I never learned the secret handshake. That may be one of the reasons I've grown to love English soccer.

I've always had an irrational fear - it's really not an irrational fear, I think - whenever I've been standing at a urinal at a bar, or Giants Stadium or Yankee Stadium. You've got a bunch of drunks behind you, often in a hostile, adrenalized environment like a football game. What's to prevent the guy behind me from slamming my head into the porcelain wall in front of me?

Hockey belongs to the Cartoon Network, where a person can be pancaked by an ACME anvil, then expanded - accordion-style - back to full stature, without any lasting side effect.

You can be writing every day. When you go on a road trip, the trip itself becomes part of the story.

Happy 110th birthday to Frank Zamboni, who left us in 1988 but still resurfaces periodically.

I never learned the secret handshake. That may be one of the reasons I've grown to love English soccer.

Summer runs out the way a centerfielder runs out of real estate - slowly at first, then all at once.