America’s Pastime
byMy relationship with sports directly parallels the rise and fall and slow repair of my relationship with my dad. He was my best friend. He perfected the art of throwing…
Sports
Only So Many
byGrowing up outside of Boston my friend Bomb, his real name was Thomas, had a saying. “You’re only allowed so many baskets in a lifetime.” I wasn’t sure if he…
The Mind-Body Problem: Hurdling with Anxiety
byWhat happens when the body fails us? In 2012, at eighteen I clipped the fourth hurdle in the state qualifying 300-meter hurdle race and fell. I couldn’t finish, either from…
Entitled
byAs kids we played football in the school parking lot, tearing our jeans, and bloodying our elbows on the uneven asphalt, pretending to be Black NFL players. I was my…
For the Love of Donnie Baseball
byI wanted to be Don Mattingly. A power-hitting first baseman with a Mario moustache and greasy slabs of eye black streaked across his cheekbone, he was the type of man…
Tidal Wave
byOn this August afternoon, the summer sun blazing in the western sky, I’m one of 15,000 enthusiastic spectators watching a women’s professional soccer match. Men, women, and children cheer from…
Love in the Time of Horse Collars
byIn 1979 my father refused to prosecute Dan Hampton. The then rookie Chicago Bears defensive lineman had been arrested for driving under the influence the night after he helped the…
Comrades
bySometimes, you know you have to do a thing, even if you can’t say why. But sitting in the taxi on the way to LAX, I couldn’t help but wonder…
The Queens of the Mountains
byUntil recently, the Tour de France, the most momentous contest in professional cycling and a headline event in world sports, provided no opportunity for women. The most esteemed female cyclists…
Missed Opportunities
byBy the spring of our freshman year of high school, Jimmy had been afforded sufficient opportunity to showcase his general—which is to say, abject and uncorrectable—lack of athleticism. Even under…