On Seventeen, the Stadium Course has fully achieved its name; sometimes it’s hard to see the golf through all the people. And should we ever doubt the significance of THE PLAYERS, the new Tuscan-inspired megalith of a clubhouse assures us that, while we might not be watching a major, we are watching something big, something important enough to require a castle.
Currently the Kings suffer the same modern dilemma that disillusions us in the Year of the Under Armour Curry Twos. All controversy and content, but lacking in discipline. The Kings fling headlines into the mediasphere like crap to a ceiling fan. They don’t bother with the directions on the dynamite.
“It’s meant to be! It’s surely meant to be!” screams the announcer. There isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that this is the winning goal, the final goal, the magic last goal. After the game, there’s a touching tribute ceremony to say goodbye to the Boleyn Ground, but there’s no greater farewell than this on-the-field goal.
The beach has a fever. All aboard the blimp to Huntington.
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Sitting in the bamboo bleachers, did you guys see the whale?
For being a Blues fan in exile is not even remotely the same as being a fan in exile for other teams. You comb the schedules of the local teams to see when, or even if, they’re coming to town. You calculate if you can get tickets, how beaten up will you get in the parking lot, and if just makes more sense to watch the local broadcast.
A blue-collar career sincere in both its toil and modest triumphs. For he is nothing if not this washed American myth rendered hardwood: basketball as less a game played than a trade plied.
Both Russell Westbrook and Kawhi Leonard destroy the teams they face. It’s a methodical deconstruction, a relentless attack composed by two of the very best players the NBA has to offer. They are young, hungry and will never stop coming at you. Ever. But they couldn’t be more different.
With a Champions League title in hand, and a ticket booked for FIFA’s Club World Cup and a shot at redemption, Mexico City’s Club America would surely be on its way to an historic 100th season.
It’s a downhill ride to Venice, California. Low tide this afternoon around half past one, and the water is 62 degrees Fahrenheit.
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Yes, snake handling is a sport. Now let’s eat this pizza in the handball court.
Writers and podcasters Ben Lindbergh and Sam Miller discuss their new book, The Only Rule Is It Has to Work, the psychology of a ballclub, scouting, stats, and what it would take to do it all again.