On week one of Dream Job, Mike Hall was voted off by America, perhaps because of his reference to Kerri Strug's gold-medal clinching performance in the 1996 Olympics as the greatest sports moment of all time.
On Sunday night, the Missouri senior was voted by America to be the next SportsCenter anchor.
I'm not really a political person. Sure, I try to stay informed, but the majority of my world news comes from skimming articles on the Internet and The Daily Show. I'm more into local news shows, i.e.
Suddenly.
The first word of Earl Giberson's obituary on Page 29 of the December 29, 1961 edition of The Philadelphia Bulletin said it all.
As in, Suddenly, Earl Giberson was taken away from his family, his daughter, his friends.
I love football. There's nothing better than sitting down at the bar on a Sunday afternoon and watching all 10 one o'clock games while screaming at the top of your lungs about how the refs blew that last call or that last call was blown by the refs or that incompletion two plays ago was the fault of the refs.
Even though the Eagles are 0-2 so far this year, that hasn't lessened my love for the real national pastime.
Eh. You'd expect something different than what you get from a film about the Japanese porn industry titled Bastoni - The Stick Handlers.
Come on, The Stick Handlers? This should have been a Porky's-type film that, instead of a de facto softcore porn, was actually porn mixed with comedy.
Instead, we get a movie that is actually rather a sad story.
I knew little to nothing about The Used before writing this review. I knew lead singer Bert McCracken dated Kelly Osborne and throws up on stage, or something like that.
We've been getting movies from World Wrestling Entertainment for about a year now. Apparently, Vince McMahon -- yes, we're going to assume that the WWE owner himself ships out the videotapes -- thinks that Penn students are a prime market for shoulderblocks, bodyslams and pinfalls.
We didn't agree, until now.
It's around three o'clock Monday afternoon in the Palladium. It's dark, with light coming in through the half-open curtains, illuminating the dust that comes off of every crevice of the old, wooden interior.
The dining room is closed and of the six bar stools, four are vacant, as are two of the three couches, but the conversation rages on.
There's a bulletin board on the wall of my bedroom that has a collection of press passes from my two-and-a-half years as a sportswriter.
It's a pretty impressive collection, if I do say so myself.