What about the athletes who rise above it all to produce a statistical anomaly just once and then fade back into obscurity? How do we classify them? Outlier temps? Simply lucky? Or, perhaps, unlucky for not getting more opportunities to show what they can do?
Today’s players sit out more games with injuries than those of 50 years ago. Far more games.
Marian University’s starting point guard Abby Downard played through last season’s pregnancy before giving birth to a son, Jaxon, on July 30. Now she’s back on the court, juggling motherhood with the help of her teammates and family.
Fifty years ago, IU’s John Ritter scored a career-high 31 points. And he outscored the opposing team all by himself.
Wouldn’t it be nice if today’s college coaches had the luxury of doing recruiting as it was done by two of Indiana’s greatest coaching icons, Tony Hinkle and Johnny Wooden? Which basically was to sit back, throw out a few lines and wait to see who bites without having to beg or bend a truth?
Forget NCAA, the most relevant acronym now is NIL—name, image and likeness. It means that formerly amateur athletes can now be compensated for their popularity in a myriad of ways with a myriad of dollars.
He had filled in the dates for home games on his calendar and had filed his proof of vaccination but was told two weeks ago his services were no longer required.
But culture, no matter how vague the concept might be, has an influence. Workplace standards and atmosphere always matter.
All these years later, this forgotten chapter in Miller’s fabled career is a reminder of how fragile reputations can be.
Just because Rick Carlisle hasn’t settled into his office in the Indiana Pacers’ practice facility within St. Vincent Center doesn’t mean he hasn’t settled into his role of head coach.
Harkness, who passed away early Tuesday morning at age 81, had a knack for being part of history. He also had a knack for making it himself when necessary.
An attorney for Bose McKinney and Evans LLP, Tarter has initiated business ventures that raise funds for the Dropping Dimes charity, which distributes money to former ABA players in need.
Imagine an 89-year-old basketball floor, used continually—other than a break during World War II—by the host school, Butler University, but also sporadically by high schools, NBA and WNBA franchises, and all-star teams from all levels of the game.
History, though, tends to dash cold reality on any company’s warm-and-fuzzy hires. It’s especially cruel in the NBA, where executives not only have to evaluate a worldwide assortment of young talent but predict their future as well.
The Pacers have the 13th overall selection this year, a middling first-round selection for a team coming off a middling season.
It’s something of a redemption tour for him, although nobody blamed him for how things ended last time. It’s also a break for the man who hired him, Kevin Pritchard, whose last hire survived but one season.
Dr. Richard Bennett’s perfect-attendance mark for the race is a wonder to behold, a feat of devotion likely unmatched by any fan of any sport in any place.
Billy isn’t his real name, but his gambling problem was as real as the loans he was taking out to finance his habit and as real as the weekly Gamblers Anonymous meetings he now attends to ward off the demons.
Boundaries—particularly regarding transfers—that were stifling but also stabilizing are being dismantled piece by piece.
His trademark shout of “Boom Baby” after every made three-pointer became ingrained within the vocabulary of sports fans throughout the state, shouted on driveways, putting greens and anywhere else a long shot of some sort dropped.
