When pro football became an essential sport, Frank Gifford was an essential member. Twice.
The Mets have mojo. Six straight wins. A two-game lead. The best young staff in the sport. And a suddenly resurgent offense.
We know that an NFL team’s tolerance toward a player is often commensurate to his talent.
The Mets gained about 40 homers, thousands of fans, and three games on Washington in just a few days without unloading one player who would have impacted this season.
Tom Brady knows this is more than PR or PSI. It’s about legacy, which is probably as precious to him as a Lombardi Trophy. He should have thought of that a long time ago.
They were born about six months apart, signed by the same team, and seemed ordained to become New York immortals.
Greg Maddux is the greatest craftsman I’ve ever seen on a mound. Pedro Martinez is the greatest pitcher I’ve ever seen on a mound.
The Mets fan has been hearing the “wait until next year” mantra for so long that he has abandoned hope.
And while a sportswriter — specifically a New York sportswriter — shouldn’t admit this, I assumed George Steinbrenner was in the Hall of Fame.
Poor performance is never just one thing. While we try to pound the pinata, put on our GM hats every year, losing is a litany of missteps.
Every year, at some rookie symposium, some football elder stands before the crowd and tells his tale of woe. One day, Jason Pierre’Paul might be doing the same.
There really are humans, professed baseball fans and historians who think Derek Jeter is allegedly better than Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth.
Believe it or not, next year really could be the year, if this year isn’t. Just don’t jettison the very arms that got you on top of the arms race.
What is lost on the A-Rod Apologist, shrieking in indignity over the All-Star snub, is that he’s blown past the point of total forgiveness.
Making a mockery of Jasons everywhere, Jason Pierre-Paul has put himself in a most precarious place.