Woke up this morning after a crappy night of sleep. Checked e-mail. Then Twitter. “Jeff, did you see this?” It was a video of Donald Trump from earlier today, signing a bill that permanently guarantees health care funding for victims and first responders from the September 11 attacks. Here’s the
So earlier this evening, after learning we had another tragic mass shooting in America, I traveled over to Twitter to get details. I read up on this and that, that and this. The scene. The number of victims. The pure nightmare of attending a happy event, only to wind up
This former social worker made the unorthodox career leap toward journalism, then devoted herself to examining the intersection of sports and gender. The result: One of America’s most fascinating scribes.
Today I appeared (with my son) on Big Screen Sports to talk Teen Wolf. It was too fun for words. Here’s the link. To celebrate—a quick retelling of the story of Scott Howard’s jump to the NBA … The 1985 NBA Draft was a groudbreaking infusion of up-and-coming superstars who
As I write this I’m sitting in a neighborhood Starbucks, trying to wrap a book that refuses to wrap with me. I’m at a table by a window, and nearby sits a man who is here most days. He’s a big guy, brown hair, American flag shirt. And he’s developmentally
So the wife and son are out of town this weekend, leaving me solo with Casey, our 15-year-old daughter. Which is fantastic. Through the years, I’ve heard 10,000 warnings about teenagers and, particularly, teenage girls. They’re bratty, they’re selfish, they’re emotional, they’re demanding. On and on—all this awfulness of the
I was attending a Blind Melon concert a few months ago. There was an opening act—the John McCloy Band. I wondered what it’s like to be a seasoned bass player/math teacher jamming away in a small Southern California club. So I asked.
Working in the Newport Beach Bruegger’s Bagels. Love it here—many tables, outlets. wide open windows, manager is awesome. Plus, free coffee refills. So a few minutes ago I approached the counter for a refill. Kid’s working—probably 19. Maybe 20. “You want a refill?” he said. “Yup,” I replied. “That cool?”
When I was a kid, growing up in Mahopac, N.Y., a cross was set aflame in the front yard of my best friend’s house. The Powells were an African-American family in a 98-percent white town, and while cross burnings weren’t regular happenings, it didn’t seem nearly as shocking as it
Read an obituary a few minutes ago for Walt Michaels, the long-ago New York Jets coach who died two days ago at age 89. The piece, written by Frank Litsky, was perfect. Michaels’ was your prototypical old-school gridiron man’s man who would berate his players, demand his guys practice through