I wasn’t much of a soccer fan before I moved to Delaware… and for good reason.
(We’re probably all going to die this Halloween)
To misquote Jack Kerouac, I’m writing this column because we’re all going to die.
When it comes to music collections, I’m too young and I’m also too old.
“G-Mart is on fire in the rain” is a comment that I shamelessly copyright-infringed upon for this week’s football article when I saw it posted on the Indian River High School sports app live scoreboard.
You know that guy who wears the green-and-gold bandana and the pink boa who does the play-by-play at Indian River High School football games on Friday nights? The one that only on the rarest of occasions accidentally leaves the mic on without knowing it and gives the entire Indian River High School football stadium a behind-the-scenes look at the press box, and even then never says anything that would offend anyone, even though, in this day and age, people are pretty easily offended?
I was in trouble like five words into that headline. Luckily for me, and for the rest of Sussex County for that matter, whenever we find ourselves in trouble, we can always count on Phill to bail us out. And, luckily for you, I always write headlines before I write columns, so I now have no choice but to continue the legend of Phill in this week’s “Tripple OT.”
What a difference a day can make. Or, with the beginning of football season, I should say, what a difference a week can make.
Pre-season practices are under way. Two-a-days are being attended (twice daily). And sports fans are clamoring for their favorite time of year.
“They’re taking another quarterback?”
This is the first thing I heard while sitting at the bar — I mean, eh…coffee shop, when the Washington Redskins drafted Kirk Cousins just three rounds after taking Robert Griffin III as No. 2 overall.
A journey through one broken collarbone, seven screws and 131 painkillers
As I lay looking up the Texas-shaped water splotch on the ceiling — the one I’ve been meaning to paint over for approximately two years now — I wondered how I could possibly be so miserable when just yesterday I had lain in the very same place, looking up at the very same Texas-shaped water splotch, and been perfectly content. I had been perfectly happy, even. Maybe, even happier than I had been in a long time.
I found out that I had a clavicle this week. Then, I found out that is was broken. Really broken, actually. Like snapped in half and sticking out all over the place broken. Like Owen Wilson in Act III of the movie “Wedding Crashers” broken.
It turns out that, after defying injuries while dropping into the Fenwick shore break for the past 15 years, fate (or Poseidon or Tom Cruise or whatever other mystical forces of the universe and the ocean that were supposed to be watching over me) finally dropped the ball.
The good news is I’ll be back in action in about four to six weeks. The bad news is the Little League World Series gets under way on Sunday and, while my photo-shooting arm should be alright, my mustard-spreading arm is hanging in a sling.
But like all great athletes — or at least sports reporters who write about great athletes — the show must go on, mustard-less hotdogs and all. So, in a misguided attempt to alleviate some self-pity, I decided to take look at a few other tough guys (or girls) who have successfully battled through injuries over the years.
I was all set to write about the great white shark that tried to eat Mick Fanning while he was surfing in the J-Bay Open this week, but then something more exciting happened.
Ever since Rachel Armstrong punched me in the stomach for telling her she “threw like a girl” in third grade, I’ve been pretty wary about what I say when it comes to women and sports. That gut-wrenching shot (that I totally didn’t cry from, by the way) was a pretty good reminder that not only can girls throw, but they can hit too.
I kept expecting Todd Fuhrman to pull up driving the Indian River gator last Tuesday. There was softball. There was more than one game to cover. And Point photographer Chris Clark couldn’t help me shoot because of some kind of Seacrets Senior Citizen Day, or something or another. It was, more or less, exactly like spring.
First he saved us from the great white Septima during Shark Week. Then, he rivaled the incomparable Liam Neeson to save us from a “The Grey”-type scenario during coyote hunting season.
Ah, the “Madden curse.” Every year, it’s the same story. But even though the media usually blows it out of proportion, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t played a video game since I got my driver’s license, every year it still seems to strike again.
Truth be told, I’m not much of an NBA fan, but I am a LeBron fan.
Does anyone else remember the 14 straight years of losing seasons the Baltimore Orioles put together from 1998 to 2012?
The year’s most memorable moments in Indian River sports
With the 2014-2015 Indian River High School sports seasons officially in the books, and after rambling on for about 1,500 words about all the boneheaded things that a certain Coastal Point reporter/Tripple Overtime columnist somehow managed to do during said season, I figured this week I’d ramble on about something that actually matters — like the Top 10 plays/sports moments of the school year
I’m not quite sure what day it is.
I was really trying to avoid this whole “Deflategate” resurfacing thing.
I wish I could be as cool as Bob Betram. You know — the Coastal Point ad-design guru that always had the funny job descriptions under his name on the editorial page of the paper?
Twitter. What a wonderful thing it is — allowing people to express their every opinion publicly and freely as soon as it’s formed.
I was standing there at Indian River High School, watching the Lady Indians take on Milford last Friday night... until I realized that I wasn’t.
Tripple Overtime: The space between third and short really just highlights the space between generations
I was wrong last week.
It just kind of hit me the other day.
Almost every week, I turn over the dangers of social media as a potential Tripple Overtime subject before I ultimately decide that it’s 2015 and we all know that we’re supposed to whatever and blah, blah, blah, and save us the speech because we all know it by heart.
I was very much looking forward to spring. I was very much looking forward to Shorebirds baseball and peanuts and Crackerjack and the cracks of bats and blah, blah.
You know how, every once in a while, a television show will just show clips from previous episodes because the writers are too lazy to come up with a new one? You gotta just hate that. Where’s the creativity? Where’s the originality?
I was an hour late for work last week, which can only mean one thing (aside from the fact that I forgot about daylight-saving time again): Spring sports are upon us.