photo: Sports Illustrated
flag and fortune: author
Last week I had dinner with an old friend. We ate upscale Chinese with a couple craft beers to wash it down. It was good. We’d hardly seen each other since high school.
We met in seventh grade. It was 1968, when Americans woke up every morning pissed off. Racism, patriotism, Vietnam, drugs, flag burning, police brutality, women’s lib, air pollution. Pick the issue and someone started screaming insults.
A lot like this election year.
We got up to leave and I finally brought it up. “Y’know, I gotta say, about this Colin Kaepernick thing…” Continue reading “Let Him Sit”
There’s nothing but joy in this man’s game.
Munenori Kawasaki is remembered by Mariner fans as the bouncy Tigger® of their 2012 infield, a grin super-glued to his face saying how lucky he felt standing there, spikes caked at last with Major League dirt.
Who cares if he hit .192 in only 104 at-bats, appearing in less than half the Mariners’ games? That smile stayed on his face on the bench, lighting up the dugout. TV cameras loved the guy, check him out, what a great influence on his teammates, slapping backs, cheering on every pitch, just happy to be there. Continue reading “A Monkey Never Cramps”
Apologies to Dave Niehaus, but it was all I could think of. It continues. My oh my, it just continues.
Photo: Matthew O’Haren-USA TODAY Sports
Hey P, why the mask? Don’t want mama to see you on TV?
I don’t blame you.
People wonder why it’s so important to write about pedophilia.
Why? Because Penn State University just orgasmed all over themselves celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Joe Paterno’s first game.
The same Joe Paterno who was allegedly informed in 1976 of sexual abuse against a child by one of his assistants, then let decades of the same thing go by. Football was more important.
The same Joe Paterno who admitted, just before he died, that he knew about it and should have done something about it.
Why? Because ten bare-chested young men took to the front row of Saturday’s game against Temple, shoulder to shoulder, spelling out JOEPATERNO in Nittany Blue body paint.
Nobody’s spelling out the names of those decades of victims. Continue reading “My Oh My, it just continues!”