Jamie Smith is the basketball player that has undoubtedly kept college coaches up late visualizing all the rebounds and instinctive plays and clutch shots they might have owned had they just looked harder at those darn highlight tapes.
Sports Columns
Think of good problems to have. Too much work when others are being laid off. Warming a bench in the NBA while making the league minimum. Rock star with eight groupie dates for seven nights.
The chemotherapy treatments left her wanting only to sleep away the dreadful feeling of hell, but her husband and oncologist and teammates demanded she put on a baseball uniform and drive to the ballpark.
Santa Anita management cannot catch a break.
With the changing of the political guard, we all knew it was coming. Anyone who says different must be either in a state of denial or supportive of the onslaught. I’m talking about the barrage of gun control legislation that has been introduced for consideration by Congress in the past two months.
The best thing about the Cubs-White Sox game Wednesday night was that the Nevada Interscholastic Activities Association didn’t have any of its schools involved, meaning there was little chance of a forfeit or some NIAA official trying to remake the schedule in a way that would make sense only to stupid people.
No one had to tell him. He could see it growing on his father’s face. He knew something was terribly wrong.
This is the kind of car Kyle Busch drove Sunday in the NASCAR Shelby 427 at Las Vegas Motor Speedway: One that was loose all afternoon, needed major adjustments, wasn’t the fastest, started from the back and was average enough for Busch’s crew chief to say the team needed to scratch and claw and kick and spit and fight just to have an opportunity at winning.
The telephone was going to ring. T.C. Russell knew it as sure as he knew his name. It was going to ring, and he was going to answer, and life immediately would become more chaotic than the streets of Pamplona with a bunch of bulls running through.
Late at night, if you are within a bounce pass of Main Street, you hear the rattling sound.
One name jumped off the page when I got my ballot for this year’s horse racing Hall of Fame inductions at Saratoga: Bob Baffert.
To know Brendan Gaughan, you have to know about those six guys who were out of work in 2007. Some with wives and children and mortgages.