Each day it gets harder to hate the New England Patriots. How else can I feel when they sign former Carolina Panthers quarterback and league MVP Cam Newton while sorry franchises like the Jaguars and Bears had the audacity to pass on a human capable of accurately throwing the ball farther than six yards?
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Finally, the Washington Redskins made the long overdue decision to change its mascot after years of outcry due to its racist connotations.While its product on the field provides little indication of progress, the organization has at last decided to step beyond a time of horse-drawn wagons and smallpox with its ideologies.
What does it mean to be an American? This is a question which political scientists have pondered for centuries and which I have thought about for a solid eight minutes. My answer can be quite literally boiled down to two words: hot dogs.
I must confess, I am the worst type of baseball fan. My superficial appreciation of America’s pastime means I tend to find a steroid cover-up or sign-stealing controversy far more intriguing than a perfectly thrown changeup.
As a young child, there were just two things I truly despised — spiders and Tom Brady. I still shudder at the sight of anything eight-legged and hairy, though I eventually let go of the resentment I had for the Patriots’ long-time frontman and newly-minted savior of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
From clumsy dancing to cheesy senses of humor, the line between father and mascot is virtually imperceptible.
The NBA recently announced it would conduct the remainder of its 2020 season at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. While 22 squads will strive for a fairytale ending, eight have already been disqualified from a trip to the Magic Kingdom.
Among Giannis Antetokounmpo’s array of aliases is ‘The Alphabet,’ and I am about to allow you to ascertain why.
Growing up white, I was taught to brush my teeth twice a day, use a tissue when I blow my nose and always say please and thank you.
To shave, or not to shave? That is the question for a world of men in quarantine, including several high-profile NFL personalities.
Mere months ago, the idea of sports without live audiences sounded utterly ludicrous. How is my favorite team supposed to win if I’m not there verbally defaming the opposing players?
Not every son or daughter is equipped to celebrate Mother’s Day gracefully.
The IU Department of Intercollegiate Athletics celebrated the Spirit of Indiana Showcase on April 27 via Facebook Live. Despite limitations on social gatherings due to the coronavirus pandemic, the 10th annual ceremony acknowledged the achievements of more than 50 student-athletes.
I consider myself a fairly below-average sports fan, which is to say I eagerly consume football and basketball and not much else.
With a pandemic sweeping the nation, the NFL conducted the first-ever virtual draft Thursday. There was no in-person audience to rain down boos and occasional cheers. Absent were the swarms of photographers to capture sharp suits and perfect smiles worn by first-round picks.
Centuries ago in ancient Rome, masses of impassioned men and women would congregate to marvel at chariot races. Competitors fought relentlessly in hopes of bringing pride to their factions, but were rewarded with bloodshed as often as honor.
"The Last Dance," a docuseries examining Michael Jordan’s final championship season with the Chicago Bulls, is an unapologetically raw glimpse into the mind of basketball’s most storied icon. However, it is hardly the first of its kind.
It’s shameful that at one point in human history, bloodthirsty spectators would gather by the thousands to watch gladiators tear one another limb from limb. Nowadays, the men bashing each other’s skulls in for our amusement at least get the occasional Gatorade sponsorship.
Across the country, triumphant blaring pours from marching bands. Young women in multicolored skirts and bows are sent somersaulting toward the sky. Irate spectators enlist an extensive vocabulary to threaten referees with bodily harm.
Weeks have passed since your lungs felt fresh air. You no longer recognize human voices if they aren’t crackling through a grainy Zoom call. At this point, it’s difficult to discern where flesh ends and sweatpants begin.