Some things you suspect, some things you guess at and some things you just know.
The phony nuptials of Dennis Rodman are without a doubt the anti-social event of the season.
The great thing about being Northwestern is that Northwestern has a chance to be this season’s Northwestern.
They still may be able to get to where they want to go, but my hunch is the White Sox did not remember to put air in the spare.
Stuck on whether to blame the Bears’ pass rush or the pass defense? Flip a draft choice. Everyone else is.
Baseball players demand credit for not working, the first labor issue that has made sense.
Not only T-shirt makers and antique freaks see Air, Scottie and the Worm meeting the Dream, the Glide and Sir Charles in next year’s NBA Finals, but, uh, me too.
The hardest thing to believe about “The Fan” is not that Robert De Niro is stalking somebody again but that anyone cares that much about a baseball player.
The kicking battle between Kevin Butler and Carlos Huerta has all the drama and none of the aroma of a Junior League bakeoff.
Let’s see. For Dallas, no Emmitt, no Michael, no Jay. For the Bears, the Monday Night Curse. Take the ‘Boys.
How nasty of Nebraska’s Tom Osborne to compare his football team to Dan Quayle, even if Osborne means misunderstood and not bad spellers.
For all–to quote Mike McCaskey–the “fire and passion” of Bryan Cox, until he is able to cover a receiver out of the backfield, Cox is a two-down linebacker.
I say a Buffalo Bills quarterback has as much right to be vice president as Kay Stephenson.
Ohio State at Notre Dame is college football’s lead domino.
If an honest thank you is not enough to Gary Barnett for taking Northwestern over UCLA, then a 12-year contract will just have to do.
Pro football’s re-examination of instant replay this summer looks an awful lot like an autopsy.
Baseball might have lost Tommy Lasorda, but it still has Terry Bevington, and all the conjunctions in the world will not balance that equation.
Hey, the next one who does the Macarena gets sat on by both Nate Newton and Paea Wolfgramm.
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After Atlanta, I am still not sure what the Olympic movement is, but I bet it requires eating bran.
Even at today’s prices, the Arlington Million beats the Indianapolis 500.
I clearly must have missed something, and his full name is Juwan Howard Abdul-Jabbar.
The NBA has become the Home Court Shopping Network.
As the new fitness adviser for the St. Louis Blues, Jackie Joyner-Kersee’s husband will have to learn that, in hockey, hugging is done with the gloves on.
After a mainstream summer of close and a Cigar, horse racing again becomes the pawnbrokers’ pal.
To Mark Carrier, the open-field tackle is the open-field frisk, entirely effective as long as the runner stands still.
Skating this and the next shift for the Blackhawks are Malice, Rancor and Spite.
The more Lou Holtz sees Ron Powlus as a running quarterback, the less the world will see of Ron Powlus as a passing quarterback.
Move over, Hack Wilson, here comes Sammy Sosa.
The Detroit Lions promise to be back in Detroit in eight years, which seems to be fair warning.
As long as the media refrains from no cheering in the press box for nine or more mostly tedious innings, the least the players can do is refrain from loud music in the clubhouse for 15 working minutes.
The movie “Tin Cup” has as much to do with the pro golf tour as bodybuilding does with knitting.
The Bears will miss Chris Zorich like a hermit misses floss.