The Stuff of Epic Stories, New Legends, and Old Dreams

We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

Shakespeare, The Tempest

Who would have suspected that the number one item on 8-year-old Cooper’s Christmas list for 2025 would be an Indiana University football helmet? The Hoosiers went to 13-0 after defeating Ohio State for the Big 10 Conference Championship last week. Last night, IU quarterback Fernando Mendoza was awarded the Heisman Trophy. To grasp just how unlikely this turn of events really is, one need only look at IU’s football season history, a winding journey of losing seasons interspersed with a few brights spots dating back to 1887. The Hoosiers were 1-8 in 2023.

I have not watched a single IU game this season and have only casually followed a few headlines. However, watching my grandson, IU hat on, tossing the football to himself in his snowy backyard reminds me of the power of stories to capture our imagination and the powerful dreams those stories foster. The unlikely nature of this particular story heightens its power to fascinate and make us wonder, what happens next?

Today, retired quarterback Philip Rivers will start for the Indianapolis Colts. Rivers, who has not played an NFL game in five years, starts today after practicing with the Colts for a week. This season for the Colts has also been quite a story. Shocking the NFL world with a 7-1 start on the surprising play of quarterback Daniel Jones, the Colts hit some bumps before Jones’ season ending Achilles injury last week. Backup quarterback injuries drove the team to get creative and the world is treated with the plot twist of Rivers’ unlikely return to professional football as a player.

The only thing more interesting than the twists and turns in this story may be the reactions to it as commentators’ heads explode with criticisms, prognostications, and quippy headlines. Whatever happens today, the drama of the story will draw fans and critics into its magic, surprising some, disappointing others, and giving all some fodder for conversation. For my part, I hope Rivers kills it.

There is something epic about such stories. Big decisions. Big implications. Like a movie or a play, we get to watch it unfold, follow along, love it, hate it, reflect on it. The news cycle gives us a chance to play along in our own way, engaging with the commentary, following the reactions, discussing it in our own circles. In a small way, we become a part of the story, or at least make it part of ours for a while.

Why do grown men in red, logo’d sweaters get so worked up about a team they’ve never met or a result that has zero implication for their life? Why do grown women in blue tops with rhinestone horseshoes emblazoned on them, sitting near the roof of a 2 million square foot stadium, yell at men in striped shirts on the ground far below? Walking into that story, they become a part of it. The drama that unfolds on that field and in the movements around it, are part of our own story. We belong to each other in a strange and magical way.

Thinking back to that little boy throwing his football to himself in the cold and the snow, I remember the old legends that inspired me. The ones in which I was the hero. We all want to be caught up in the unlikely adventure where we star, or at least have a part to play, in the great drama. Our imagination is engaged and we enter the arena, mattering in some small way to the outcome.

Of course, there is a special purity to the 8-year-old version of the story. Joyful and innocent. Alas, we can no longer claim the innocence of that vision or the self-abandonment of pretending to be the player at the center of the battle. And though it is easy to criticize the cynics and the greed and the arrogance that accompany most tales that capture such headlines, we must remember that those too are part of the epic, necessary to the drama that is our human existence.

Perhaps in celebrating the unlikely victories, the great Heisman heroes, and the comeback stories, we remind ourselves of the epic nature of existence and the rich texture of human dramas within it. In riding along on these adventures, maybe we remember that we’re still alive, there are dreams left to dream, and we might one day be called back to something epic ourselves.

Or, maybe we find ourself called to the backyard and the snow and the football hitting our cold fingers…all in the loving service of that little boy dreaming of the greatest thing he can imagine. Maybe we are already part of the most dramatic story we could have ever imagined.