In the never-ending scramble to somehow make the NBA All-Star weekend as exciting as it once was, it doesn't help that its once-marquee event, the Slam Dunk Contest, is now the third most exciting dunk contest on the basketball landscape. Earlier this week, the Powerade Jam Fest, part of the McDonald's All American festivities, took place, and the overgrown man-child teenagers showed out:
Then last night, it was the college kids' turn.
Even before the first dunk was completed, it was clear this would be more exciting than the professional competition.
A few days before Christmas 2006, having just arrived home in Atlanta for my break between college quarters, I was driving near the Georgia Dome when I spotted a new arrival in the neighborhood — an odd, trailer-like setup erected in a parking lot. Having grown up around the area, whatever it was seemed out of the ordinary, so I hit a U-turn and went to check it out. In that parking lot sat an "Authentic Louisiana-Style" restaurant operating almost as a food truck. About 15 months had passed since Hurricane Katrina, but this was my first real-life experience with what had previously just been data regarding the sheer amount of New Orleanians that had migrated to cities like Houston and Atlanta. I looked at the establishment and felt good. To know that someone could make a life in my city, especially after such a horrible disaster, was a beautiful thing.
The following year, I remember watching the Saints-Falcons game on Monday Night Football in the Georgia Dome. Fully understanding that there was a sizable New Orleans population in the city that had no plans of going back home, I was curious to see how the Dome would look. The answer — very black-and-gold. It was nauseating. While I felt it bubbling in 2006, especially with our unfortunate "damned if you win, damned if you lose" opportunity to play the Saints in the first game back in the Superdome, it was at this point that I knew a real rivalry was no longer just brewing.
Hey, it's Rembert Browne, Hawks fan. I'm writing to you today because you just got traded to Brooklyn, and that makes me slightly happy. Actually, let's be real, I'm grinning from ear to ear. Sports-fan me hasn't been this thrilled since we got Michael Vick, so that's saying something, Joe.
In January, I wrote a blog post attempting to stand up for Atlanta sports fans. While I'm still pleased with how it turned out, there was a glaring flaw in the entire premise: I'm an Atlanta expat living in New York, so I was writing from afar about what it means to be an Atlanta sports fan. Sure, I love my hometown and its sports teams, but my perceptions were based off of what I remember in the early-to-mid-2000s, not recent events.
This past Friday, an article was written on the Internet. The piece, "City of Atlanta Doesn't Deserve To Win," states that the city's mediocre fan base is the primary reason it is America's worst sports city. Fighting words.
Before launching into what will not be a disrespectful bashing of this man's beliefs, I will say I'm a little disappointed that the task of coming to my city's defense has fallen in my lap. As of Jan. 9, 2012, I'm 18th in the "Standing Up For Atlanta Line Of Succession" hierarchy:
As we've mentioned before, the best way to make money betting on sports in Vegas is to anticipate the market's moves before they actually happen. When the upcoming week's NFL lines are posted in the Hilton sportsbook on Sunday afternoon, the sharp bettors in Vegas make sure to get their money down on the opening line before the public can shift the line to a less profitable position. This cat-and-mouse game goes on all week as news breaks about injuries and the previous week's action gets placed into its proper context, leading to another rush of action just before the games go off on Sunday morning.
Javaris Crittenton has never been high on my list of people to pen an essay about. I mean, if I’m going to dedicate 500 words to a point guard who didn’t exactly pan out, you know it immediately becomes Tamir Goodman Hour.
The more I think about it, though, the more I realize how much I have to say about our respective journeys to 2011, especially in light of this month's events.
I’m in Johns Creek, Ga., on a sweltering Friday for the second round of the 93rd PGA Championship. This year, 98 of the top 100 players in the world are on hand to play the Atlanta Athletic Club’s revamped Highlands Course. Looming over everything, though, is the astonishing decline of Tiger Woods.
A day earlier, Tiger shot a 77, his worst opening round in a major. I'm here to follow his uphill climb to make the cut. (Even when a tournament is not about Tiger Woods, it’s about Tiger Woods.)