What My All-Star MLB Pitcher Dad Taught Me About Godly Competition

It was a hot summer evening and getting hotter as I worked up a sweat, trying in vain to get an out as a pitcher on my Little League team. After another bad pitch, my frustration boiled over. I simply walked off the field. After the game, I headed to the car but was stopped by my dad. His posture suggested getting in the car wasn’t an option. Instead, he said, I was going to walk over and apologize to my teammates and coach for how I acted.

That was my dad, always more concerned with the man I was becoming than the athlete I was.

My dad is Scott McGregor, a Major League Baseball pitcher for 11 years with the Baltimore Orioles. As a pitcher, he won 20 games, went to an All-Star game in 1981, and won a World Series in 1983—pitching the decisive game (a complete game shutout against the Phillies).

But of all his accomplishments, the thing I’m most proud of about my dad is how he has always prioritized character and his faith in Christ above athletic achievement.

Athletic competitions can be cutthroat and ugly. Many sports are mired in scandal and corrupted by greed and narcissistic glory-seeking. Winning at all costs often comes above playing with integrity.

As a faithful Christian who was also a professional athlete, my dad modeled a different way of being a competitor—no less ambitious and hard-working but with a posture that glorified Christ above himself. Here are a few lessons I gleaned from him, and other Christian athletes, that might be helpful for believers seeking to glorify God through sports.

My dad modeled a different way of being a competitor—no less ambitious and hard-working but with a posture that glorified Christ above himself.

1. Prioritize character.

In whatever we do, including competing, our highest aim should be to honor God (Col. 3:23). And God is more honored in how we play than in whether we win.

During the 1925 U.S. Open major championship, legendary golfer Bobby Jones called a penalty on himself. His opponent and the rules official tried to discourage him from going through with it, but he signed his scorecard with a one stroke penalty and it cost him the tournament. John Wooden benched star players who’d violated team rules during big games. Eric Liddell said no to his dream of running his event at the Olympics to honor his conscience by not running on a Sunday. Most recently, Scottie Scheffler—in spite of his mounting victories—has continued to downplay the ultimate importance of winning compared to greater goods like family and faith.

2. Seek higher performance, not prideful dominance.

Athletes can likely think of a big game or match that elevated them to their highest ability level. The potential was always there, but the competitive challenge unlocked it. As Christians, instead of seeking to dominate our opponents and crush the competition, we should enjoy the thrill of high performance that comes when we go up against other excellent athletes. We can root for them to do well—this honors them, and it glorifies God as we’re pushed to new heights of skill.

3. Humble yourself and give God the credit.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 4:7, “What do you have that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if you did not receive it?” Not everyone is born with athletic skill and ability. We’re responsible for stewarding the gifts we have, which requires gratefully acknowledging they are gifts. We didn’t do anything to deserve them.

Rather than giving ourselves all the credit when we achieve success, we should praise God first and foremost. He made us. He sustains us. He’s the One who deserves the glory.

4. Build your house on the rock.

Building your life on athletic achievement is like building a house on sand. It won’t last. It’s foolish. Only Christ is the rock that never moves. Building your life on him is wisdom (Matt. 7:24).

Colt McCoy modeled this posture after the 2010 NCAA football national championship. Despite leading his team to the title game, McCoy got injured in the first quarter and was forced to cheer on his team from the sidelines. His team lost. During a postgame interview, with the opposing team’s celebratory confetti falling around him, McCoy was emotional and struggled to find the words. Then he showed the world why Christ is immeasurably more valuable than championships: “I always give God the glory. I never question why things happen the way they do. God is in control of my life and I know that if nothing else, I’m standing on the rock.”

Scheffler echoed this recently. He’s highly competitive, saying, “I love winning. I hate losing.” Yet his identity is rooted in the cross of Christ, not in athletic success. He continued, “It doesn’t matter if I win this tournament or lose this tournament. My identity is secure forever.”

For Christian athletes in high-pressure competitive contexts, this is perhaps the greatest reminder—and ironically, the biggest motivating boost. It’s OK to love winning and hate losing. It’s OK to be highly driven and fierce in your sport. But none of that is the foundation of your identity, which is already secure in Christ. So let that foundation fuel you to compete for a glory and purpose beyond yourself.

It’s OK to love winning and hate losing. It’s OK to be highly driven and fierce in your sport. But none of that is the foundation of your identity, which is already secure in Christ.

My dad had many accomplishments throughout his baseball career, but I was especially proud of him at his retirement press conference. After thanking the Orioles organization and the fans, he got up to leave the room. To the surprise of many, the press gave him a standing ovation. My dad’s friend turned to him and said, “Scott, I’ve been here when all the greats have retired, and I’ve never seen the press give a standing ovation to anyone.”

Why did they stand for him? It was because of the way my dad treated people, including the press. It was because he sat by his locker and answered all their questions even after tough losses. It was a testament to his faith and integrity. It was a reflection of how, amid all his success, he prioritized things—like other people—that were more important than baseball.

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