Mortal Combat

"Mir·a·cle (n): something admired as a marvelous creation or example of a particular type of science or skill" Encarta® World English Dictionary

The same dictionary that rendered the above definition of the word miracle, informally defined a god as "a man who is widely admired or imitated."

That's a big deal. Massive. Humongous. Out of this galaxy big.

Ever since the inception of sports and competition, sometime back when giant lizards frolicked about the earth eating each other while cavemen could do a whole lot more than appear in mind-numbing Geico commercials, gods have roamed the earth.

These are gods in the manner of Encarta's definition, not the biblical or religious sense. Although, as sports become more and more transcendent of themselves, athletes are collecting fans that adorn their memorabilia and merchandise as if they were blasting religious allegiance.

Sports fans in America are still blingin' their iced out cross charms on platinum ropes around their neck, and those frostbitten examples of jewelry, more often than not, seem to be resting on the jersey of some famous athlete from some famous team, almost always accessorized with the newest team hat and pair of Air Jordans.

The church of the Jumpman, Michael Jordan's cult, following is made up of shoe-collector extraordinaires who cannot wait to splurge hundreds of dollars on the newest edition of His Airness' Nike shoe. There are even different denominations in the church of the Jumpman, basketball being the obvious favorite, but Yankee captain Derek Jeter is the high pope of the Swingman sect, a not-so-subtle spin off from Jordan's mega-following. Tiger Woods holds temple on the golf course and until recent scandals has enjoyed a flourishing almost-religious following of his Nike Golf brand name.

What happens when these gods are proven human?

Worlds metaphorically crash down. Sometimes the gods reclaim their high offices atop their respective sports, but often, they remain human.

Gods cannot fall victim to human weakness — that's how the greats are immortalized. The inevitable mortality of human life catches up eventually. Sometimes the gods just fade away by passing the torch to the next big thing – Gretzky to Crosby or Jordan to James.

Other times, it's not so graceful, or easy. Being human hurts, and to some of the greatest athletes in history, ever since the first single-celled organism made the first athletic maneuver back before time was even kept, the fall is fast, devastating and earth-shattering.

Earvin "Magic" Johnson was the messiah for the Lake Show. Behind-the-back passes, rim-rattling jams and constant dishing up of assists served as his water-to-wines or feedings of the 5,000. He brought glory back to Los Angeles in the form of the Larry O'Brien Championship trophy. It was all snatched back by a three-letter monster that would demand every ounce of his resolve to beat, and even then the odds were trillions to one. His nemesis was no longer the "Hick from French Lick." Larry Bird and his Celtics were no longer relevant, replaced by the HIV virus that was feasting on Johnson's seemingly immortal body.

The 20th century's most charismatic athlete conquered the earth in the squared-circle of the boxing ring, dominating the airwaves from Howard Cosell's microphone. Muhammad Ali crowned himself "The Greatest," and he was. He was a god among men.

Until 1984.

"The Greatest" was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, and it was eating him alive. The cocoon of Parkinson's forced the metamorphosis of Ali from the majestic prizefighter to a trembling shell of himself. The poetic smack-talking orator became a mutter of the past. He could no longer "float like a butterfly or sting like a bee."

The triple-crown king, Lou "Iron Horse" Gehrig was the second coming of Babe Ruth, undisputed god of the baseball diamond. Gehrig fell into mortality at the merciless hands of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a disease later nicknamed after him. His consecutive-game streak was halted at 2,130, while his disease stole his last breath in 1941.

It's not all bad news for fallen idols; hope is the most beautiful thing in their mythical legendry. Red Sox starting pitcher Jon Lester threw a 130-pitch no-no. Nothing special there, there have been plenty of no-hitters thrown – over 18 in Red Sox history alone. Only one no-hitter in MLB history has been notched by a man two years removed from chemotherapy. In 2006, Lester was consumed by cancer, and in 2008 he was riding the shoulders of his teammates.

Chicago Bears starting Quarterback Jay Cutler and Georgetown University's leading scorer Austin Freeman battle daily, on the gridiron and hardwood respectively, and against Type 1 diabetes. And pretty successfully.

Through life, and sometimes death, mortal men and women become immortal because of their miracles.

Their competitive approach serves as proof that winning is an attitude. The list of superhuman humans stretches longer than "Pacman" Jones' rap sheet. The odds of success is a number so small that it's dwarfed by Paris Hilton's IQ.

It's a result of dedication, commitment and most of all, every victory, on and off the field of play, is a miracle.

Get it. Got it. Good.