Legacy can be inescapable, even under quarantine. Browse SyFy or E! or USA Network and you’ll learn about wizarding lineage, possibly through the same film on all three channels. Since it can’t air the Michael Jordan doc 24/7, ESPN might show a replay of an NBA final featuring basketball’s most famous family. Maybe you’ve cut the cord and are filling time with Star Wars on Disney+. That shit is all about legacy.
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When I last had a full-time job, in October, Clay Travis was a talking head whose 10-year-old jokes were mostly confined to a Fox Sports 1 gambling show. In terms of TV, that’s as close as a person can get to being banished to the Phantom Zone. Any time I’d write about him at my gig–this happened a handful of times–many of the commenters would be baffled as to who this person was, and annoyed that I had brought him into their lives.
Read moreWhat we are looking at above is a number of specific answers to some larger and much more stubborn questions. This image, an original text in the Remember Some Guys tradition, bears the handwriting of a young Tom Ley and was furnished to this website by his mother, Mom Ley. It illustrates the results of an auction-style NFL fantasy draft held at a time that leading experts have estimated but not yet ascertained. That is what we know for sure. The rest is conjecture. This is the way it goes.
Read moreI’ve been thinking a lot about love lately. Mostly because I just wrote a book about it. But also because everything outside of my house right now is absolute shit and love, as it always has, provides refuge from all of the bad things. Not only does love itself provide a distraction that’s really purpose in disguise, but just THINKING about love can do the same. Hence, me firing up a cart, sitting back in my recliner, and treating myself to love songs both heartsick and triumphant so that I can bask in both love’s presence and in its memory.
Read moreIt sucks having to ask guests to take their shoes off every time they come over. I feel like an unwelcome host, saying “Welcome to our house! Here’s the first of what are sure to be many rules.”
Read moreStare long enough at a disparate set of data points and clusters emerge. If you’re an Ancient Mesopotamian, millions of scattered points of light in the sky become constellations. If you’re a bored, doodling mathematician named Stanislaw Ulam, cardinal numbers arrayed in a spiral reveal grouped patterns in the seemingly random occurrence of primes. Even if you’re a koala—hamstrung by a too-small brain, because you can’t muster the energy to sustain a larger one, because the only thing your body can digest for energy is literally toxic and will kill you if eat too much of it—pattern recognition helps you find your next meal.
Read moreAs much as the NFL Draft eats at the human soul and emits sulfur and methane in its wake, we may not have given sufficient thought to what happens when it ends.
Read moreThe ability of Ball Four to resonate unlike any sports book that had come before led to the swift and furious response to it as soon as excerpted sections hit the newsstands in the June 2, 1970, edition of Look magazine. Even before. The book’s title itself cued readers into the idea that this would be a baseball book like no other. “Sports books always had these upbeat titles, ‘Running to Daylight,’” Bouton said a few years later. “You never heard of a sports book called ‘Running to Darkness.’” During the season he experimented with various titles: “There’s More to Baseball than the Score,” “Take Me Out of the Ballgame,” “View from the Pitcher’s Mound,” “Bullpens I Have Known,” “Hiya Baseball,” “How’s Your Old Tomato?” and a direct reference to Jerry Kramer and Dick’s Schaap’s 1968 football diary—Constant Replay—were a few of the dozens he contemplated but never settled on. But when a drunk woman at the Lion’s Head bar on Christopher Street overheard Bouton and New York sportswriter Len Shecter debating possible downbeat titles (the working title for the book as described in the publication agreement with World was “Baseball Journal”), she slurred her way to literary gold by suggesting a title that evoked failure rather than success: “Whyyyyy don’t you caaaauull it Baaaaaallllll Foooouuuuuurrrrrr?” After rejecting it out of hand, they realized she was on to something.
Read moreThe NFL draft has always been objectively one of the more stupid spectacles on the sports calendar. Even those who consider themselves real freaks for the event, the people who spend the preceding weeks consuming as many mock drafts as possible, can’t help but admit the truth to themselves once the first round nears its end.
Read moreThank you for your continued support of Unnamed Temporary Sports Blog. See you tomorrow.