Only in the Super Bowl can a golfer (Phil Mickelson), a hockey star (Sidney Crosby) and a socialite/TV personality (Kim Kardashian) figure into the outcome of a wager. This is a football game unlike any other.
The betting public has already picked a side. The Indianapolis Colts are 51/2-point favorites over the New Orleans Saints on Feb. 7 in Miami, and Las Vegas sports books are getting flooded with cash on the Colts.
The books and contrarians will pull for Drew Brees and the Saints to slay the NFL’s Goliath quarterback, Peyton Manning.
If you see 301 hyperactive horseplayers at Red Rock today and Saturday, don’t be alarmed. The jitters are real, as the contestants pursue a $500,000 first prize in the 11th annual $982,000 Daily Racing Form/NTRA National Handicapping Championship.
It was at the Super Bowl a few years back, during the commissioner’s annual news conference two days before kickoff, when I asked Roger Goodell about the possibility of an NFL team ever making Las Vegas home.
Lake Mead’s striped bass might not be providing anglers with the fast-moving action they have come to expect, but every once in a while a lunker rises up from the depths and makes some fisherman’s day.
When the Bill Russell who played baseball was growing up in Pittsburg, Kan., the kids in his neighborhood would choose up sides at a place called Deramus Park. It was a literal sandlot. You know the type: All dirt infield, patchwork grass in the outfield, chain-link fence that bends and bows in places. Windy as hell, too, said the former Los Angeles Dodgers shortstop.
Betting against Peyton Manning is rarely advised. It’s not as dumb as staring into the summer sun, which is a no-win situation, but it does fall in the category of playing with fire.
I searched for a reason to feel bad about it, mad about it, somehow as an NBA fan (from mid-April on, of course) cheated by it, and couldn’t discover one.
His alarm clock would sound at 3 a.m., and by 5:30, Tom Smallwood would have made the 90-minute drive through Michigan to the General Motors plant in Pontiac. He would assume his spot in the assembly line and wait for the next truck to roll by. He would bolt in the seat belts, make certain the most important safety feature of any automobile was secure and await the next one. He would do this for eight to 10 hours a day, for about 400 new trucks a shift.
If you’re a bird hunter looking for one final trip before the sun sets on the quail season, you might want to consider the northwestern corner of Arizona.
Well, at least the time away didn’t ruin Brock Lesnar’s appetite for controversy. This can be a good thing for the Ultimate Fighting Championship. You can market a despised heavyweight champion as much as a beloved one.
Shane Mosley today is the intern trying to land a full-time gig, the freshman quarterback told to carry the senior starter’s helmet, the student with failing grades and no extra credit work completed.
