GLENDALE, Ariz.

There is a moment in the movie "Chariots of Fire" when the main character (Eric Liddell) is questioned by his sister, troubled with his devotion to running and fearful it might detract from his missionary work.

"I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast," Liddell responds. "And when I run, I feel His pleasure."

Sports and religion have been linked as far back as when the ancient Romans thought it a gas to throw Uncle Fred to a bunch of hungry lions, long before Liddell's life story made the big screen about the Olympic runner withdrawing from the 100 meters in 1924 due to a heat being held on the Sabbath, long before Jewish athletes debated over competing on holy days such as Yom Kippur and Muslims continued playing while fasting during Ramadan.

But even while many fear such a close relationship between the two factions might not be such a wonderful thing anymore -- you know, what with all the steroid scandals and off-field violence and win-at-all-cost mentality so prevalent throughout sports -- more and more athletes are thanking God following victories.

Arenas and stadiums have become makeshift pulpits. Post-game prayer circles are formed. Faith Days are more common than controversial calls.

It will be no different for some late Monday evening here, where the concept of faith and football has found a noticeable place in the BCS championship.

Ohio State plays Florida for the national title, and you can bet several players from whichever team is presented that sparkling crystal trophy will use the ensuing interview sessions to pay witness to their beliefs.

But it's as if such moments have become more formula than sincere. It's as if showing gratitude to a higher being is as commonplace as a running back giving props to his offensive line.

"I agree it is pretty cliché now," said Buckeyes senior defensive lineman Joel Penton. "People have become somewhat insulated to athletes giving glory to God after games. There is more to faith and football than a quick one-liner after a win. I don't think there is any harm to it, but there is so much more depth to it than what people see in that one (sound bite)."

Penton is more passionate about his Christian faith than he is the idea of winning Monday and is about as imposing a preacher -- 6 feet 5 inches, 290 pounds, dark goatee, a thundering voice made for delivering sermons -- as you will find.

He spends most of his nonfootball hours telling others about a calling he says touched him at age 16.

In October, Penton spoke at a campus outreach program in Columbus, Ohio. Organizers estimated 3,000 people would attend. More than 13,000 showed and even more were turned away by fire marshals.

"I am not asked to speak this often because I am so eloquent," he said jokingly. "It's mostly because I play football for Ohio State. I recognize that. But when those doors open, it allows me the opportunity to share my beliefs. Some are going to accept, some are going to neglect and some are going to reject. My teammates have been incredibly supportive, far better than I could have imagined. I can't remember the last time one of them made fun of me about it.

"I do think football is a way to use the warrior spirit God gave us, that He made us capable of violence. Not to commit crimes, but in order to protect our families and country. The controlled violence of football is another way -- a safe way -- to nurture that spirit."

Sorry, but there is nothing overly safe about football played at the level the Buckeyes and Gators compete, and yet Penton is not alone in his view that the game and one's faith are intimately linked. Another such advocate is Florida freshman quarterback Tim Tebow, the home-schooled son of a full-time evangelist whose association operates an orphanage in the Philippines.

Bob Tebow reportedly asked God for a fifth child, someone to continue his life's work. He received a quarterback who is now being treated as a savior down in Gainesville.

"I definitely think one's faith is part of everything we do, including playing sports," said young Tebow, who has worked at the orphanage the past four summers. "You can bring that faith onto the football field. I've seen it with a lot of guys on our team. I think my perception about what is really important in life is different than others because of my (upbringing). This (BCS game) is not the end-all, be-all. It's just not. Things like this will fade and diminish over time, but your faith won't."

It has come a long way, this idea of sports and religion.

A long way since Uncle Fred was dinner.

Ed Graney's column is published Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. He can be reached at 383-4618 or egraney@reviewjournal.com.