God is Terrell Owens’ orthopedist.

Sports commentator Mike Celizic has stirred up some trouble by taking pro football player Terrell Owens to task for suggesting that God healed his injured ankle so that he could play in the upcoming Super Bowl:

“God has already cleared me,” Owens told the assembled hordes that had come to find out if he would be able to play on his surgically repaired ankle. “It doesn’t matter what the doctor said. I have the best doctor in God.”

I’ve heard of God is my co-pilot, but God is my orthopedist?

This is, mind you, the same God who just a few weeks ago watched silently as a quarter million people – some of them far better Christians and Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus than Owens – were washed off the face of the earth by a tsunami. It is the same God that countless people are imploring to save terminally ill mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives. The same God that destitute others are begging to somehow allow them to find enough money to pay the mortgage and feed the children.

He doesn’t get around to helping all of them, which is, as the keepers of the faiths like to say, a mystery. Instead, He heals the ankle of a millionaire with an ego that Donald Trump probably envies, not so Owens can go forth and perform works of charity, not so he can help those not able to help themselves, but so he can play a game of football.

In trying to explain the “miraculous healing” of his injury—while giving no credit at all to the surgeons who did the actual work in God’s stead—Owens went on to recommend the assembled reporters look up chapter 11 of the Gospel of John. Apparently, as Celizic explains, Owen’s believes his ankle was something of a Lazarus brought back from the dead just in time for the Big Game.

Celizic’s complaint is a familiar one: He feels that Owens is trivializing religion and God by suggesting that he (God) gives a shit about whether or not he (Owens) gets to play in the Super Bowl when there are bigger and more important events taking place that God doesn’t appear to take much interest in. Celizic aks if this means that God didn’t want Ty Law of the Patriots to play seeing as his broken foot didn’t also miraculously heal in time. Celizic points out that with the considerable wealth Owens has amassed as a pro football player one might rightfully question whether he needs much help from God for anything other than getting his ego in check.

Needless to say, the column has generated no small amount of feedback from believers of all stripes who both agree and disagree with Celizic’s rant. It also illustrates nicely how so many people believing in supposedly the same God and Bible can have widely contradicting opinions on how much personal involvement God takes in the affairs of man let alone what issues God finds worthy of his attention. I’ve said before that, in my personal opinion, I would hope that if it turns out there is a God of some reasonably benevolent type out there running the show that he’d have more important issues on his plate than whether a pro football player heals in time for an important game.

But then, I’ve never been a big sports fan myself.

11 thoughts on “God is Terrell Owens’ orthopedist.

  1. I’m a big Eagles fan and I’m delighted the Owens will be on the field this Sunday.

    With that said.  How arrogant can one person be to believe that some omnipotent being found them to be deserving of its attention?

    Where was the credit to the almighty when he sprained the damned ankle?  If it’s good it must be from God, if it’s bad it must be the devil and god is testing them.  Sheesh!  Grow the fuck up.

  2. Being no huge sports fan either, and also being incredibly sick of these egomaniacal asshats being treated as heroes worthy of emulation, all I can see is….why.

    No doubt there are thousands of crackers out there who truly believe that god did heal him so he could score a touchdown for the lord.

    Pretty sure I just threw up a little.

  3. You can’t have a Super Bowl Massage Parlor Party without a cowbell….marcythewhore
    Behind The Music: Blue Oyster Cult

    Bruce Dickinson…..Christopher Walken
    Eric Bloom…..Chris Parnell
    Buck Dharma…..Horatio Sanz
    Alan…..Chris Kattan
    Bobby…..Jimmy Fallon
    Gene Frenkle…..Will Ferrell

    Announcer: After a series of staggering defeats, Blue Oyster Cult assembled in the recording studio in late 1976 for a session with famed producer Bruce Dickinson. And, luckily for us, the cameras were rolling.

    Bruce Dickinson: Alright, guys, I think we’re ready to lay this first track down. By the way, my name is Bruce Dickinson. Yes, the Bruce Dickinson. And I gotta tell you: fellas.. you have got what appears to be a dynamite sound!

    Eric Bloom: Coming from you, Bruce, that means a lot.

    Buck Dharma: Yeah. I mean, you’re Bruce Dickinson!

    Alan: It’s incredible!

    Bobby: I can’t believe Bruce Dickinson digs our sound!

    Bruce Dickinson: Easy, guys.. I put my pants on just like the rest of you – one leg at a time. Except, once my pants are on, I make gold records. [ the group laughs ] Alright, here we go. “Don’t Fear the Reaper” – take one. [ exits into the control booth ]

    [ the group begins the song. Bobby slaps the drums, Eric jams his guitar, and Gene bangs on a cowbell. ]

    Eric: [ distracted by Gene banging the cowbell ] Okay! Wait! Wait! [ the group cuts off their instruments ] Bruce, could you come in here for a minute, please?

    Bruce Dickinson: [ stepping out of the booth ] That was gonna be a great track. Guys, what’s the deal?

    Eric: Are you sure that was sounding okay?

    Bruce Dickinson: I’ll be honest.. fellas, it was sounding great. But.. I could’ve used a little more cowbell. So.. let’s take it again.. and, Gene.

    Gene Frenkle: Yeah?

    Bruce Dickinson: Really explore the studio space this time. I mean, really.. explore the space. I like what I’m hearing.

    [ the group starts the song again, as Gene bangs more wildly onto the cowbell while dancing crazily. In the booth, Walken is smiling to keep from laughing. Before the session is interrupted, Frenkle misses a beat on his cowbell.]

    Eric: Okay, wait! Stop! I’m sorry. Bruce, could you come back in here, please?

    Bruce Dickinson: [ stepping out of the booth ] Fellas.. now, we just wasted two good tracks! That last one was even better than the first!

    Eric: Well, it’s just that I find Gene’s cowbell playing distracting! If I’m the only one, I’ll shut up.

    Buck Dharma: It was pretty rough..

    Gene Frenkle: You know, I could pull back a little. If you’d like.

    Bruce Dickinson: Not too much, though! Fellas, I’m telling you – you’re gonna want that cowbell on the track!

    Gene Frenkle: You know what? It’s fine. Let’s just do this thing.

    [ the band starts the song once more, with Gene banging the cowbell right next to Eric’s ear until Eric pushes him, causing Horatio Sanz to fall ]

    Eric: [ stopping the song again, fighting Gene ] Come on, people!

    Bruce Dickinson: [ running out of the booth again ] That.. that doesn’t work for me. I gotta have more cowbell!

    Alan: [ grabs Gene’s shirt ] Don’t blow this for us, Gene!

    Bobby: [ cracks up ] Yeah, quit being so selfish, Gene!

    Gene Frenkle: Can I just say one thing?

    Bruce Dickinson: Say it, baby. Say it.

    Gene Frenkle: I’m standing here, staring at Bruce Dickinson!

    Bruce Dickinson: The cock of the walk, baby!

    Gene Frenkle: And if Bruce Dickinson wants more cowbell, we should probably give him more cowbell!

    Bruce Dickinson: Say it, baby!

    Gene Frenkle: And, Bobby, you are right – I am being selfish. But the last time I checked, we don’t have a whole lot of songs that feature the cowbell.

    Bruce Dickinson: I gotta have more cowbell, baby!

    Gene Frenkle: ..and I’ll be doing myself a disservice—[begins to slightly laugh. Jimmy Fallon turns away and bites down on his drumstick to keep from laughing]—and every member in this band, if I don’t perform the hell out of this.

    Bruce Dickinson: Guess what? I got a fever! And the only prescription.. is more cowbell!

    Gene Frenkle: Thanks, Bruce. But I think, maybe if I just leave.. and, maybe I’ll come back later, and we can lay down the cowbell. [ starts to leave the studio ]

    Bruce Dickinson: Aw, baby..

    Eric: Gene, wait! Why don’t you lay down that cowbell right now. With us. Together.

    [ everyone agrees ]

    Gene Frenkle: Do you mean that, Eric?

    Buck Dharma: He speaks for all of us.

    Gene Frenkle: Thank you.

    Bruce Dickinson: Babies.. before we’re done here.. y’all be wearing gold-plated diapers.

    Alan: [ confused ] What does that mean?

    Bruce Dickinson: Never question Bruce Dickinson! Roll it! [ exits back to booth ]

    Eric: [ ready to lay the complete track down ] 1, 2, 3, 4.

    [ the band starts up again, this time Frenkle is playing the cowbell in tune with the band. Close-up on Gene as he bangs the cowbell to freeze-frame with graphic: “In Memoriam: Gene Frenkle: 1950-2000” ]


  4. If the person had a badly damaged leg and it mysteriously repaired itself without any doctors then would it not be truly a MIRACLE!!

    Maybe god is a supporter of the Eagles. After all if he can supposedly as has been portrayed support one country over another in times of war where people are killed why can’t he support one team over another? If one believes that humans are created in god’s image then perhaps as Joan Osborne use to sing what if he was a slob just like the rest of us. Perhaps doing the big things is his main job but he may have a hobby in watching football.

    Or perhaps as people often love to claim he works in mysterious ways. Perhaps he is not helping the player but using his recovery to help another. Perhaps a single mom down on her luck and with nothing left bets on an Eagle victory and wins and thus manage to save her small shop. Or a paralysed person who was so taken by the message that he regain his zest for life and started to rehabilitate his leg and in years to come walked again. If that is true then would those two miracles allow the vatican to confer sainthood on Owens?

    Oh maybe if you accept the following depiction, the he may not be a he but a she.

  5. Pop Tarts suggests to Marcy:  If the person had a badly damaged leg and it mysteriously repaired itself without any doctors then would it not be truly a MIRACLE!!

    Marcythewhore responds to Pop Tarts:  I can almost respect your analogy about God choosing one state over the other states. Kind of sounds like you are a Virginian descendant of Robert E. Lee.

    But this is NFL. Not a pasteur for amateur grazing. And you want to talk God choosing a state? Get real. You’re talking God here. Not a cow in a McDonald’s advertisement at half time. God’s going to pick Hawaii or somewhere where it don’t snow 363 days a year. That or Al Davis is going to pick Hawaii.

    Okay, okay. Marcythewhore has let the cat out of the bag. Al Davis is moving the Oakland Raiders to Hawaii. You didn’t hear it from a lamp post anywhere around my chain of massage parlors.

    And if you are worried about single moms, tell them they can get a good paying job at one of Marcy’s Chicago Massage Parlors. You want to talk about mysterious ways. Turn loose a single mom who has known only one man in her life, turn her loose in a new high paying job and watch the inspirational messages fly…..marcythewhore

  6. Hmm, I think you are taking what I said too literally. I thought the sarcasm was clear when I started talking about sainthood.

  7. Honey, the saints I know have fangs and stun guns and sawed off AK-47s, not to forget mentioning that they have the supernatural power to psychotronically fry a human beings internatl organs. You bet I take Al Davis seriously. Al Davis is as supernatural as they come in the NFL……marcythewhore

  8. That’s pretty arrogant to say you can pray without arrogance. Prayer is, by its very nature, an act of arrogance. It’s about ‘ME’ and ‘MY’ personal God. You know, God who is also MY chauffeur. Allow me to amend this sports prayer to (in parenthesis) say what you really mean…..marcythewhore

    God, let me play well but fairly (Until I can find a way to win any way possible without getting fined by the league office)
    Let competition make me strong but never hostile (I’ve been pumping iron and putting on muscular weight so that I can hurt my opponent..you bet make me stronger than him)

    Forbid me to rejoice in the adversity of others (cause the freaking league office will fine me forty thousand if I do another pantomime of making a cellular call in the end zone).

    See me not when I am cheered, but when I bend to help my opponent up. (Remember that when I’m helping my opponent up I am also whispering into his ear that I banged his wife…got to get to them psychologically too).

    If I know victory, allow me to be happy;
    if I am denied, keep me from envy.(Envy means I’m losing. Yeah, don’t let me feel that.)

    Remind me that sports are just games.(Until you start losing and you can’t get a decent contract for next season.)

    Help me to learn something that matters once the game is over.(If I win, I get a big contract. If I lose, I get cut from the team.)

    And if through athletics I set an example, let it be a good one.(I can set a better example being a rich athlete with a hefty contract than being an athlete without a job that no one will listen to anyway).

    ………so, get real with prayer….marcythewhore

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