God creates us to compete. He creates us to win. It matters. But

Host: The locker room smelled of sweat, leather, and the faint metallic tang of victory that wasn’t yet certain. Outside, the roar of the stadium was a living creature — pulsing, breathing, chanting the names of men chasing a dream made of seconds. The clock ticked toward kickoff. The fluorescent lights hummed above, flickering slightly, like nervous hearts.

Jack sat on a wooden bench, lacing his boots with slow precision. His hands were steady, but his eyes were distant — grey and calculating, like stormlight behind glass. Jeeny, standing by the doorway, watched him with quiet fire. Her hair was tied back, her voice low but unwavering.

Pinned to the wall above them was a quote printed on white paper, slightly crumpled from the years:

“God creates us to compete. He creates us to win. It matters. But you've got no chance if you don't do your best.”
— Dabo Swinney

Jack: (without looking up) “God creates us to compete, huh? Sounds like another coach trying to dress ambition in holiness.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s truth wrapped in adrenaline. You ever think competition might be sacred, Jack? That striving itself is part of creation?”

Host: The lights flickered once, casting their faces into momentary shadow — two halves of belief clashing like steel.

Jack: “Sacred? No. It’s survival. Evolution in a jersey. The strong win because that’s how the world stays sharp. God’s got nothing to do with it.”

Jeeny: “Then why do people pray before games? Why do they kneel when they win, cry when they lose? Competition isn’t just about victory — it’s about purpose. About pushing the soul toward something higher.”

Host: The buzz of the overhead lights mixed with the dist