When a hundred or so well-connected, well-heeled Barack Obama supporters attended a Silicon Valley fund-raiser for the candidate at the home of Symantec CEO John Thompson and his wife, Sandi, in June 2007, they were a bit shocked by the figure greeting them at the door. There was the smiling face of Los Angeles Clippers point guard Baron Davis, who later emceed the event and did everything that night but serve the hors d'oeuvres. When it came time to introduce the candidate himself, it was Davis who did the honors, not the hosts, who are minority owners of Davis's former team, the Golden State Warriors. Before handing the microphone over to Obama, Davis bellowed, "Without further ado, the next president of the United States!" and presented to the candidate a Warriors jersey with OBAMA 08 on the back. "That," says Davis, "was definitely one of the highlights of my life."

A coast away, Boston Red Sox pitcher Curt Schilling has taken a similarly active role supporting John McCain. He has taped a series of ads for the Republican nominee, and he has touted McCain's candidacy on his popular blog, 38pitches.com. "If you vote for someone just because a celebrity does, you're an idiot," he says. "At the same time, if I can help draw attention to McCain and get people to hear his message, I'm going to do that. He knows I'm a phone call away."

Two weeks ago Obama accepted the Democratic party's nomination at Invesco Field, home of the Denver Broncos. Last week McCain was officially nominated by the Republicans at St. Paul's Xcel Energy Center, the arena for the NHL's Minnesota Wild. And this is fitting. Galvanized largely by the presidential election, the intersection between sports and politics is increasingly busy. After years of collective apathy, athletes across sports, from stars to scrubs, are speaking out on issues and social causes, endorsing not just sneakers and cars and sports drinks, but candidates and agendas as well. "Now, with everything going on, if you care about the integrity of the world," says Davis, "how can you not take a stand?"

Davis met Obama for the first time in 2006. During the NBA off-season Davis had addressed the Congressional Black Caucus on the issue of health care for minorities, one of his pet causes. He returned to Washington a few weeks later and met with Obama. After a minimum of small talk, he began bending Obama's ear about what he calls his "main cause": the lack of educational opportunities in the inner city. Davis recalls Obama's response. "He was a human being who didn't have clichés and wasn't trying to sell me something," says Davis. "He had strategic advice for me: Engage the community and use your platform. He saw things from all angles."

When Obama announced his candidacy last year, Davis wrote a check for $2,300, the max an individual may contribute to a single candidate. He then asked the campaign what else he could do to help, and that led to his fund-raising activity. "You know how, as an athlete, you want to be in the game, not on the bench or the sidelines?" says Davis, who signed with the Clippers in July. "I want my man to win, and I want to be involved."

Schilling's ties to McCain go further back. When the McCain campaign contacted him about, well, shilling for the Arizona senator, the decision was really no decision at all. The two have been friends since 2000, when the pitcher joined the Arizona Diamondbacks, and have worked together on issues pertaining to veterans' benefits and melanoma. (McCain and Schilling's wife, Shonda, are both skin-cancer survivors.)

A few weeks before last winter's New Hampshire presidential primary, McCain held a town meeting in Manchester. Most of the crowd of 300 or so thronging the auditorium of a local school had already gotten wind that Schilling would be introducing the Arizona senator. Schilling spoke briefly and gave the obligatory intro: "Now I will turn it over to the next president of the United States!" McCain appeared on stage, and the two men exchanged some lighthearted, sports-themed yucks. But it was what came next that astonished the crowd.

Instead of surrendering the microphone, Schilling stayed on the stage with McCain and took questions from the audience. For upward of an hour, the pitcher and the candidate addressed topics ranging from health care to the war in Iraq to curbing America's reliance on foreign oil. Recently Schilling expanded on his reasons for supporting McCain: "First and foremost, he's a quality human being. [I'm] a military brat, [so] his service to the country is a big deal to me. Unfortunately I think it's less of a priority for a lot of people nowadays, but I think it matters. ... He's accountable. He's experienced. He's going to be the same person in the Oval Office as the person I voted for."

Like Davis and Schilling, an increasing number of athletes are endorsing presidential candidates and speaking out on issues. Ultimate Fighting Championship star Chuck Liddell supports McCain, while Detroit Pistons guard Chauncey Billups introduced Obama at a rally this summer. Milwaukee Brewers pitcher Jeff Suppan, a pious Catholic, has actively protested embryonic stem cell research. NBA journeyman Ira Newble, the son of a civil rights activist, traveled to Africa to call attention to the humanitarian crisis in Darfur. Houston Rockets forward Tracy McGrady also spent a week in Darfur during the 2007 off-season at the urging of teammate Dikembe Mutombo. McGrady was so moved by what he witnessed that he financed the forthcoming Darfur documentary, Not a Game, and has plans to establish a network of small schools in the refugee camps. (Joey Cheek, the gold-medal-winning speedskater at the 2006 Turin Games, would have attended the Beijing Games as a Darfur activist had the Chinese government not revoked his visa at the last minute.)

No longer is politics the conversational equivalent of a no-fly zone. Says Martina Navratilova, a first-team athlete-activist, "It's like athletes have woken up to what actors and musicians have known forever: I have this amazing platform -- why not use it?"

Let's be clear: This generation of jocks will never be confused with their predecessors in the 1960s and '70s, who risked going to jail by refusing to fight in the Vietnam War (Muhammad Ali), stood on the Olympic medal platform lifting black-gloved fists of protest (Tommie Smith and John Carlos) and admitted having had an abortion when publicly supporting the Roe v. Wade decision (Billie Jean King). But today's athletes have come a long way from the political indifference of the '80s and '90s, an era characterized not by raised fists but by open palms. That period was perhaps best defined by Michael Jordan's famously declining to support Harvey Gantt, an African-American Democrat running for a Senate seat against archconservative Jesse Helms in Jordan's home state of North Carolina, saying, "Republicans buy shoes, too." Compare that declaration to the statement of Davis, who says when he was told "the more I spoke out about politics, the more I would turn corporate sponsors off," responded, "Who gives a s---?"

"Our issues aren't as overt [as in the '60s and '70s]," says Orlando Magic center Adonal Foyle. "You don't see blatant racism and dogs gnawing at people and fire hoses. The politics are more subtle. But, trust me, we're discussing the same issues -- the election, Reverend Wright, the war in Iraq, the economy -- as everyone else. ... I think [athletes] are definitely getting more engaged."

Foyle, in fact, may be the standard-bearer for athletes who can leave a mark in ways other than winning titles. A native of St. Vincent and the Grenadines in the Caribbean, Foyle attended Colgate, where he was struck by the level of political indifference on campus and in the United States. A history major, Foyle diagnosed the cause: money. "Young people were feeling that politics didn't represent them," he says. "It was all about the big donors. There was a feeling that a small minority of the wealthy and corporate interests were making the decisions."

Foyle joined the NBA in 1997 and four years later founded Democracy Matters, a nonprofit, nonpartisan group that, according to its mission statement, "works to get big private money out of politics and people back in." Today, there are Democracy Matters chapters on some 70 college campuses, and, as he has for most of his NBA career, Foyle spent much of this off-season extolling the virtues of publicly financed elections and teaching college kids about grassroots organizing and writing petitions.

Because his organizational is nonpartisan, Foyle is reluctant to endorse either Obama or McCain. But an uncommonly large number of athletes are happy to throw their weight behind a candidate. For instance, Sacramento Kings forward Spencer Hawes is a McCain man. Hawes's car is adorned with a bumper sticker declaring GOD BLESS GEORGE W. BUSH -- "There's nail marks where people have tried to scrape it off," he says -- and he started a Facebook group for fellow devotees of the conservative pundit Ann Coulter. Florida Marlins first baseman Luis Gonzalez is a McCain supporter. So is San Diego Chargers coach Norv Turner.

According to public campaign finance records, Phoenix Mercury guard Diana Taurasi, Chicago Cubs first baseman Derrek Lee and Chicago Blackhawks leftwinger (in a hockey sense) Ben Eager are among the athletes who have contributed to Obama's campaign. "If we're going to talk about athletes getting involved in politics and social causes, and using their celebrity and how that's on the rise," says Peter Dreier, a politics professor at Occidental College, "you can't ignore the impact of Obama."

In particular, it would be naive to ignore the issue of race. It stands to reason that Obama would find favor in a workforce disproportionately represented by African-Americans. And never mind that Obama's brother-in-law, Craig Robinson, is the basketball coach at Oregon State. You'd be hard-pressed to name another candidate who's spent more photo ops shooting jumpers and talking sports. Rick Wade, a senior adviser to Obama, claims that courting the support of athletes has been a specific campaign strategy. As Obama tells SI, "I appreciate all these athletes, as they have a unique ability to reach out to people who might not normally engage in politics." (The McCain press office did not respond to repeated interview requests for this story.)

How do athletes vote? When former players enter politics after their careers end, Dreier says, there's a virtual 50-50 split between Democrats and Republicans. That is, for every Senator Jim Bunning (R., Ky.) there's a former Senator Bill Bradley (D., N.J.); for every Congressman Heath Shuler (D., N.C.) there's a Congressman Steve Largent (R., Okla.) And traditional stereotypes don't necessarily hold. For all the athletes who grew up with left-leaning parents or benefiting from liberal social programs, many end up gravitating to the right. As agent Leigh Steinberg puts it, "You know the joke: The definition of a conservative is a liberal who just saw the withholding from his bonus check."

Joke or not, it's no coincidence that the decline of athletes' activism coincided with the rise of big money, both from contracts and endorsement opportunities. As Jordan articulated, the athlete who adopts a cause risks alienating a block of consumers. Last season Newble wrote an open letter to the Chinese government condemning China for its role in the Darfur crisis and asked his Cleveland Cavaliers teammates to join him in signing it. While most did, LeBron James refused, claiming that he was insufficiently informed on the issues to take a stand, many suspected that, in fact, his off-court income, particularly from Nike, drove his decision. Likewise, while James has reportedly contributed $20,000 to a committee devoted to electing Obama, he has thus far declined the campaign's invitation to make a public endorsement.

Navratilova thinks that today's players are able to exist in a jock cocoon, insulated from issues affecting society at large. "Muhammad Ali was an activist [in part] because he got drafted," she says. "If [some of today's athletes] got shipped to Iraq, I guarantee we'd hear them speak up."

But for those who long for more political involvement from their sports idols, they might want to be careful what they wish for. Former slugger Kirk Gibson, now a Diamondbacks coach, warns, "Just because you're a great athlete doesn't mean you know what you're talking about."

Athletes' activism also can come cloaked in colors other than blue and red. Green, for instance. Throughout his eight-year NHL career, Boston Bruins defenseman Andrew Ference has considered himself a practicing environmentalist. When the weather permits, he leaves his hybrid car at home and bikes to games. He composts. "Pretty much go down the list, and I try to do it in my personal life," he says.

Two years ago, Ference, then with the Calgary Flames, became friendly with David Suzuki, the Wayne Gretzky of Canadian environmentalism. As they talked, Ference became aware of the adverse relationship between pro sports and the planet's health. Ference and Suzuki figured out that, with air travel, bus travel and hotel stays, NHL players are responsible for about 50% more carbon emissions than the average North American.

Ference's idea: He encouraged his teammates to go "carbon-neutral," investing in carbon offsets to nullify the players' harmful impact on the environment. It started as a modest program, but after most of Ference's teammates signed on, he took it leaguewide. Now more than 500 pro hockey players have pledged to go carbon-neutral. Teams have contacted Ference about "greening their arenas." The Phoenix Coyotes, for instance, recently began using biodegradable utensils at their concession stands. Even businesses outside of hockey have contacted him about becoming more environmentally conscious. "Usually it's the teams or sponsors urging the players to do more," says Ference. "Hopefully fans see a program like this, think about the issues and try to do more in their personal lives. It's not changing the world, but it's a start."

Ference has taken some occasional grief for his work. He tells the story of having an on-ice fight with another player. In between punches, his opponent snarled, "Why don't you go save the f------ world?"

In the end, Ference says, who cares? "We're showing that we care about something bigger than the size of our cars or how fast our sports cars are. ... To me it's pretty simple: When you're a professional athlete and people look up to you, you have a responsibility to represent something."