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Fernando Mendoza is too good to be true.
The quarterback of the Indiana University Hoosiers, who won the Heisman Trophy last month as the nation’s premier college player, then led his team to the championship earlier this week (words I never thought I would type), is a genuinely gifted athlete.
He’s tough. Yet joyful. Mendoza has all the intangibles that NFL scouts dream of when they imagine the perfect signal-caller. He leads by example, is loved by his teammates, makes exceptional on-field decisions, and is willing to put his own body on the line when the game is on the line.
That last quality was on display with less than 10 minutes remaining in the championship game.
IU was nursing a three-point lead against the Miami Hurricanes. It was fourth down, five yards to go on Miami’s 13-yard-line. The safe thing to do was to kick a chip-shot field goal. But Curt Cignetti, IU’s where-did-this-guy-come-from wizard of a coach, waved his kicking team off the field. “We’re going to go for it,” he told them.
What Cignetti was really doing was putting the ball in his quarterback’s hands and trusting that he would come through.
He did.
Mendoza did not pass the ball. He followed his blockers and ran straight ahead, juking one Miami defender and crashing into two others. Then he launched himself horizontally, thrusting the ball over the goal line. Instead of gaining a mere five yards, he had rambled 13 yards for a touchdown.
Yahoo sportswriter Nick Bromberg asserted, “It’s impossible to overstate the importance of Mendoza’s touchdown run in Indiana football history. It’s the biggest play ever for Indiana and it’s not even close.”
Ah yes, Indiana football history. One can truthfully say that Indiana had almost no history to speak of until Cignetti arrived in town in 2024. He took the helm of a program that was the losingest in NCAA history. Now, after two years of double-digit wins and a national championship, IU is merely the second losingest program in history. Thanks, Northwestern, for moving into the basement.
After IU put the finishing touches on their 27-21 victory over Miami, I received texts and emails from a number of friends in other states: “Congrats to IU! You must be so proud of the Hoosiers.”
I’m a Purdue grad. When it comes to sports, Boilermakers and Hoosiers do not typically roast marshmallows and sing together on cool autumn nights. Back in the 1980s, when the Soviet national basketball team played an exhibition game against IU, I was torn: Should I root for Bobby Knight’s Hoosiers or the godless Communists?
Yes, I cheered enthusiastically for IU throughout these playoffs. I was truly excited by the thrilling conclusion of Monday’s game.
Reality returned on Tuesday morning. I once again knew in my heart of hearts that I won’t be wearing IU gear at any point in the near future.
But I will definitely be rooting for Fernando Mendoza.
He smiles and laughs. He attributes his success to his coaches and teammates. He honors his mother, who is battling MS, as his primary encourager. He is also a devout Catholic. When ESPN reporter Holly Rowe grabbed him immediately after Monday’s game, he said, “First, I want to give all the glory to God.” In his Heisman acceptance speech he thanked God for “the opportunity to chase a dream that once felt a world away.”
What’s not to love about this guy?
Fernando’s current spiritual home is the Saint Paul Catholic Center in Bloomington. On Christmas Eve he called Father Patrick Hyde. “Are you around at all for the next hour? I wanted to stop by with the trophy!”
Father Hyde wondered if he was just being polite. But 15 minutes later, Mendoza walked into the lobby of the Center carrying the Heisman Trophy. Then he made it clear that the care and nurture of the priests had played a pivotal role in his growth as a star athlete and a follower of Jesus Christ.
The quarterback literally got to do what all of us will one day do in the presence of God.
It’s embodied in the chorus of the cherished Gospel hymn “The Old Rugged Cross:”
So I’ll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown
These “trophies” aren’t plastic or aluminum or brass. They represent the sum total of the rewards or achievements we have earned in this life, but which pale in significance next to the cross on which Jesus earned our salvation. We will surrender our greatest personal honors to Jesus and say, “Nothing compares to what you have done for me.”
Even the crown in the last line is destined to wind up at Christ’s feet, as we see in John’s vision of heaven in Revelation 4:10-11:
“The twenty-four elders fall down before him who sits on the throne and worship him who lives for ever and ever. They lay their crowns before the throne and say: ‘You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being.’”
We may not run off-tackle through a sea of defenders and hear the roar of the crowd.
And few of us are likely to end up in the same room with a Heisman Trophy, let alone earn one.
But we all have the chance to practice in this world what we will one day experience in the next:
We can lay our trophies before God and give him all the glory.