The NBA was a strange place in the late 1970s, if probably not quite as strange as the version depicted in 1979's gloriously batshit Jonathan Winters/Julius Erving vehicle The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh. Few things, really, could be much stranger.
Veteran big man Jason Collins has come out as the NBA's first openly gay player, which is good for him and the game and those of us who care about it. He did it with all the invisible but palpable grace and modesty that has helped keep him in the league all these years.
Late-season games between teams at the bottom of the standings are never easy to get through. When the second-to-last Flames visited the last-place Avalanche, things got dull on the ice. Off the ice, they got really real. A play in verse seemed like the right way to figure out how things went down.
From conversations with obese nudists on an imaginary subway to needlessly worrying about what's going to happen when the best player in the league attaches himself permanently to your team , a lot goes through the head of a fan on draft day. Eventually you realize it's best to just enjoy the ride.
R.C. Buford is the NBA's best and most consistently successful front-office operative, and has been for a long time. He has also never won the NBA's Executive of the Year Award. There are a couple of ways to fix that.
The NBA's actual awards are nice enough, but also dull and subjective and mostly silly. Here are some subjective, mostly silly awards that don't actually exist. Pablo Prigioni, you've earned this one. Kevin Martin, come claim your sad ham.
In which horse racing gets dressed up, orders a drink, and places a big bet on itself at Kentucky's Keeneland, one of the sport's legendary tracks and a place where the sport never quite went into decline.