Grant Hill was a great player who could've had a greater career if some things had gone differently. Instead, over the course of a long career defined first by ease and then by struggle, he embodied a different type of greatness.
Fall on the track with your butt as your padding a couple times—everyone does, before painful repetition drills into you that kneepads are there for a reason—and you’ll have the fresh realization that your ass is just the very bottom of your back. This is how roller derby starts, and it is the worst you have ever been at anything.
Because it feels like home, and because it is enveloping, being a devoted fan of Major League Baseball can be an intensely comforting thing, especially when confronted with the unfamiliar. But, at some point, we all have to leave home.
Towson University's decision to cut some lower-profile sports was handled with a nasty and drearily familiar high-handedness. But there are a number of assumptions and value judgments underlying this decision that have significance far beyond Towson. Can unprofitable sports survive in a college sports scene that's increasingly about profits?
Ring of Honor World Champion Jay Briscoe is a fire-eyed, horrendously tattooed vision of backwoods vengeance, and he brings more passion than just about anyone else when he's ranting about the various ways he will hurt his opponents. In matches, he practically murders himself every time, which is a nice way of saying he gives fans their money's worth. He's also threatened to shoot people who tell his kids there's nothing wrong with gay people getting married. Is reconciling those things easier or harder than it should be?