I’m going to assume that at some point a wise critic once said that a great piece of art reveals the shortcomings of all similar works with startling clarity. If my assumption is wrong, well then I guess I am that wise critic.
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The first reference I could find in a newspaper regarding Andy Reid and food came on front page of the June 14, 1993 Stevens Point Journal. “Packer coach likes his milk,” the headline read. Two days earlier, Reid, then the Green Bay Packers’ offensive line coach, had defeated a local announcer and others in a milk-drinking contest. He’d downed 29 double-shots of milk. The report does not identify how quickly Reid, then 35, drank nearly a half-gallon of milk.
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Bruins logo via Wikimedia Commons
Nobody actually scored in the second period of Bruins-Jets on Friday night, but that portion of Boston’s eventual 2-1 win was by no means a dull prelude for the Jake DeBrusk winner in the third. Neither team could put the puck in the back of the net, but they sure managed to put their fists in each other’s faces, treating the Manitoban crowd to a marquee fight card while the score stayed deadlocked at 1-1.
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"Kansas City Chiefs v Jacksonville Jaguars - Players entrance" by Dis da fi we is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
The Patriots are dead. (I know that’s been said before, but it’s true this time! I think. I hope.) But any optimism that the NFL’s larger structural issue of the last generation—that the AFC is mostly garbage and it’s too easy for a decent team to come out of it—should be dampened by the Chiefs’ leisurely stroll to the Super Bowl.
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If you’ve been keeping up on your sports media news, you may have noticed something odd going on at The Ringer.
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Illustration by Tom Ley
In a Super Bowl run-up almost completely devoid of weirdness, contention, absurdity or ghastliness, it should be come as little surprise that nobody has made a thing of San Francisco shutting down the parade route for the team they no longer have a week ahead of time.
Read moreThank you for your continued support of Unnamed Temporary Sports Blog. More hijinks tomorrow.
What should anyone want from this damn life?
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Dominic Thiem, who’ll play in the Australian Open final, hits the ball like it’s a piñata: with the clear intent to destroy it, and with his eyes emphatically closed. (Consult a slow-mo if you’re skeptical about the last bit.) This has worked well enough for him, at least on clay, but something about the approach was unconvincing. I didn’t believe in him as a player until, suddenly, at the 2018 U.S. Open, I very much did. The blind power was beginning to develop a brain.
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According to a report from VICE.com, this weekend’s big game is the subject of much attention from the publishing world, with several outlets racing to be the first to inform hundreds of readers what time the game takes place. Unnamed Temporary Sports Blog would like to now pull back the curtain and reveal, for the first time, the answer to a question commenters have asked for years: What time does “What time does ‘What time does the Super Bowl start?’ start?” start?
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