From Chicago to the Vatican: How a Detroit Lions Fan Became Pope and Predicted a Super Bowl Miracle for the Ages
Although Pope Leo XIV was born and raised in Chicago, his journey to the papacy—and his deep-rooted passion for the Detroit Lions—began to take shape across the lake in Western Michigan. It was there, tucked between the dunes and forests near Lake Michigan, at a now-defunct but once-vibrant institution called St. Augustine Seminary High School, that the young man who would become pope first felt the pull of faith, purpose, and football fandom that would uniquely intertwine across his life.
St. Augustine Seminary, located on what is now known as the Felt Estate, was originally built to prepare young men for the priesthood. The buildings, though modest in their original purpose, were grand in their aspirations—just like the boys who passed through its halls. Among them was a wiry, cerebral teenager from Chicago’s South Side with a fascination for theology, a curious intellect, and a growing appreciation for Detroit’s underdog football team. The seminary may have been intended to mold clergy, but for this particular student, it shaped a lifelong loyalty to both God and the gridiron.
Back then, the Detroit Lions were hardly a team that inspired hope. With decades of heartbreak behind them, they were more often the punchline of an NFL season than a serious contender. But for the future Pope Leo XIV, there was something admirable in their struggle—something pure. They were tough, unglamorous, and defiantly Midwestern. They fought in the trenches, week after week, often losing, occasionally winning, but always enduring. That kind of perseverance appealed to him. It echoed the spiritual discipline being drilled into him at St. Augustine. As his devotion to his faith deepened, so too did his belief in the Lions.
When he eventually took on the papal mantle, he surprised many by choosing the name “Leo.” It was widely assumed to be an homage to the many previous Popes who bore the name, particularly Leo the Great. But in interviews and writings since ascending to the throne of St. Peter, Pope Leo XIV has occasionally hinted at another inspiration. While Leo the Great was indeed a theological titan, Leo XIV once smiled and added, “There’s also the Lions.” Vatican officials brushed off the comment, but anyone who knew him in seminary recognized the grin—it was the same one he flashed every time Detroit pulled off a rare win back in the day.
That Detroit Lions fandom has always been a quiet but enduring part of his life. He’s never been the kind of pope to tweet out final scores or wear a team cap during public appearances. Still, Vatican insiders claim that during the NFL playoffs, there’s often a game quietly streaming in the background of one of the Apostolic Palace’s less formal rooms. And when Detroit reached the NFC Championship Game in early 2025, for the first time in decades, sources close to the pope said he beamed with what could only be called spiritual satisfaction.
The Detroit Lions making it to the Super Bowl was a moment millions had been waiting for—and none more so than the pope. To him, this wasn’t just a game; it was a triumph of faith, grit, and community. He reportedly told those around him that the Lions represented what was best about the human spirit: that even after years of defeat, there was always the possibility of redemption. “This is not just about football,” he allegedly said. “This is about hope fulfilled. The Lions have wandered the wilderness for generations. Now they see the promised land.”
As Super Bowl LIX kicked off, the global Catholic community watched with bemused curiosity. Was the Holy Father actually watching? Would he make a statement if the Lions won? And what would he say if they didn’t?
They got their answer in one of the most thrilling championship games ever played. The Lions, under head coach Dan Campbell, fought through adversity with the same tenacity their most loyal fans had shown for decades. With a powerful running game, an airtight defense, and a fearless quarterback in Jared Goff, Detroit took control early. But it wasn’t easy. The opposing team clawed back into contention in the second half, setting the stage for a dramatic final quarter.
With less than two minutes to go, the Lions found themselves down by three. In those tense moments, as millions held their breath, Jared Goff led a surgical drive down the field. On 3rd-and-goal from the 7-yard line, with only 12 seconds remaining, he fired a dart into the end zone—touchdown. The Lions led by four. The extra point was good. The stadium erupted. Detroit had done it. The Detroit Lions were Super Bowl champions.
In Vatican City, a small private chapel glowed with candlelight, and its only occupant—dressed not in papal robes but in the simple white cassock of prayer—knelt in gratitude. According to witnesses, Pope Leo XIV offered a prayer not for victory, but for thanksgiving. For the team. For the city. For every person who had endured loss, ridicule, and decades of false dawns. In a statement released the next morning, the Vatican press office said the pope “congratulated the team from Detroit on their perseverance, character, and demonstration of hope rewarded.”
But the story didn’t end there. Over the next several days, Leo XIV spoke openly—albeit briefly—about the symbolic power of Detroit’s win. “In many ways,” he said during a homily, “this Super Bowl victory reminds us that nothing good comes quickly. That faith requires patience. That love, whether divine or for a city and its team, must endure time and trial. And that joy, when it finally arrives, is that much sweeter because of the suffering that preceded it.”
Detroit erupted in celebration. The Lions’ victory parade was among the largest in NFL history. But even amid the roar of fans and fireworks, there was something quieter, more poetic, lingering in the background. A pope from Chicago who went to high school in Michigan. A seminary student who found solace and solidarity in a struggling football team. A man of the cloth who—without ever turning the Church into a sports bar—found a way to link his spiritual journey with one of sports’ most beautiful stories of redemption.
Pope Leo XIV remains a reserved figure when it comes to sports. He rarely comments, rarely watches in public, and never lets his preferences eclipse his responsibilities. But the Lions’ victory seemed to allow him a small, well-earned moment of visible joy. Vatican aides reported that after the game, in a rare departure from protocol, the Holy Father sent a private message to the team: “You have lifted a city, a people, and yes, a pope. Bless you.”
This unique connection between pope and football team might seem trivial to some, but for millions—especially in the rust belt, especially among long-suffering fans—it was a reminder that even the most improbable dreams can come true. It spoke to the enduring mystery of how seemingly ordinary moments in youth can shape lifelong loyalties and how, sometimes, the stories we carry from childhood—about teams, heroes, and belief—can echo all the way to Rome.
In a world often overwhelmed by division and disillusionment, the Detroit Lions’ Super Bowl victory felt like a rare, pure kind of miracle. And for the man who had spent his high school years in the shadow of the team’s spirit—long before the Cardinals and the Conclave—there could be no greater confirmation of faith. Pope Leo XIV didn’t just watch history unfold. He believed in it long before it seemed possible.
And perhaps that, more than any papal pronouncement, is the lesson: that belief—quiet, stubborn, unshakable—can take root in the unlikeliest places, and sometimes, when the stars align, it finds a way to bloom on the biggest stage of all.
