It’s been everywhere. I can picture it frame by frame: the hand grabbing head, squared off, fist to the face, yellow and black streaking across the screen.
Author: Twin Cities
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I woke up to a world I didn’t know
The nightmares were terrible. Images flashed. I could see a dank room, pressed uniform and bare skin.
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Relief: a Red Sox story
I was sitting when they won the World Series. Not standing, not kneeling — sitting.
I’ve tried to match wits on the chess board, but my wits are wilting, left withered by years wasting away with a baseball game and a beer.
The cold, dark hand of poverty strikes many living paycheck to paycheck until, one day, the paychecks run out.
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Disbelief: A Red Sox story
The Beginning
The alarm rang, 8:30 a.m. After a shower, banana and water, shoes on, it was 9:15.
I saw my neighbor on the way out, nodded, climbed into my car and fought my eyes as the hills of Marin unraveled.
Phone calls, typing and coffee, and it was back in the car.
Takeru “The Tsunami” Kobayashi can eat more than 53 hot dogs in 12 minutes.
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Mercy Please! It’s playoff time.
As of late, my life includes little suspense. The next silicone blonde to get the axe on the bachelor or the vegetables rotting at the bottom of my fridge haven’t exactly kept my nights restless.
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Pedro finds a father on the field
Who is Pedro Martinez’s daddy? Aside from who will be the next president, that was the question on the tip of everybody’s tongue last week after the Boston ace muttered to reporters, “What can I say? I tip my cap and call the Yankees my daddy.”
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American Shame; a year to forget
Just like everyone else, I’ve had my bad days. Just last week, I woke up, I stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom, lost my keys, got stuck in traffic, had a fight with a coworker, had nothing in the refrigerator for dinner and was numbed to sleep by a World War II Holocaust documentary.