As a performer and storyteller, Virgil Runnels became a working class hero because he was a man of the people.
My best friend Jesse and his family were huge pro wrestling fans. I was pretty young at the time – no more than 10, probably – and I remember the Saturday, sitting in the living room at Jesse’s watching Mid-Atlantic Championship Wrestling, when they announced that The American Dream, Dusty Rhodes, was coming. I had no idea who he was, but Jesse’s mama nearly had a conniption. I deduced, from all the whooping and hollering, that this was a big deal. And it was not good news for The Nature Boy, Ric Flair.
We were working people, all of us, up and down Reid Rd., out Eastview Dr. and down to the end of the dirt lane where I lived with my grandparents. We were not especially enlightened on most matters, and it wasn’t hard to get a good argument boiling over a topic like whether or not wrestling was fake. Later on I’d work all this out, but getting a glimpse behind the curtain never dulled my love for what is now known as “sports entertainment.” Continue reading RIP American Dream: pro wrestling legend Dusty Rhodes dead at 69→
It’s early and I’m still processing the stories, trying to a) understand the scope of the actions against the congenitally corrupt leadership of football’s governing body, and b) read between the lines so I can anticipate what comes next.
1: Mayweather won a unanimous decision. Just like everyone who has been paying at least a little attention knew he would. Yawn. 2: I keep hearing people calling this the “fight of the century.” And by people, I mean beefwitted sports talk assclowns. Listen, douchenozzles, nothing involving two guys ten years past their primes who have combined to knock out zero opponents in the last six or seven years is a fight of the anything, let alone century. Unless that century is very, very sad. There was a pull-apart rager last week down at the assisted care facility over which is better, tapioca pudding or chocolate, that was at least as compelling. Continue reading Mayweather/Pacquiao review: three things to know→
There was a problem, though. The network obviously focused camera time on the Spieth/Dustin Rose pairing, which is where all the drama was (not that there was much actual drama once they made the turn onto the back 9), and they also showed us most of what Phil Mickelson, who wound up tied with Rose for second, was doing.
Referee Roger East fucked it in today’s Manchester United/Sunderland match, clearly sending off the wrong player after a foul in the box on United Striker Radamel Falcao. Fine. It’s a fast game and mistakes get made, even by the best of officials.
Rose will never be the same, but even healthy he’s never going to win an NBA title.
My friend Otherwise is a Chicago Bulls fan. I’m a Denver Nuggets fan. So we commiserate sometimes.
Back in 2009, Bulls point guard Derrick Rose won the Rookie of the Year award. The next year he was an all-star. And in 2011 he become the youngest player in history to be named the NBA’s Most Valuable Player.
The following year he was fantastic again, right up until he blew his ACL. As he was rehabbing, I suggested to Otherwise that Chicago should trade him, then and there. Yes, he was hurt, but there was no reason to think he wouldn’t bounce back and at that moment in time I’m guessing league GMs would have lined up around the block to offer the sun, moon and stars for him. Heck, who could have known that he was going to rip up his knees every 15 minutes, right?
I have one core rule: respect the game. Not only did Ernie Banks respect the game, in every moment of his illustrious career, in every second of his life, he played with more verve and sheer joy than perhaps any player in history.
Already this morning I see people on my sports lists debating whether Ernie was better than Honus Wagner, but it’s hard to argue the fact that he embodied, in just about every possible way, the essence of what baseball should be.
I’ve spent the past couple of days listening to pundits, casual fans and Patriot-backers emphasize, in the strongest terms possible, that it didn’t change the outcome. Some go a tad further, suggesting that it doesn’t matter if Belichick tried to cheat, so long as the outcome wasn’t unaffected.