Inside the Yankees fridge, there’s a plethora of leftovers. The lobster isn’t fresh. The filet mignon is long gone. But, this is it. Hal’s done shopping.
“To be in the big leagues has been my dream ever since I was a little kid … I use it as a little extra motivation, because I don’t want to hear that phone call again.”
Days after releasing a handwritten apology to fans, A-Rod may have created another reason to say he’s sorry by not giving his bosses a heads up that he was en route to spring training.
I love when performers confront their hecklers in surgical fashion, like Colin Kaepernick did Wednesday.
I love classic rock, but I cannot listen to the Yankees play the same Boston and Bad Company songs again. They need to become more of a progressive college radio station.
If you still expect Anthony to miss this All-Star party, you were probably shocked, too, when Bobby Brady miraculously recovered from a “sickness” to play catch with Joe Namath in his backyard.
Well that didn’t take long! Six weeks to the day since I predicted here that a fan-protest campaign would get rerouted from the Jets’ complex to MSG, my vision is nearing fruition.
Determined to remain relevant with current American culture, our two newest governors of sport rocked our world this week.
I have recognized myself growing increasingly irritated by baseless, ignorant, and dangerous commentary about Bruce Jenner.
Gambling on the Super Bowl reminds me of boozing on New Year’s Eve. Even those who don’t partake the other 364 days tend to grant themselves an evening pass from purity.
I see enough evidence to merit charges. Odds on a conviction are high, I believe. I don’t care who pulled the trigger — or the pin, in this case.
When I initially read about the deflated footballs a few hours after the AFC Championship game last Sunday, I smiled and shook my head. “Belichick! … Again,” I said to myself. I sounded like Jerry Seinfeld grunting, “Newman!”
Inspired by the latest alleged shenanigans of the New England Patriots, I got artsy and satirized one of our great American classic rock songs, “The Weight.” Sing along, friends.
Does Rex Ryan remind me of Peter Griffin? Absolutely. Is Rex reminiscent of Homer Simpson? There’s no question.
Wouldn’t it be something if pro sports were kept accountable by widespread legalized gambling?