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How do teams wind up getting tarred with goofy, meme-ish Defining Things in the way the Mets have been with Bobby Bonilla's LOL Contract? Laziness helps a lot, but that's not quite the whole story.

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?

That sounds pretty lame,” he wrote back. “I should remind you, there will be over 125k drunk people in the infield. That’s at least 50k booties in jean shorts. Beers are 2 bucks.” 

Commentators like Tim McCarver make us wonder why we even need color commentators. Commentators like Sir Ian Darke remind us why we do. In between is... well, a lot.

Bartolo Colon is not one of the more exciting or electric pitchers to watch in baseball. This seems fine to him, honestly. What El Barto is after seems much simpler and more enlightened than that.

As college students across the country prepare to enter the real world following graduation, things will change irrevocably for them. Most of these things they're aware of: bills, lodging, ability to party until the wee morning hours. What no one ever prepares you for? The considerable gap between worshipping the heroes you hope to one day become and worshipping the heroes, now younger than you, that actually became.

The veteran sportswriter Allen Barra made the relationship between two of the greatest and most iconic players of their generation the subject of his new book. But the relationship between Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle was also about the relationships between stars and fans, legend and memory, and everything else.

It's the thing that broadcasters talk about and columnists decry in its absence, but "making adjustments" doesn't quite sum up the counterpunching dynamism of the NBA Playoffs. At this point, the glass-jawed coaches are at home, icing vigorously and updating their resumes. What's left are the best teams, sure, but also the tacticians savvy enough to compete in the playoffs' high-speed, high-stakes chessboxing matches.

There's no way to tell what Nate Robinson will do from one moment to the next. Nate himself seems as surprised as anyone, if not more so. This is what makes him infuriating, and also what makes him great. This is why we watch.

A young John Wayne. A chicken farm in peril. A hockey team that's sort of like the New York Rangers, and John Wayne playing hockey for that team to save his chicken farm. It's 1937, and it's about as weird as it sounds.