Kevin “Chappy” Hynes, Jill Perry, Scott Shepherd and Ray Lawrence share an office in Athens, Georgia. One of the most visibly enticing elements is a large dry erase board, topped with this question: SITUATION ANALYSIS — WHAT ARE WE DOING WELL? Below that are the answers: variety, weekly meetings, discipleship with leaders, buddy relationships, trips, Bible study. And below that, another question: WHERE CAN WE IMPROVE? And the answers: discipleship with others, team interaction, feature teams, worship team, coaches.

Randy Swearengin was a rookie FCA area representative, newly hired to a full-time position in Mississippi, when he entered a coach’s office in his district one morning armed with a box of Bibles and a heart determined to impact local coaches and athletes for Christ.

He had recently purchased the box of FCA Coach’s Bibles with his own money and was planning to hand-deliver them to every local coach as way of introducing himself. This particular coach, however, known for being tough and hard-nosed on and off the field, would have nothing of it.

Today’s emerging female athlete is a new breed. Different than the generation before her, she’s noncommittal, untrusting and is far more likely to text message you than to interact personally. But this girl is also full of potential. STV investigates how — at both the college and high school levels — coaches today can draw out the phenomenal women in today’s generation.

For Lorenzo Romar, integrity is one of the simplest concepts he’s ever learned—so simple, it only takes a brief, pondering pause followed by a concisely spoken sentence for him to explain.

“A person with integrity consistently does the right thing,” he states matter-of-factly.

As the University of Washington men’s basketball coach, Romar has provided a walking, talking example of integrity to the young athletes that don the Huskies’ uniform year in and year out.

In sports today, everything a pro athlete does is under a microscope. Every single day newspaper headlines scream about another athlete who has crashed and burned. Sometimes it's part of their personal life, while other times it's directly related to his or her sport. Either way, we have access to information about virtually everything these athletes do. Their lives are in full view.

If we're honest, I don't think any one of us would want that kind of scrutiny and spotlight on our lives. We all sin. And since our mistakes don't usually make the headlines, it's easy for us to think that we're getting away with them and just sweeping them under the rug. But, like I tell my kids, the truth always comes out.

It's the typical driveway basketball scenario: Your team is down by two with three seconds left on the clock. You get the pass at the top of the key and square up to take the game-winning shot. It's one of the most heart-pounding moments in your imaginary career, and, once the shot goes down (even if it's on the second or third try), you rejoice with the thousands of invisible spectators.

As athletes, we dream of being in those pressure-packed, crunch-time situations. The fourth quarters, ninth innings and final sets. When it comes to actual games, however, those visualizations take on a new reality.

It would be hard for any Average Joe to keep his legs from collapsing after enduring 26.2 miles of leg-pounding, foot-smacking pavement. For elite runners, however, this is nothing extraordinary. They run long, and they run hard in order to win — either for the personal gratification of finishing the race or for bragging rights in their sport.

But, like any stereotype, there are exceptions — like the one in this story. It is the story of one elite runner who, win or lose, pounds those 26.2 miles to give the glory to someone else. That 5-2, slender figure who runs like a cheetah on the hunt is Kenya’s Catherine Ndereba, a.k.a. Catherine the Great.

To this day, Leah O’Brien-Amico remembers the phone call. It came a decade ago, but it seems like yesterday. It was in the morning. O’Brien-Amico, who was at the time still in the process of building her softball-legend status as part of the U.S. National Team, was standing in the lobby of a hotel chatting with some teammates.

She was in a good mood; it was a joyful time. An Olympic gold medal-winning athlete, O’Brien-Amico had just wrapped up her final season at the University of Arizona, where her team had won the College World Series about a month earlier. It was the third national title Arizona had won while she was there.

When the Los Angeles Sparks need some defensive intensity and fierce, scrappy play, they call on their intimidator, “D-Nasty.” But if they’re looking for encouragement and a cheerful rallying cry, they turn to the teammate they affectionately refer to as “Sunshine.”

Fortunately for L.A.’s front office, the Sparks don’t have to waste two roster spots to fill both roles. D-Nasty and Sunshine are the same person: DeLisha Milton-Jones.

Tynesha Lewis of the Charlotte Sting has been blessed. Not only is she gifted with an amazing athletic talent that she continues to use for God’s glory, but she’s also been forgiven. Now in her fifth season in the WNBA, Lewis has experienced the world’s temptations and received God’s redemptive grace along the way, through it all, learning the benefits of complete honesty.

It took all of four days for the spiritual inquest of Allison Whitworth to begin.

On March 5, Whitworth, a goalkeeper in the first-year Women’s Professional Soccer League, was riding in the car with some of her FC Gold Pride teammates. The players were just getting acquainted, having started preseason camp on March 1, but it was already evident that Whitworth was different. She was handling the pressure of rapid-fire roster cuts with remarkable poise. Her demeanor was kind. Her language was clean.

“I wasted a lot of years not giving God any glory,” says FCA’s Amy Marino as she reflects on her own college athletic career. “I didn’t want players on my team telling me about Christ. I didn’t feel I needed Him.” But seeing the joy that radiates from her face, you would never know there was a time when Marino’s heart wasn’t pursuing Christ.

Since her “Saul to Paul” conversion, Marino has dedicated her role as an FCA representative at the University of Illinois to leaving a mark on a new generation of athletes.