Whenever I’m slightly objective about the Yankees, I’m branded nouns unsuitable for family programming — particularly on Twitter, the toxic waste of human dialogue. Well, then I’m writing this in my HAZMAT suit.
The annual eulogy is real, just like the Knicks are really bad. Their ignominious run of wretched basketball is rolling out like a red carpet.
Three weeks. 21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. 1,814,400 seconds. That’s how long it is until Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather, Jr. finally bump gloves in Las Vegas.
Jimmy Lennon Jr, hall of fame boxing ring announcer, talks about his father, career and the Mayweather-Pacquiao bout on May 2.
The Bronx Bombers are about to bomb, for the third straight season. No tweet or Twitter troll can change that truth.
Joe Torre’s presence at Yankee Stadium on Monday was both comforting and haunting. A corporeal bridge to the good times and great teams, Torre also reminds us how far the Yankees have fallen.
While the white-hot drama of a Duke-Kentucky, Coach K vs. Coach Cal matchup would have been irresistible, the long-term impact trumps the ephemeral thrill.
Hundreds of millions will not only be paid to the two iconic combatants, but you can double that number in wagers.
It was a perfect presser and stroll down the years at St. John’s. Rookie coach Chris Mullin looked great yesterday, but it won’t matter much if he doesn’t produce tomorrow.
Virgil Hunter, renowned boxing trainer, talks Mayweather-Pacquiao and his new role as a CBS Sports boxing analyst.
Even if you don’t consider Coach K the equal of Coach Wooden — or even close — there’s no shame in coming in second place. At least in this case.
Some just don’t know when to quit. Some should know not to even start. Like Chris Mullin, who’s reportedly on the verge of becoming the Red Storm’s new head coach.
First it was Floyd Mayweather, Jr. poaching all potential sparring partners from Manny Pacquiao.
Kentucky basketball is clearly a dynasty. It’s a hybrid empire, with mutating parts every year plugged in by the program’s only monolith: John Calipari.
We need some action, some rain in the dry season, the fleeting moments before baseball really begins.