faith" in a team or "believing" in a player's capabilities. And when someone like Tebow, who definitively bridges whatever small gap existed between sport and religion, comes along, it's impossible to look away.
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