This? This wasn’t the norm. This was easy. No big deal, even though he had trained like a sadist for this bout, sparring and running and scrapping until exhaustion. Or that it took a long while to mold a body turned soft from lack of use and “too many enchiladas”…

Preview of an upcoming Mavericks game in mid-April as multiple teams, including Dallas, scrap for playoff position: Reunion Arena is absolute bedlam. Everyone stands, looking on with half-crazed, desperate stares. If you didn’t know better, you’d think our fine republic had dissolved at the incapable hands of G.W.–or that it’s…

Looking back, it really wasn’t that good. A little sophomoric, a bit hokey. But that wasn’t the point, and what do I know about it anyway? My qualifications in that area begin and end with a film class I took in college, and I was drunk for a good number…

Most of the players have already left, fled for a much-needed shower and a little downtime, leaving the practice court all but empty. A few television reporters and radio personalities remain, chattering among themselves, waiting for a final interview about an upcoming game–searching for that last meaningless quote that you,…

It’s been a long time since he’s wrapped himself in deep blue and silver and taken to the turf. A long time since he hauled in that Hail Mary pass against the Vikes and made you cheer his soft hands as though a war had just been won or countless…

The voice on the other line is gruff but familiar, a unique Texas twang with a deep timbre. Strangely, it’s comforting, even hypnotizing, and it’s easy to understand how the conversation quickly morphs from interview to chat to lullaby. The voice, so calm and confident, is one that’s been heard…

This is a test. It’s tougher than one with Rorschach ink blots, harder than a post-grad LSAT. It’s not a pop quiz like the ESPN “Game of the Week” or last Friday’s home letdown against Western Conference foe Detroit. For the Stars, for these Stars–a group remarkably different from recent,…

I’m not sure when the Alex Rodriguez talks became serious, or even how they began in the first place. In the beginning, I laughed, chuckled at the legions of fools who held close to them the possibility of an A-Rod signing the way children pathetically clutch stuffed animals. (Losers.) “No…

It can be tough, and he knows it. Knows it’s a struggle. Knows his aspirations are lofty. Knows nosey columnists have their doubts. In fact, his may be the most difficult job in sports, or at the very least the most frustrating. Then again, in his mind it’s neither. He’s…

On an unseasonably warm day, the smell of charcoal and beer wafting through the air, I slow my midnight-green Honda to a stop in a faraway parking lot. I step out, inhale deeply, and begin the trek toward a grim reality, one I never believed possible. I despise the Cowboys…

He was always talented, always smooth slashing to the goal or pulling up for a long jumper. Won back-to-back state championships at nearby Kimball High. Big-name schools like Arizona and USC tried to get his attention, did everything but wear hot-pink lipstick and stuff their bras. From there everyone knew…

Tonight was one of those nights. He hates those nights. They’re tough to deal with, tougher still when reporters come around asking questions, revisiting his fresh pain. Christian Laettner sits in front of his locker, one of several in the Mavericks posh dressing room. Unlike his teammates, the 6-foot-11 forward/center…

From here, the star doesn’t shine as brightly as it once did. The blue isn’t as deep. The silver isn’t as lustrous. From here, the future seems less certain, the past more distant. The salary figures appear more daunting, the talent less talented, the injuries more overwhelming. From here, problems…

It’s Friday. Only a few miles down the road, college kids and twentysomethings imbibe libations. They stand in line from Deep Ellum to Lower Greenville, waiting to shake their trunks in the ass-clubs, hoping for relief from everyday drudgery. House music plays. Shots are slugged. Digits are exchanged. Brenden Morrow,…

Standing on a lacquered wooden bench near a corner in the Cowboys locker room, he held court after a convincing win, playing lord of the manor as reporters shoved microphones and cameras in his face. It’s a character that fits him, the king–the man who carries a small, leather-covered ball…

While the Washington Capitals shuffle to their hotel, still suffering from a sound thumping absorbed not long before, a Stars fan talks with friends. Clad in his team’s colors, he stands near a concession stand where the floor is sticky from spilt beer. You expect he’s thrilled with the win,…

On the eve of what was to be my first Texas-Oklahoma clash, a friend, who also happens to be a Sooner son, regaled me with enchanting tales of games past. He described momentous match-ups and courageous athletes, lavish pre-game festivities and rabid supporters. He imparted the details, but said the…

The lights are off here, creating a fitting, all-encompassing gloom. No one fills the seats or hawks the hot dogs or slugs the beers. No one occupies the dugouts or sends baseballs screaming into the fall air or makes diving catches on neatly groomed grass. It’s empty and quiet now–almost…

You fall from bed hours before work on a Sunday, hours before the dreadful 49ers will come calling on the even more dreadful Cowboys. You’re too groggy for much more than basic motor functions–if that. Slowly, you stumble toward the living room, much to the chagrin of your legs. As…

Dawn Staley could have been a star. As could her teammates–most of them, anyway. But you don’t care. You’re not paying attention–to her, to them, to me. If you consider yourself “sports-savvy,” you’ve probably already tuned me out. Listen, we’re not talking Sonny Bono-level fame here, or even Shawn Bradley…