For almost three decades, if you heard that the men’s basketball coach at the University of Colorado was going to hang around for another year, it was like learning that Captain Smith was still the skipper of the Titanic. In Boulder, basketball was a minor annoyance wedged between football season…
Bill Clinton, the new night clerk at Motel 6, decreed last week that for the foreseeable future, not one federal nickel will be spent on human cloning research. And he asked privately funded geneticists to voluntarily stop such tinkering down in the lab. What can the man be thinking? Just…
If the lords of baseball really want to clean up the awful mess they’ve made, they probably won’t be asking stormy Albert Belle to double as the game’s official spokesman. Mark McGwire, either. A huge slab of muscle who’s proven as fragile as a china figurine, McGwire has turned into…
That hint of springtime you feel in the air can mean only one thing. The attention of red-blooded sports fans in these parts will soon turn to the fluid dynamics of air flow, plausible stress-strain cycles at fixed impact velocities and (everybody’s favorite up in the Rockpile) the Navier-Stokes Equation…
He doesn’t remember much from that night at the Bossert Hotel, except that someone kept refilling his glass with champagne, and he could see from the windows that the whole length of Montague Street was clogged with delirious people. “We had to take turns going outside and waving to them,”…
MIAMI (October 3, 1997)–Say it loud, South Florida. The Marlins are going to the World Series. Playoff veteran Bobby Bonilla blasted a three-run homer off Mark Wohlers in the seventh inning at Joe Robbie Stadium last night, breaking a 2-2 deadlock with the favored Atlanta Braves. The Marlins went on…
Every time the University of Colorado men’s basketball team hosts the University of Kansas two hours before kickoff in the Super Bowl, you can count on an audience of, say, dozens. Street-corner preachers in sub-zero weather draw bigger crowds. So do doctors advertising specials on pre-frontal lobotomies. More Boulderites are…
You can take two million dollars out of Dennis Rodman’s checking account. While you’re at it, go ahead and set it on fire. With his endorsements, he’s paid seven times that. Every season. You can also take him off the floor and sit his crazy ass on the bench. Not…
If they look hard enough, Green Bay fans will be able to find bratwurst in New Orleans. When it comes to fulfilling desire, you can find anything in New Orleans. Of course, the Wisconsin snowfolk might do better to sample the piquant local sausage called andouille, which Cajun/Creole chefs put…
Let’s hope Daffy Duck buys the Los Angeles Dodgers. Or Boris Yeltsin. If the Bosnian government puts together an ownership group, writes a check for 300 million bucks and moves the team to burned-out Sarajevo, that will be fine. Maybe Madonna is interested. For all that it matters, she can…
Whooooops! Afterward, Lionel Washington couldn’t hold back the tears. A devastated Shannon Sharpe wondered aloud if he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror come Sunday morning. Or face John Elway. Sharpe predicted it would be “years until the Broncos get over this loss. Probably the next century.”…
Above all, 1996 was the year Denver wore the Scarlet Letter–that big red “A” at once symbolizing the city’s first professional sports championship and its shameless dalliance with the new kid in town. All hail immediate gratification: Marc Crawford’s beautifully coached, deeply talented Colorado Avalanche had scarcely forgotten the taste…
Here’s to you, Mister Robinson. Down in Ruston, Louisiana, the administration of Grambling State University and the same contingent of sour, win-crazy alumni you find at any losing school want to get rid of the head football coach. The coach wants one more year. One more chance to put an…
Just like that, Bill Musgrave is crushed in the backfield by a blitzing linebacker and the fans erupt in joy. Tom Rouen scuffs a punt toward the near sideline and the guy with the little Brett Favre doll on a string around his neck happily yells for another round of…
If you haven’t been to a Denver Nuggets game this season–and there’s no reason to go unless the warden’s offering a choice between that and lethal injection–here’s a report from the front. Let’s begin at the beginning. This year everybody on the team stands up for “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Even…
Shopping for a used car? Don’t want to put up with the usual hassles? Curtis Mannisto is your man. Curtis doesn’t bend the truth, and he never high-pressures the customer. You can bargain with him–up to a point–and you can rest assured that every vehicle on his lot has been…
Is it too soon to speculate that Evander Holyfield’s eleventh-round TKO of Mike Tyson on November 9 was an outright fix? Nah. Probably not. In the dank sewer of professional boxing, you hardly ever go wrong supposing that chicanery is afoot–especially when the greedy, bellowing figure of promoter Don King…
If you can come up with one good reason why Bud Selig shouldn’t be publicly drawn and quartered and his parts scattered from Fond du Lac to Madison, let’s hear it. Want to bestow mercy on Chisox owner Jerry Reinsdorf? Fine. Give him a nice schooner of Old Style before…
It ain’t no bandwagon. Ralph and Jimmy Garcia remember the day the Broncos got rid of their vertical striped socks in a public burning at training camp. They recall Lionel Taylor’s 100 pass receptions in 1961 and the moment when Jeremiah Castille fell on The Fumble at the three-yard line…
Ex-altar boys built like beer trucks still go to Notre Dame. The future Nobel laureates are at Stanford, absorbing Plato. Those who crave ice cream and river rafting are bonding with Kid Rick up in Boulder–and calling home on the free telephones. Condominium-sized sprinters who live for the scent of…
Think Ross Perot is a long shot to win the White House a week from Tuesday? How about the Green Party candidate for president? Or the Libertarian? How about Mrs. Grundy of the Civic Purity League? Well, to tell the truth, they’ve all got a lot better chance in their…
In the Acme Oyster House on Iberville Street, three big fellows wearing muddy aprons and yellow rubber gloves were shucking as fast as they could. The Sunday afternoon hangover crowd was packed cheek-to-jowl inside the Acme, harbored now from a steady, gulf-blown rain, but not from the whips and jangles…
