Rockies playoff baseball – Catch the fever! At 1pm on a Thursday. Leave it to the MLB to schedule the Rockies first playoff series in 12 years (which, shockingly, is two years fewer than the last time the Phillies hosted a post-season game) smack-dab in between daytime TV paragons The…
Whereas it is pre-emptively acknowledged that all sports mascots lose their appeal to right-thinking adults who have not sustained head wounds, and; Whereas it has become widely known that we here in Denver play home to the absolutely worst carpet-covered, shit-and-Febreze-smelling, sorry excuse for a cheerleading, anthropomorphized cartoon fossil, and;…
Most close games in sports are reported as one of two mutually exclusive options: Either this team won it or that team lost it. It was surprising, then, that ESPN’s Tuesday afternoon coverage of the greatest baseball game ever played in the mountain time-zone turned into a treatise on instant…
Midway through the 13th inning, with the Padres beating the Rockies 8-6, I stepped out front for my umpteenth cigarette of the night and started thinking about the lede for this story. It went like this: On Earth Two, inside the recently discovered galaxy ESO 137-001, 200 million light years…
October 2, 2007 Dear Rockies Fans, I take it all back. I mean it this time, too. To those of you who sauntered into sections 119 through 142 two innings late, toting toddlers you didn’t protect from foul balls while you sipped microbrews and talked about anything but baseball: You…
My sister, a baseball fan who’s married to another baseball fan, called me just after midnight in New York City. We’re watching the game, she said. Here’s a question. Is the Colorado Rockies mascot a pentaceratops that turns around behind the plate and wiggles his hands at the pitcher or…
If you need to ask who Lance Armstrong is, try the next three-year-old who pedals by on a tricycle. If you want to know who Jan Ullrich, Ivan Basso and Roberto Heras are, ask the people chowing down on VeloNews veggie cakes and LeMond lemonade at the HandleBar & Grill…
As rain spits from a low gray sky one evening, Mike Bostwick, perhaps the best fly-caster in all of Colorado, stands by himself in Aurora’s Utah Park. An observer can tell it’s Mike Bostwick (he looks a little like Stalin, but much friendlier) because of his rugged-sportsman-looking shirt, on which…
He takes it. The gritty stoic wearing the dirty uniform and the tar-crusted batting helmet takes Kevin Brown’s 92-mile-an-hour fastball on the left forearm and, without so much as glancing back at the mound, takes his base. A week later, a wayward Pedro Astacio heater hits him flush in the…
Bizarre. Jerry Rice walks through the Broncos’ spring locker room, courteously introducing himself to teammates who were second-graders when he won the first of his three Super Bowl rings. It’s like Bruce Springsteen falling by to trade riffs with your kid’s garage band. Surreal. Rice announces, “Hi, I’m Jerry Rice”…
Chunk Foster graduated more than a decade ago from the University of Wyoming with a degree in communications, and when a friend jokingly recommended that they head to Florida to caddy for a season, he signed on without a second thought. It was just the sort of half-work, half-goof gig…
It had to compete for face time with the Indy 500, a Cubs-Rockies slugfest at Wrigley Field and the Memorial Day cookout in Uncle Elmer’s back yard. But the Colorado Crush’s first-ever home playoff game, against the San Jose SaberCats, drew a big enough (and loud enough) crowd Sunday afternoon…
Here’s a brainteaser for you and your mountain-biking buds to ponder over a bottle of Fat Tire after your latest single-track adventure: Is a mountain bike a machine? It’s not exactly the riddle of the Sphinx. But like many seemingly inane sports ponderables (how, exactly, did Carmelo get into bars…
Even staring-mad, orange-to-the-bone Broncos fans were snoozing through the third round of last month’s NFL draft when Mike Shanahan exploded a major bomb under their butts. Maurice Clarett! You gotta be kidding! Only a lunatic on crack would take a chance on the whiny, divisive ex-Ohio State running back. Talk…
Growing up in West Virginia, Anna Mead dreamed of being an Olympic swimmer. It wasn’t just a young girl’s fantasy, either. When she swam in meets — her specialty was the breaststroke — competitive coaches would approach her parents and ask about her plans. But at the age of thirteen,…
Have you noticed? They don’t have a last name between them. George, Karl, Doug and Moe sound like four hackers who take turns hitting it in the drink at Park Hill. But down at the Pepsi Center — you know, that big red thing where, once upon a time, a…
A strong weekend storm has just dumped a foot of wet spring snow on Denver — perfect weather for the New Siberians. By 8 a.m., e-mails are whipping back and forth between the City and County Building and the Wellington E. Webb Municipal Office Building, across the street. “It turns…
HELP WANTED: Tradition-rich athletic team seeks nineteen- or twenty-year-old American who can run like crazed jaguar for two solid hours. Must leap like Michael Jordan, kick leather like David Beckham, possess hand-eye skills of Champ Bailey. Awesome physique not essential, but uncommon courage required — job involves frequent collisions with…
On February 20, 2004, Julia Parsons nipped out from her job as a Vail real-estate agent for a quick bit of afternoon skiing on the local mountain. It’s one of her favorite things to do, a big reason she’d moved up to Vail from Denver six years earlier. Parsons hits…
On a Monday afternoon in early March, the Johnson & Wales University athletic department buzzed with activity. Tom Pancoe, assistant athletic director, sports information director and sole team trainer, shoved Ace wraps, bandages and athletic tape into a boxy black travel bag. “I have to call the airlines to make…
Another big-league baseball season is all but upon us, and the prelude is decorated with the usual fond hopes — even in Denver and Tampa. But the game seems more deeply troubled than ever. Players shooting steroids. Barry Bonds on the verge of murder at a press conference. The Damn…
A few years ago, I started to notice clumps of scruffy-looking young men loitering around the parking lot of my favorite snowboarding hill, Loveland. Their arrival was in synch with my departure: My weekend strategy had been to arrive early and then leave after four good hours, hoping to beat…
