"The agony of defeat" is a cliché, but it's also as much a part of why we watch sports as the secondhand thrill of victory. To what extent do watch to see the losers lose, and why?

They weren't the Colts, and they weren't yet the Ravens. But the Baltimore Football Club, originally the Baltimore CFL Colts and eventually the Baltimore Stallions, brought football hope—and a Canadian Football League championship—to Charm City during their brief time in town.

In Brandon Roy, Seattle had the next best thing to its own basketball team: a player who was born and raised in the city, stayed all four years to become an All-American at U-Dub, and played for the next best thing to the Sonics. Now the city can’t even tie its dwindling NBA spirits to him. Like the Sonics, he was here and then he was gone.

Rob Mitchum

 et al.

Messrs Mitchum and Lawyerindianchief tour the wide world of sports science and report back with findings from SLEEP (the official publication of the Associated Professional Sleep Societies, LLC) and the hot November issue of Dental Traumatology.

David Roth

 et al.

The New York Post reports a lot of things, many of them false, gross, pertaining to lesser Lohans or all of the above. But the recent story about Derek Jeter tipping his hook-ups in Authentic Derek Jeter Memorabilia felt different. 

As the fights go on, it’s easy for me to feel the blows as they land because it’s evident by now that my ribs are bruised, though I’m not sure how badly. I’ve had bruised ribs before and they tend to linger for awhile, like a bad stomach cramp on one side that lasts a week or so; I meditate gloomily on this. Up in the ring, one fighter throws a head kick that seems to fall short, grazing the other’s face with a bit of foot; this second fighter takes a step forward, then cocks his head to an odd angle and half-pirouettes on his way down.

In the first installment of our occasional series on sports archetypes, we offer a look at the peculiar existence of the undersized white wide receiver.

Tom Scharpling knows next to nothing about the NHL. It’s not from any active dislike for the game. He's not opposed to it the way I am opposed to college basketball—any sport that allows a prime douche like Steve Wojciechowski to impact one minute of one game is not a sport for Tom—but hockey is a mystery that he'd never honestly tried to unravel. Until a misspelled vanity license plate convinced him it was time to be a hero.

In terms of their cover art, The Baseball Hall of Shame series of the 1980s look a lot like VHS boxes for lower-end teen comedies. But what's between those covers sounds uncannily like today's irrereverent, obsessive sports internet. There's a good reason for that.

Jon Jones just keeps on winning fights—most recently and spectacularly against Lyoto Machida—and making people angry. Isn't it time UFC started taking advantage of that last part?