Monday, April 21, 2008 at 11:43AM And then there is Barkley, whose career and life arc continue to evolve, just like his waistline. Barkley is becoming what Jordan could have been, perhaps should have been. He is becoming a voice and, as it turns out, the very thing Barkley resisted years ago: a role model.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008 at 09:51AM "When there isn't that sense of urgency and details, you know. How can we make So-And-So better? Do we have the right guys in the right place? … I think when that isn't a part of it, then I probably ought to get out of it. Sit around, and travel. I have no urge to do anything. Except coaching."
Monday, April 14, 2008 at 09:10AM The lethal combination of testosterone, Red Bull and YouTube got us to this awkward place. It's a place where a coach is a cult figure for hollering: "I'm a man! I'm 40!" And it's a place where a quarterback is a vagabond -- for not hollering back. Seven months later, the tirade of the century still has legs, and those legs are leaning against a rusted goalpost in Houston. The quarterback's name is Bobby Reid, and if his pulse is quick and his tongue is acid, it's because he's still stewing over the 3-minute, 20-second rant that "basically ended my life."
Wednesday, March 26, 2008 at 08:45AM Like any proud father, Davis Phinney marvels at the man his son has become. It is not because Taylor Phinney juggles his senior year’s studies at Boulder High School while training as an elite cyclist. Or because he speaks fluent Italian. Or that he is, according to his coach, Neal Henderson, “physiologically phenomenal,” a perfect combination of his parents.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008 at 11:10AM The track coach wears a vest of rigid plastic. Mounted at the shoulders, a great tangle of hardware rises to fix a metallic band in Saturnian suspension around her skull. Four long screws penetrate her scalp, locking her neck upright, chin parallel to the earth, sea blue eyes on some point in the middle distance.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008 at 11:03AM After he left the game, Rodriguez sat on the Hokies’ bench for half an inning, signing autographs and talking baseball. He said the day was one of his proudest as a Yankee. “Arguably, this is the most important game I’ve played in my Yankees career, because it makes you realize the important things in life and realize how fragile life can be,” Rodriguez said. “We’re all very proud to be here.”
Thursday, March 13, 2008 at 04:14PM On Tuesday afternoon, I witnessed a superhuman act of strength. We were gathered inside the West Angeles Cathedral on Crenshaw Boulevard, a mammoth facility with a balcony and video screens that's like a concert hall crossed with a place of the Lord. Only a few funerals each month happen here, mostly for Los Angeles celebrities and people with ties to the church. For Johnnie Cochrane's funeral two years ago, every one of the cathedral's 5,000 seats was famously filled. It's the type of place you wouldn't expect to see a 17-year-old kid lying peacefully in a coffin, not unless he was related to a singer or a politician or something. But that's who was there, and that's who we came to see.
Sunday, March 2, 2008 at 08:19PM If you read the story about Louis Mulkey and the Summerville High boys basketball team playing for the South Carolina state championship, you are not going to believe this. Mulkey, you'll remember, was a fireman there in Charleston, and when he wasn't putting his life on the line, he coached football and basketball. The kids loved him, but when he died, they found a hole in their lives. Mulkey had always been there when things were down and when things seemed hopeless. Just a week ago, with the team's season on the ropes, the crowd at the semifinal game began chanting the coach's name: Lou-is Mul-key!
Sunday, March 2, 2008 at 08:17PM Last weekend in Charleston, S.C., a bus carried the Summerville High basketball team to the state 4A semifinals. It also carried the memory of a man you've never heard of, a man who meant everything to the boys on that bus. His name was Louis Mulkey, and he was an assistant coach in football and basketball and, everyone says, life.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008 at 06:19PM When Bruce Boudreau first met his players as the Washington Capitals’ coach, he had no idea what to expect. His career, spent largely bouncing around minor leagues, had not taken him in front of the kind of players now judging his every move. So Boudreau was amazed when one of the first players to shake his hand in the locker room that November day was Alex Ovechkin, the team’s outlandishly talented 22-year-old left wing. “He walked up to me and said, ‘What do we do, Coach?’ ” Boudreau said. “That’s the way he is. He follows every direction. He does things superstars just don’t do.”
Thursday, January 24, 2008 at 05:01PM If Rick Majerus were like 95 percent of the men in his profession, he wouldn't have been anywhere near that Hillary Clinton rally last weekend.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008 at 12:13PM Nikki Kaasa donates time at the St. Cloud Hospital, working in the junior volunteer program in the surgical department. Eventually, she’d like to be an orthopedic surgeon. These days, she operates magnificently on ice. She’s a senior goaltender on the St. Cloud Tech girls hockey team.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008 at 08:39AM Giants punter Jeff Feagles, who is also the team’s holder on field-goal and extra-point attempts, has been around a lot of kickers in his 20 N.F.L. seasons. He knows that in the uncompromising world of pro football, they are ultimately judged by their failures. And, how they respond to them. “Because everyone misses,” Feagles said Monday. “Then what?”
Monday, January 21, 2008 at 03:38PM Is this heaven? It sure doesn't look like heaven. Over in the far corner of a 50-year-old college gymnasium small enough that "Gym" is still part of its official name, a man sits in a plastic chair watching a basketball team work through the third of eight or nine practices scheduled for the week. Every minute or so, the man, dressed in brown corduroy pants, a navy windbreaker and tasseled loafers, shifts uncomfortably. Every other minute, he bolts up out of the chair, as if stuck from behind by something sharp, and ambles onto the court.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007 at 01:54PM Jack O'Brien knelt down, and his index finger began tracing the etching in the black granite. It moved quickly through the curves of the numeral 3, the straight line of the 1, but lingered when it arrived at the detailed image of a basketball sailing through a net. He closed his watery brown eyes. His large forehead, made to look even larger by the way he brushed his brown hair up and back, became as deeply grooved as the granite. He stood up and stepped back, taking in the full image of the stone. Then he turned to the two boys he'd brought with him. "Nice, huh?" O'Brien said.
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