February 5, 2012 |
Bruiser Flint. From Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary: Bruiser: bru-zer noun: a big husky man. Flint flintn 1: a hard quartz that produces a spark when struck by steel. Flinty adj: harsh and unyielding. So maybe he's not so much the big and husky part of that definition, although he is a long way from being frail, but made of flint? Bruiser Flint? Unyielding? Oh yes. You bet. And if you're going to coach basketball at Drexel University, you'd better be flinty, because you're going to spend your days and nights beating your head against the unpadded walls trying to earn the 3 Rs: Recognition, regard, respect.
January 29, 2012 |
There were the three of them, and they outlasted most marriages. For a quarter of a century, they gave voice to the professional baseball team of Philadelphia. Somewhere along the line, especially if the Fightin's owned a piece of your heart, you lived and died to their dulcet tones. They were a broadcasters' version of a slickly turned double play: Whitey to Harry to Andy. There was Whitey, of course, viewing the world askance, drawing on that ever-present pipe, his humor as dry as his beloved Kansas plains as he watched the balls and strikes from his press box roost and reflected on the sad state of umpiring in general.
January 26, 2012 |
FAMILY. That will be his enduring legacy. Family. Family is all. Don't you hear them: We Are . . . We Are . . . Family is the cry that echoes through the rolling hills of the Valley of Happy, that spills out from the Fortress Nittany, out into the real world, there tethered to the blue-and-white umbilical cord of thousands upon thousands upon tens of thousands of alumni. Don't you hear them: We Are . . . We Are . . . Once a Penn Stater, always and forever a Penn Stater.
January 23, 2012 |
Once upon a time in the Valley called Happy, there lived a man with monarch powers. And with these powers he bestowed upon the Valley great wealth and fame and philanthropy and enviable reputation, and buildings for football warriors and diligent scholars. And as the Valley prospered, so did the monarch's authority grow, until whenever someone sought to inquire about the monolithic football program, the monarch would snarl: "It's nobody's business. " But maybe it should have been.
January 22, 2012 |
The prelude was a wild junior-varsity game. Picture an overflowing Gloucester gym. A go-ahead layup with less than a minute left. And raucous cheers as the home team escapes with the win. Again, that was the junior-varsity game. About 90 minutes later, that tension, noise, and drama were predictably on repeat as the Gloucester varsity girls' basketball team sealed a 32-26 victory Saturday over rival Gloucester Catholic. It doesn't seem to matter what the event is when it comes to Gloucester vs. Gloucester Catholic.
January 22, 2012 |
Stewardess, crisply: "Fasten your seat belt, Mr. Ali. " Muhammad Ali, eyes twinkling: "Superman don't need no seat belt. " Stewardess, sweetly: "Superman don't need no airplane, either. " He just turned 70. And what were the odds of that? All those punches, those cruel left hooks, those sledgehammer rights, the awful toll taken by rope-a-dope, that thunderous trilogy with Joe Frazier, and then Parkinson's syndrome to boot.
January 15, 2012 |
Thirty-eight Philadelphia winters ago I asked a 76ers rookie from where he drew what seemed like an inexhaustible supply of energy. This kid was rawhide, wolf-pack lean, and he would run so hard, cut so sharply, that he would rip the soles off the bottoms of his sneakers. And he never, ever, slowed down. So what was his secret? "Bee pollen," said Doug Collins. Pardon? "Here, try some. " I didn't sleep for what seemed like three days. (Full disclosure: Relax, it was not a banned or illegal substance.
January 8, 2012 |
The one got assigned the dirty work, the job everyone else ran away from, the shovel behind the elephants in the circus parade. Darkness and despair descended on the Valley of Happy, and it will be a long, long time before the aftershocks cease, and in the interim someone had to hold things together. Volunteers? Any one? Thank you, Tom Bradley. The other got crammed into a position of utter hopelessness. He was guaranteed to fail because what they were asking him to do hadn't been done ever and why do you suppose that was?
January 1, 2012 |
Sports in the early '70s in Philadelphia was a toxic wasteland. In the nuclear winter of 1972-73, your 1-2-3-4-5-6ers played 82 games and managed to lose 73 of them, on merit. It is a record for futility that stands today. In 1972, your E-A-G . . . went 2-11-1. It was part of a run of seven straight losing seasons. In 1972, your Fightin's were about 20 games under .500 and also were enduring a run of seven straight losing seasons. (A certain writer, ahem, picked this precise time in history to move here.