Now, one major thread in that curtain is gone. L.C. Greenwood, he of the height and heft and six Pro Bowls and four rings, as central to the dynasty as anyone not named Joe Greene or Jack Lambert, died of natural causes.
Before other sports matched the money and none of the danger, boxing was must-watch theater, a distillation of the rags-to-riches narrative that personified the American Dream. And Ken Norton was Exhibit A.
Alvarez and Mayweather are fighting at a catch-weight of 152 pounds, which, if you’re looking for an edge, would probably point to Alvarez, the naturally larger man. But Mayweather has a way of making larger men look small.
Peyton is still here. He’s still active. Boy, is he active. And last night was more than dropping a double-nickel, like Jordan did against the Knicks on his comeback trail.
The Patriots knew the kind of person they were getting when they drafted Aaron Hernandez.
Not only do many of us see the Dodgers as a five borough endeavor, an extension of our blue-collar grit and white-collar elitism, but we now must watch our enemy rocket to the top with a Yankee icon at the helm.
The PED crucible, which we hoped would be microscopic by now, just won’t go away. It’s turned into a twisted game show of “Name That Cheat.”
The eyes of America are indeed on the Bronx these days where a certain slugger will make his home debut tonight at Yankee Stadium.
It’s with some, solemn pride that I say that I’ve been a de facto voice of the Joe Paterno opposition. Ten months ago, when winds of the Jerry Sandusky horror blew through America, bringing with […]