Forgive me Father for I have sinned — I think. I have sometimes had impure thoughts about the University of Notre Dame’s Fighting Irish — even though I’m half-Irish and all-Catholic.

Confessionals throughout Christendom may be busy with this personal conflict—or not—as the University of Alabama’s Crimson Tide and Notre Dame tee-up the pigskin Monday in Miami with the BCS National Championship on the line.

Growing up Catholic in the South amid the culture of football—where many believe the Garden of Eden must have had endzones, goalposts, rivers of Holy Gatorade and archangel-like coaches who wore a lot of houndstooth or watched game high-lights with a guy named, “You’re-So-Right,” Carl—a certain reverence for the game and its heroes is understood.

Of course South Bend has it’s share of patron saints of the gridiron, too, in Knute Rockne, Frank Leahy, Ara Parseghian and Lou Holtz—all of whom won a National title for the Irish. And then there’s, Winning just one for the Gipper, The Four Horsemen and good ole’ Rudy. Hard to cheer against George Gipp or not “ruett” for Rudy Ruettiger. And it is just tough for a Catholic to oppose a school called, “Our Lady.”

I grew up going to a Catholic parochial school deep in the Heart of Dixie. So deep the banana trees blossom in early January. As an altar-boy I served Irish Priests, most of whom cared more about golf or soccer than American football. Most of my teachers were Midwestern nuns who showed little interest if any in sports. But two were very sports minded and had an impact on my way of looking at athletic competition.

Sister Maria Goretti was our unofficial P.E. teacher and a great coach. She often played baseball, basketball, volleyball and football with us. And she played to win. I remember her hitting a grounder to the left side of the infield and sprinting to first base in full-length habit, white tennis shoes flashing in and out of sight just below the black bottom folds of her heavy, Sisters-of-Loretta, frock.

She beat the throw and celebrated with a huge smile and some exuberant, if somewhat pious, trash talk. From then on, I assumed she was a Yankees’ fan. She taught us how to hit a curve because she could throw a good one and never took pity on us, but stayed with us until she was sure we were giving our all.

If Sister M. G. taught us how to approach an activity with 100-percent effort and to never give up, Sister Elsie Marie showed us the sheer joy of rooting for a favorite team. Sister Elsie was a Western Kentucky girl and a sports fan, a St. Louis Cardinals zealot. In the sixth grade, my classmates and I got to listen to the St. Louis daytime baseball games on Sister’s radio and when they made it through the playoffs and met the Red Sox in the 1967 World Series, we got to — no, we were required to — watch the TV weekday broadcasts and the weekend games at home.

Sister Elsie kept score, charted every pitch and argued every call she didn’t like as if the umpire was in the room. None of us were fluent in Kentuckian, but I’m pretty sure some of her comments were not meant as compliments.

As serious baseball fans of the era will recall, it was a classic, nail-biter of a Series. The Cards were up three games to one after the weekend and Sister was in a pretty good mood that Monday. But the Red Birds then lost games five and six right before our eyes to set up the World Championship’s deciding seventh game at Fenway Park in Boston.

Sister Elsie never said we should pray for the Cardinals to win, but we probably did. And all breathed a sigh of relief when Bob Gibson got the final out and his third win of the Series. If she could have, she would have nominated Gibson and co-MVP Lou Brock for beatification and canonization on the spot.

Some of my classmates later went on to Notre Dame, but most of us stayed closer to home, i.e., the South Eastern Conference or the Atlantic Coast Conference. Still an uneasy feeling troubles me when the Irish play teams with which I have some familial or geographic ties like Auburn University, The Crimson Tide, South Alabama, Troy, Florida State, Ole Miss or LSU. I just feel some ingrained connection or affection for Our Lady. Maybe its because my high school adopted the same fight-song music with Fairhope High in place of UND or maybe it’s just good old-fashioned Irish-Catholic guilt?

Whatever it is I have to go with the Tide on this one in a hard-fought close one. Triple overtime would be nice. Just imagining how exciting that would be with a walk-off winning pass from A.J. (McCarron) to T.J. (Yeldon) is making me feel even more guilty.

So, does that make me a bad Catholic, Father?

No, Really? Thanks Father. Then, why so many Hail Mary’s?

Roll Tide Y’all! And, Erin go Braugh!