Articles

When DMX’s “Ain’t No Sunshine” started blaring over the arena’s speakers the tension in the room became palpable. Anderson Silva and Chris Weidman's entourage each took about ten minutes to reach the octagon, and from the moment the two combatants decided to forgo the ceremonial touching of gloves, we knew this was going to be a fight. And there is nothing like being at a fight.

David Wright is still young and still great, and has a lot of baseball left in his career. This is good news for Mets fans, but Wright's modest, half-goofy greatness already defines his team, in the best possible way.

The long fight for equality in South Africa is the struggle that has defined Nelson Mandela's life. So it makes sense that boxing was Mandela's greatest sporting passion, although it's a little more complicated than that.

By most reasonable assessments, the Pittsburgh Pirates really and truly are a good baseball team after 20 years of really and truly not being one. There's no harm in believing that, right? Um, right?

The afternoon symphony of car horns below my hotel window didn’t make for much of a lullaby, but then, this hadn’t been much of an assignment. I’d come to Brooklyn as a favor, to help a rookie basketball P.I. investigate a CYO point-shaving operation, which turned out to be just one kid with an anxiety problem and another who thought it was un-Christian to blow a team out.

The NBA free agent period has been as busy and spend-y as ever. But what's been most notable is how weirdly reasonable it has been. Can everyone here play this game?

Brett Favre did not leave things on the best of terms with the Green Bay Packers or their fans. But, for a variety of reasons, everyone involved is working towards letting those bygones be bygone. They'll all be a lot happier, and a lot lighter, when the peace is finally made, and Favre's number four is finally retired.

David Roth

 et al.

A frank colloquy on productive outs, unproductive PED investigations, sleepy free-associating announcers and the ongoing search of Los Angeles Times columnist T.J. Simers for someone, anyone, in the Los Angeles Angels clubhouse who will punch him in the nose.

Whatever club, whatever sport, the close season (or for those unfamiliar with the Queen’s English, “off season”) provides an extraordinary gift of hope: our past mistakes are excused, we start again. How often in life might we wish for that?

Andy Murray is, after a long and difficult rise, a Wimbledon champion. We can only guess at what it was he figured out that allowed him to get there. That's a champion's prerogative, and seems especially right in this case.