Years ago, the chaplain of the football team at Notre Dame was a beloved old Irish priest.
At confession one day, a football player told the priest that he had acted in an unsportsmanlike manner at a recent football game. “I lost my temper and said some bad words to one of my opponents.” “Ahhh, that’s a terrible thing for a Notre Dame lad to be doin’,” the priest said. He took a piece of chalk and drew a mark across the sleeve of his coat.
“That’s not all, Father. I got mad and punched one of my opponents.”
“Saints preserve us!” the priest said, making another chalk mark.
“There’s more. As I got out of a pileup, I kicked two of the other team’s players in the . . . in a sensitive area.”
“Oh, goodness me!” the priest wailed, making two more chalk marks on his sleeve. “Who in the world were we playin’ when you did these awful things?”
“Southern Methodist.”
“Ah, well,” said the priest, wiping his sleeve, “boys will be boys.”
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