April 12, 2016 |
Hockey. Beg pardon? Hockey, he repeated. Hockey. He confessed later that he wasn't sold on it, but it looked like there was an opening and if there was anything he could spot, Ed Snider - a dapper, feisty bulldog - could sniff out an opening. And then pounce on it. And this promising opening was a team of professional athletes in a game of whooshing speed and concussive collisions, played on ice by toothless men ready, willing and able to drop gloves and bleed at the first instigation, and bleeding plays big on Broad Street.
July 30, 2015 |
It wasn't a date until the seventh inning. That's when Amy and Brian - grade-school classmates who reconnected in their late 30s - both realized the goofy ease between them might point to something more. Amy, two grades behind Brian at Mother of Divine Providence in King of Prussia, had kept casual track of him over the years, mostly through her younger brother, Patrick. That's how she heard about his accident: At 27, Brian, then a medical courier, was loading samples into his car when someone tried to parallel park behind him, stepped on the gas instead of the brake, and pinned Brian between the two cars' bumpers.
November 22, 2013 |
Sister Josephine Mary Lyons, 84, an elementary-school teacher for 25 years, died Sunday, Nov. 17, of heart failure at McAuley Convent in Merion. Sister Josephine Mary attended St. Carthage School in West Philadelphia and graduated from West Catholic High School for Girls in 1947. She spent two years as a typist before entering the Sisters of Mercy in September 1949. She professed her vows in 1952. During a quarter-century as a teacher, Sister Josephine Mary taught every grade from first through seventh.
June 11, 2013 |
BILL FLEISCHMAN might have put it best: "Bobby Lyons was a genuine Philly sports guy. " Like many Philadelphia sportswriters, past and present, Bill Fleischman, longtime Daily News sports correspondent and auto-racing reporter, knew and respected Bobby Lyons as a consummate professional, yet one who never called much attention to himself. He was a sports reporter for the Associated Press and the old Evening Bulletin, author of several highly regarded books on different aspects of sports, former sports-information officer for La Salle University, head of its news bureau and operator of his own public-relations company.
June 9, 2013 |
Sportswriter Bob Lyons was so organized, so diligent, that he wrote his own obituary and left it for his family to disperse to the media. Mr. Lyons, 73, an understated, dignified man who wrote several books connected to the Philadelphia sports scene, died Wednesday of heart disease. One of Mr. Lyon's five children, Rick, said his father left an obituary "not because he wanted to write it, but because he wanted it accurate. He started his career writing obituaries for the Bulletin, and he ended it writing an obituary.
November 5, 2012 |
Fade in . . . Nightfall at sea. On the bridge of the USS Iggles stands a large rumpled man who favors black shorts even when it's colder than a well- digger's posterior. He cups a hand to ear, leans in against the wind, and anchors himself in that splay-legged stance of an immovable offensive lineman. Cap'n Andy. A man - we'll call him Jeff - scrambles up awkwardly to the bridge, barking a shin, cursing softly. Jeff: "What are you doing?" Cap'n Andy: "Listening. " Jeff: "Well, duh. " Cap'n Andy: "For whispers.
October 21, 2012 |
His face popped up on the screen and you were struck with this thought: Cap'n Andy is wearing his years. Out on the range, they would say he looks like he's been rode hard and put up wet. So whatever became of that apple-cheeked, roan-maned, walrus-mustached, naive NFL wannabe? Fourteen years, that's what. Fourteen years of family turmoil and unspeakable tragedy to endure with grace and courage. Fourteen years of palace intrigue and ruthless purging in the darkened hallways of Fortress NovaCare.
October 7, 2012 |
The camera caught him coming in low and aiming high, like a rolling ball of butcher knives, a middle linebacker steaming along on the base paths, his uniform pigsty filthy with a warrior's colors, telling you he's down and dirty, his face contorted with the effort, seeking out a collision, and you are struck with this thought: The prudent man steps aside. Mike Trout, coming through. Here is how he is introduced in the antiseptic world of cyberspace: Michael (Mike) Nelson Trout.
September 23, 2012 |
The spiral is perfect, the ball launched by a buggy-whip arm, and it arcs in majestic slow motion across a cobalt sky. Two are in lockstep pursuit of it, receiver and defender, each calculating where their thunderous intersection will be reached, and you see them rising and grasping as one, and it is all so real that you swear that you are, well, there. Right there! And Steve Sabol would smile a smile of modesty and satisfaction and lean back and thank you. On behalf of NFL Films and its gazillion Emmys, we thank you. To quote the song: Nobody does it better.
September 17, 2012 |
And comes now the bagpiper, with that music so mournful, so achingly familiar, so haunting in its melancholy beauty. Has any lyricist ever penned its equal? But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow, Yes, I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow . . . - Danny Boy Comes now Rory Boy, freckled of face, curly of hair, determined of jaw, purposeful of stride, eyes set on the far horizon at a goal only he can see. He is, as they say, The Next Big Thing, at once precocious and poised.