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

I had almost nothing published until I had something published in Sports Illustrated. I started there as a fact-checker two weeks after I got out of college and was there for almost 20 years.

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.

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?

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

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