There was an Instant Classic on ESPN on Monday night, and then on Wednesday morning, there was this, in bold, black letters, on the University of Oklahoma athletic website: WEST VIRGINIA, KANSAS MBB GAMES SOLD OUT.
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When some of us were kids, bobsled was a sport mostly shown on two-week tape delay in black-and-white. It usually was on "Wide World of Sports" when Jim McKay still sported a crew cut.
This is a Christmas story that has nothing to do with the one that will be shown on TBS on a continuous loop Friday. This one is about UNLV coaches with soft spots in their hearts, and a Rebels basketball player who is much better beyond the 3-point stripe than he is with a Mexican yo-yo, and sick kids in the hospital, and the local sports radio host who brings them all together each year.
The last time I saw Ken Johann, UNLV's uber soccer booster, was at Johann Field — named for his son, Peter — on Oct. 18. The Rebels were playing Incarnate Word from Texas. Fellow humongous soccer supporter Tim McGarry, a former Rebels player who in recent years has continued what Johann started as a benefactor, asked if I had wandered over to say hello.
It was Friday afternoon at the South Point, and the women's basketball team from Stonehill College was playing Tarleton State in the annual Division II holiday tournament. That was one way to look at it.
Bryce Harper, the National League's Most Valuable Player, and Kris Bryant, its Rookie of the Year received keys to the city during a ceremony on the the 3rd Street Stage at the Fremont Street Experience downtown Thursday night.
It's Brigham Young vs. Utah, which is all the reason you need to watch the Royal Purple Las Vegas Bowl on TV — but only on TV, because the game is sold out, and it will cost a pretty penny to score a ticket on StubHub at this late hour.
Jim Livengood is excited about the upcoming basketball game between UNLV and Arizona. He's more enthused about the possibility of the women's Sweet 16 moving to Las Vegas if/when the NCAA lifts its cromagnon ban on official postseason tournament games being played in cities that offer sports wagering.
When I was a senior in high school, the Golden State Warriors were NBA champs. They had Rick Barry and Jamaal Wilkes, with the funky shooting stroke, and Clifford Ray. They also had Al Attles' leisure suits, and his pointed collars and pants, which often were loud or plaid.
When he was a little boy in Choteau, Mont., Flint Rasmussen said sometimes he would go to bed and not be able to sleep. He remembers hearing a familiar voice, and the laughter of grown-ups coming from downstairs. The grown-ups were his parents, Stan and Tootsie. The familiar voice was Johnny Carson's.
Clayton Kershaw, the ace of the Dodgers, a five-time All-Star, three-time Cy Young Award winner, and a Most Valuable Player if ever there was one — pitcher of a no-hitter and thousands of strikeouts and possessor of a career 2.43 earned-run average, best of the current era — couldn't get anybody out.
When the announcement was made Sunday afternoon, he was wearing a dark blazer, pressed white shirt with an open collar, dark trousers and black-and-white crocheted Nikes that seemed a cross between skate shoes and bedroom slippers.
In 1987, when I was the new guy on the sports staff, I was assigned to cover the National Finals Rodeo at the Thomas & Mack Center, because that was what the new guy did. A quiet man from Utah named Lewis Feild was awarded the gold buckle for being the best all-around cowboy.
It was just after 12:30 p.m. Tuesday at Clifford J. Lawrence Junior High School. Kyle T. Busch, originally of Las Vegas, now of a compound on a lake near Charlotte, N.C. — aka "your 2015 NASCAR Sprint Cup Series champion" — was having his ear bent by a school district trustee in the hallway outside Stacy Schaumburg's STEM classroom.
It was February 2001, the Las Vegas Outlaws vs. the Memphis Maniax, the XFL on UPN. Surely you remember the XFL.
The bartender looked at me in a bewildered fashion, as if I had just dropped in from Neptune or somewhere. This was Sunday, at Victory's Bar & Grill at the Cannery on Craig Road.
There's an image I have of Kyle Busch, the lead foot from Las Vegas who won his first NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship Sunday in Florida. It was before he built a reputation for being a more excellent driver than "Rain Man." He might have still been driving in the truck series full-time.
When people around here refer to the Rock 'n' Roll Las Vegas Marathon, they usually just drop the Rock 'n' Roll Las Vegas part.
A lot people, including young general managers and desperate guys trying to impress women in bars, are into baseball sabermetrics: WAR, WHIP, OPS, what have you.
These college basketball lid-lifters and early-season games against teams supposedly easily vanquished have not always gone well for Dave Rice's UNLV teams. The words "gasoline" and "fire" immediately come to mind.
Ken Schrader is what you would call a racer's racer. To use NASCAR chairman Brian France's favorite word, he just might be the quintessential example of it, now that A.J. Foyt has turned 80 and has too many health problems to drive much of anything, except for maybe a tractor on his ranch.
You wouldn't know it from his name, or from the songs he sings, or from the way he styles his hair that Chadwick Johnson is a singing cowboy.
The elbow caught Diamond Major square. It was as if someone had painted a target on the middle of her forehead and fired a bazooka. It was friendly fire — it was at a Lady Rebels practice a couple of weeks ago.
In its quest to remain relevant during football season, NASCAR foisted a playoff system upon the public. Now it has foisted drivers smacking into one another on the track upon the public, and the handing down of dramatic penalties.
Colin Cowherd was on TV again on Monday. He was interviewing presidential hopeful Donald Trump.