Runner crosses finish line at NCAA West Region Cross Country Championships

In 1959, British writer Alan Sillitoe published a short story entitled The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner. It was made into a movie in 1962, and ultimately received enough acclaim to land it on the British Film Institute’s list of the greatest British films of the 20^th century.

I never read the story nor saw the movie. In fact the only thing I’ve ever known about the plot line is that it revolved around cross country running. And that one small nugget of knowledge has always framed my perception of the sport. Cross country = lonely.

Hey, I never said it was a rational perception.
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…Continued from the previous post.

Allan Green (left) vs. Glen Johnson

At the MGM Grand Garden Arena, it was almost showtime – both figuratively and literally – and the place was all a twitter…well, both figuratively and literally.

We were just about to go live on Showtime Championship Boxing for the Glen Johnson vs. Allan Green bout, which would warm up the television audience for the Big One:  Juanma Lopez vs. Rafael Marquez for the WBO World Featherweight Championship.

After an undercard played to a small but appreciative audience, the atmosphere had definitely turned into an official “scene”. Judging by the blanket of cell phone screens alive in the dark arena, more than a few people were texting, Twittering, or…what was it that we used to do in the olden days?…oh, right – talking to their friends. And all with the same message. “Turn on your TV! This is so cool!”
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Anthony Lenk vs. Danny Escobar in Undercard Bout

“How long could it possibly take to go 2.1 miles?”

I asked that of myself while sitting in a Las Vegas hotel room recently, debating when to pull myself away from the college football game I was watching and head over to the MGM Grand Garden Arena.

The undercard was just about to start, but it would be hours before Juanma Lopez and Rafael Marquez would enter the ring for the WBO World Featherweight Championship. And I already had my ticket in hand. So I sat back and watched the rest of the game before venturing out.

In answer to the question above, I’m pretty sure that salmon can complete the full upstream journey to spawn in the time that it takes to navigate two miles on The Strip, find the right place to park, and wend your way through the MGM Grand catacombs to your seat. And the salmon probably have an easier time of it.

Once I got there I got all nostalgic. “It seems like just yesterday that I left my hotel room – where does the time go?”
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…Continued from the previous post.

Most casual fans of bowling know that rolling three strikes in a row is called a Turkey. It is now my pleasure to add to that body of knowledge by sharing with you that four strikes in a row is called a Hambone.

Why? I don’t know – nor did anyone sitting near me at the World Series of Bowling. But each time a bowler recorded a fourth consecutive strike, the “Hambone” signs and cheers invariably went up in the bleachers.

Your curiosity now piqued, you may ask “What is five strikes in a row called?” Simple – “Five strikes in a row.” Or in my case, “Impossible.”

My trip to Las Vegas for this event was timed to miss all of the qualifying play that had been going on for almost two weeks at the South Point Resort’s Bowling Center. In each of the five Championships that make up the WSOB, bowlers had been progressively keggling through 12 games of medal play to narrow the field to 16, and then 9 match play games to finalize seeding.

I skipped all that and went right to the dessert – the Championship Finals, which featured the five bowlers who had accumulated the most points during that 21 game grind. And I took two helpings of the good stuff, plunking down $20 each to be part of the studio audience for the taping of the Viper and the Chameleon Championships.

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It’s a funny thing about Las Vegas – the city seems to be suffering through a chronic and debilitating shortage of chairs.

If you don’t believe me, try this simple experiment on your own: Enter any Vegas casino and sit down – but not in any of the 12,594 seats at which doing so requires placing a bet or ordering food and drink. See what I mean? Spooky, huh?

So it was that I recently found myself luxuriating in the comfort of a cement bench at the taxi stand outside of South Point Resort Casino, waiting for the gates to open for the PBA World Series of Bowling. It was either that or idle away the time at the slots. Since the Demon Deacon Fantasy Football League reminds me each year that I am the world’s least talented gambler, the choice was an easy one.
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