I know the last thing you probably want to hear more about right now is the racist remarks attributed to Clippers Owner Donald Sterling.
Friday afternoon (hopefully), my wife and I will finally see one of long-term goals realized.
If everything goes according to plan, although I cannot promise it will, we will sign the papers on our new home in Greer, capping what has been a seemingly never-ending process.
While perusing the national sports pages this week, I came across some happy news.
Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps has opted out of retirement and could return for the 2016 games in Rio.
In the battle of good vs. evil, good will always prevail.
OK, maybe not always, but Monday night it did.
Far be it from for me to shed a drop of rain on baseball’s “opening day” parade, but it’s hard for me to find excitement in game one of 162.
As I watched my beloved Tar Heels exit in the round of 32, I began to notice a rather harsh reality I often ignore this time of year.
It’s well documented that I’m a lover of basketball. The NCAA tournament provides a needed escape for me, a weekend of perfect sports drama that seems as if it were designed just for me.
I was a sophomore in high school. It was my lunch period and I was being tortured by the idea that the NCAA tournament had started without me. More importantly, my Tar Heels were playing and I was in school. Stuck.
I’ve been telling my wife I need to stay as far away from our house hunt as possible.
Mainly because I know how I act in those types of situations.
Sports referees are often the subjects of some pretty severe abuse. Whether it be verbal, or even sometimes physical, the guys in black and white stripes don’t have it easy.
I know. I’ve been there.
It’s a feeling I’ll never get tired of. That “North Carolina just beat Duke” feeling.
That same emotion has been felt more than 130 times before from generations of Carolina fans.
Last Thursday night, however, marked a special one in the Dean E. Smith Center.