Say this for Tony Sanchez: He has spread the word about UNLV football like a politician might his platform around Iowa cornfields.
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The line was three people deep outside the Cashman Field box office, and two were typically intelligent Dodgers fans from Oxnard, Calif., searching for a way to make their money last longer than a few hands at the tables. The other person was my Review-Journal colleague, Ron Kantowski.
When he took his final breath at 4 a.m. on June 13, Malachi Briggs was 7 years old and no longer able to fight the cancer that had ravaged his body. He was at home in Las Vegas, in hospice care, his tumors inoperable and his loving spirit preparing to pass to a peaceful place without pain and catheters.
I'm not sure there is ever a live sports event locally where Chris Maathuis isn't holding a microphone. Einstein said it was possible to be in two places at the same time. Some days, it seems as though Maathuis is in 10.
Kenny Sanchez grew frustrated with every inside pitch, every side-armed delivery that backed him off the plate. He knew what it meant. He understood the message that was being sent. Older brother was making a point.
It was much different from the last time, other than the fact any media day involving Floyd Mayweather Jr. runs on restful and relaxing time, meaning the fighter probably does a lot of both while keeping everyone waiting far beyond the fictional scheduled start to things.
I knew something was missing all these years. I never had a fall guy. Think of all the rowdy shenanigans I could have created at those sports writer parties while debating fantasy drafts.
He would glance at the scoreboard and watch the seconds tick away, never stopping when the whistle blew or a pass fell incomplete, never pausing to suggest an ounce of competitiveness had snuck into the contest.
Kent Baer would be smart to remind those UNLV football players he now coaches that you can't begin the next chapter of your life by continuing to read the last one. One can only take so many horror stories.
Rob Manfred this week said his primary focus since assuming the head chair at MLB's dinner table was to indeed improve ways the game might reach young minds. He wants to inspire them, compel them to follow baseball and have them fall in love with the game. Is he fighting a losing battle?
James Harrison on Monday made national news for something other than trying to add depth behind younger outside linebackers in Pittsburgh, writing on an Instagram post that he was taking away the participation trophies until his boys "EARN a real trophy." The majority of responses that followed were as predictable as they were shortsighted.
You know it's sweltering when your iPhone overheats and its screen shows the temperature warning, that yellow triangle with an exclamation point in the middle, suggesting that if you dare push the home button, the ghost of Peter Graves might appear and your phone will self-destruct in a cloud of smoke within 15 seconds.
They tend to live in the moment around USA Basketball. Never reacting much to the past, rarely predicting the future. They also don't seem to hold grudges. At least not against one of the world's best players.
UNLV basketball coach Dave Rice spoke from a hallway adjacent to the Mendenhall Center's practice courts, several of his players gathering inside that doorway as the likes of James Harden and Kevin Durant and Dwight Howard and Carmelo Anthony and Chris Paul competed in drills. They watched every dribble, soaked in every pass.
We are gathered here today on this predictable occasion with much joy and relief, filled with hope that this will represent the final time an Arena Football League team attempts to make Las Vegas home.
Matthew Galdi doesn't remember how much sleep he managed that night.
The last time UNLV's football team received as much offseason coverage as it has since December was, well, never. The Rebels were splashed across the pages of newspapers and magazines that in recent years hadn't offered the slightest glance towards the program. All of it was terrific for the brand. And, as of Friday morning, none of it meant a thing.
Those savvy business types who have so brilliantly crafted the illusion that Floyd Mayweather has engaged a catalog of deserving and worthy opponents in the past decade just might have met their match in Andre Berto.
Kathy Duva agreed to take a look at the Russian fighter nobody wanted because that’s where her company has discovered much of its success, along the margin of boxing’s collection of talent.
The kid had a look on his face we have seen from his old man several times during a sometimes brilliant, sometimes inconsistent, never-without-extreme-talent career. Sort of brooding and agitated and cantankerous.
Brandon Stokley played wide receiver in the NFL for 15 years and won Super Bowls with Baltimore and Indianapolis. He also had stints with the Broncos (twice), Giants and Seahawks.
I suppose nothing is official until we hear the news via Shots or whatever social media application Floyd Mayweather Jr. prefers nowadays.
He has been described by some as a tragic hero, one whose error in judgment inevitably leads to his own destruction.
Think of the NBA and its perception of Las Vegas as the weekend tourist who only takes in the best sights, who catches a show and enjoys a wonderful meal and gambles just enough to experience the rush but not to the point of losing next month’s mortgage.
Seattle Seahawks star quarterback Russell Wilson has been as open about his faith as Calvin Johnson on a fly pattern after a cornerback falls down, saying God has spoken to him on more than one occasion regarding football and his personal life.
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