Features for Bleacher Report:
The Metamorphosis of Brandon Ingram (10.9.18):
Attack. That’s all Brandon Ingram is thinking. He sees LeBron James dribbling at the top of the key, crossing over, left to right. Ingram approaches James and crouches down into a defensive stance. Tiny Dog versus The King. Yes, Lakers players still call Ingram “Tiny Dog”—”Tiny” because, as a rookie, he was so skinny, so light that he looked like he might blow away in the wind. “Dog” because he isn’t afraid to challenge anyone. Not even LeBron. Tiny Dog bends low, steadying his gaze on The King’s stomach. He swarms him with his gangly arms fully extended. He wants to make him feel his 7’3” wingspan, to make the words scrawled on his arms look close enough to read. It doesn’t matter. LeBron torches him from every spot he chooses. Ingram closes out to play him tightly. He slides his feet quickly. But LeBron hits one shot after another. On offense, Ingram gets solid looks. But his jumpers miss short, and he is unable to fall into a rhythm. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Did One Hit Lead to a 13-year-old’s Suicide? (9.12.18):
More than a thousand people came to James Ransom’s funeral. His parents, Greg and Courtney, and his sisters, Julia and Lillie, were in attendance, each one imbued with a sorrow that crashed like waves. James’ buddies were there; some wore bright yellow sneakers and ties—an homage to James’ love of SpongeBob SquarePants. His elementary and middle school teachers, his football teammates and coaches, his neighbors and other members of the community all came. Row by row, they packed the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Mission Viejo, California, full of grief, full of love. “He never knew how many lives he touched,” Lillie says. “He never knew how many people loved him, how many people needed him.” Giant poster boards bearing James’ face were sprinkled throughout the church. Greg made them. He had been too devastated to put them together at first, but Courtney nudged him to do it. He found joy in the process, however—combing through the albums, picking the photos he liked best, seeing his son’s doughy cheeks. His son in his football uniform, swallowed by giant shoulder pads, proudly clutching a football. His son dressed up as Harry Potter for Halloween. His son and wife rolling their top lips over, making funny faces. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
The LaMelo Show (2.28.18):
The doors swing open. The boy with the floppy blond curls rushes into Prienai Arena. A group of Lithuanian teens, who arrived 60 minutes before tipoff, scurry over to get a closer look, but the boy ignores them. He’s locked in his own world as he spots two stone-faced security guards looking on from just outside the locker room. The boy, sporting a pair of black headphones and a Big Baller Brand sweatsuit, grins while Bruno Mars and Cardi B’s “Finesse (Remix)” blasts in the background. It’s his time. Sixteen-year-old LaMelo Ball clutches an imaginary rock. Dipping his shoulders left, then right, he rushes toward the two security guards and crosses over both men. But a few seconds later, I watch fans abandon LaMelo for the man from whom he gets his smile. Here comes LaVar Ball. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
There’s Nothing O-Lines Can Do About Aaron Donald (11.19.18):
Helmets, arms and shoulders hinder his vision, but Aaron Donald bulldozes his way through double-team after double-team. It’s the first half of a Week 4 game against the Minnesota Vikings. Donald has yet to sack anyone in this game, or this season. He isn’t worried, though. By the fourth quarter, the All-Pro defensive tackle of the Los Angeles Rams has had enough. He eyes QB Kirk Cousins and prepares to strike. NFL quarterbacks fear getting sacked by Donald in the same way ordinary people fear getting older: They know it will happen, and they know they can’t do much about it. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Not when 6’1″, 280-pound Donald is mowing down 6’4″, 350-pound offensive linemen and anyone else in his way. Take a Rams practice Donald’s rookie year, back in 2014. An offensive lineman hit him after a one-on-one drill, and Donald grabbed the lineman’s facemask and completely ripped it off the helmet. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Nothing Can Faze Davante Adams (8.23.18):
Davante Adams finally takes a breath, cozying into a chair in his kitchen. It’s Tuesday, and he’s getting married in four days. There are guests to call, boxes to unpack, furniture to re-arrange here in his new home in Danville, California. But his mind quiets as a woman comes over and drapes a towel around his shoulders. Ebonie Hegwood, a longtime family friend, begins braiding his hair. Row by row, she smooths over each strand with a mixture of natural Jamaican beeswax and Eco styling gel. Twisting, tightening, patting, prodding, she works each section with the precision of a surgeon and the warmth of a mother. Tilting his head forward and tucking his chin in, Adams is a kid again. Her hands feel like home in East Palo Alto. Like the way life was long before he signed a four-year, $58 million extension in December to become the Green Bay Packers‘ No. 1 receiver this season. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Inside the WNBA’s Fight for Higher Pay (10.29.18)
Dust sticks to her sneakers. Empty Gatorade bottles and trash line a slippery sideline. The tattered net has one too many loops popping out. At least she has a court, she tells herself. At least there is a broom at the front desk, here in this local gym in Chico, California, to sweep the dust. She’s used to making do, making rundown courts feel like home. Layshia Clarendon, a guard for the Connecticut Sun, moved to the area last offseason to live with her now-wife’s family. The two couldn’t afford their own house yet. Not with Clarendon’s WNBA salary. She wouldn’t disclose what she was making, saying only that it was not a maximum contract ($115,500, plus bonuses, in the WNBA). One report said the six-year WNBA veteran made $91,700 last year. That is far more than she made in her earlier years in the league, when she had to sustain herself on a total of $40,000 to $50,000 a year. It takes some degree of financial freedom to be a professional athlete. More than just being above the poverty line, you need to be able to eat, train, travel, work long hours. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
There’s No Stopping Arike Ogunbowale (11.9.18):
On this October day in South Bend, every pass must be crisp, every cut full speed. Notre Dame’s players sprint up and down, whipping passes faster, faster, faster in this full-court practice drill. Then one player screws up; she tosses an overhead pass that is deflected. Players drop to the floor to hold a 30-second core plank for punishment. Even Muffet McGraw, the 62-year-old Hall of Fame coach, is planking. Teeth clenched, McGraw doesn’t allow her navy sweatpants and light blue polo to graze the floor even for a second. Arike Ogunbowale looks irritated. About-to-take-over-the-game irritated. Arike Mode is thrilling and terrifying, depending on which team you play for. The 5’8” senior All-American cruises down the court and slices her way through three players to finish at the rim. After that, she pretends she’s about to drive in again, but she quickly stops for a pull-up, draining a long two. Her follow-through lingers as she leaves her right hand cupped down. She leans back, bouncing one, two, three times off of her right foot, very much expecting the ball to drop in. Of course she does. She is the most clutch playmaker in women’s college basketball. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Unapologetically Liz (8.17.18):
Liz Cambage is in a hurry. The center for the WNBA’s Dallas Wings quickly steps out of the elevator, on the ninth floor, arriving at one of her favorite local restaurants, Mercury Chophouse. She struts to her customary table, the third one on the right, the one with the pea-green cushions. The 6’8″ MVP candidate from Australia has just 40 minutes. She has to leave for a medical appointment to tend to what happened the night before. Cambage was pulled to the ground as Connecticut Sun forward Jonquel Jones’ arm smacked her in the neck. She hit her head on the hardwood and was forced to exit the game. An offensive foul was called on Jones but not a flagrant one, surprising even the broadcasters. “A lot of people are worried, but I’m fine,” Cambage says. “Just a bit of whiplash.” All her life, she has been battered and bruised on the court and told she was too tall, too loud, too much off it. Her critics advise her to keep quiet. Not to fight back. As a female athlete, she was taught to take her lumps and be grateful for each and every one of them, like they were Christmas gifts and not coal. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
JJ Arcega-Whiteside Is Holding Court (10.18.18)
He plays the position of receiver like he’s playing basketball, not football. His explosion off the snap is deceptive, like he’s crafting a route to the hoop, not showing his highest gear of speed until he’s already past you. At 6’3″, 225 pounds, he fights for a catch like he’s boxing out, establishing position in the post before leaping in the air. And he attacks the open space like it has wronged him, like a rebound is suspended there and he cannot wait for the ball to sail into his palms. JJ Arcega-Whiteside is, as his quarterback at Stanford, K.J. Costello, calls him, “an outlier.” “The way he runs routes, the way he operates,” Costello says, “is just not normal.” Not for football, at least. But for Arcega-Whiteside, playing it any other way would be what defied norms. The senior who’s become a highlight-reel regular and put up video game stats this season (226 yards in one game and eight touchdowns in Stanford’s first six games) maneuvers like a basketball player because that’s what he’s been all his life. Because he comes from a family that discussed offensive rebounds and fade screens and pull-up jump shots over dinner. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Stephen Carr Won’t Be Stopped (9.4.18):
It’s a windy, 65-degree November day, chilly for Los Angeles. Students struggle around USC’s campus in puffer jackets, scarves and boots. Running back Stephen Carr, then a true freshman, walks into the team’s media room in a cardinal and gold Trojans T-shirt, sweatpants and slides. Carr isn’t cold. He hails from the sleepy city of Fontana, about 55 miles east, where the cutting wind threatens to knock you over. Cars shake. Trash cans fly. Street lights sway. This wind doesn’t bother Carr, though. He has withstood things much worse—things that could have swept him up as a child and then a teen. He chose to keep running. So fast that college coaches drooled at the way he flew downfield and then planted one foot and instantly zoomed the opposite direction. His motto was: “Slow feet don’t eat.” (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Nate Robinson Battles Inner Demons in Quest for NBA Return (6.18.18):
Nate Robinson’s eyes are hooked to the TV. It’s 9 a.m. and he’s too dialed in to sip his special concoction of orange juice mixed with lemonade. Sitting in a booth at the Skillet Diner in Seattle in late May, he’s watching highlights from Game 7 of the Western Conference Finals from the night before: Houston bombing 27 straight attempts from three, Chris Paul sitting out with a hamstring injury. “I’m sorry, I’m playing WOUNDED!” Robinson exclaims, referring to Paul not playing. “They can’t get a bucket, and there’s a bucket-getter right here!” He squeezes an imaginary ball between his palms, tighter and tighter, like it’s the ruby slipper that will magically transport him through the screen and back into the NBA. It would not be the first time Robinson defied time and space. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Christian Coleman is More than the Man who Beat Bolt (8.17.18):
Earlier this year, folks were whispering that Christian Coleman was in line to become the next great American sprinter. They were calling him “The Next Bolt.” In November, he blazed past Usain Bolt at the IAAF World Championships in London, stunningly ending Bolt’s 45-race win streak during the semifinals of the 100 meters and finishing ahead of Bolt (but behind Justin Gatlin) again in the final. Then in February, about two weeks before his 22nd birthday, Coleman became the world record holder in the 60-meter indoor, running a time of 6.34 at the U.S. Indoor Championships in Albuquerque to shatter Maurice Greene’s 20-year-old mark of 6.39. Coleman had already unofficially beaten Greene’s time in January, and he would beat it again in March. It was a stretch of utter domination that forced the world to take notice. Now, only months later, the hype has been replaced with doubt. He hears it all. He’s hurt. He’s a one-trick pony. He’s only a short-sprint, 60 guy. He can’t consistently win the 100 or the 200. Coleman’s run ended with a second-place finish in the 100 at the Prefontaine Classic in late May and a fourth-place finish at the Rome Diamond League meet less than a week later. Worse, he was battling a right hamstring injury during that stretch. It cramped and locked, and it caused all of his momentum to halt. He struggled to hold on to his lead in Oregon as Ronnie Baker pulled away in the final 20 meters. But the recent Rome loss? That was frustrating. And motivating. “It was a wake-up call for me,” Coleman says. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Aly Raisman is Taking Destiny Into Her Own Hands (7.23.18):
Inside Exxcel Gymnastics, young girls crowd around a photo collage, boxing each other out for the best view of their hometown Olympian plastered across the wall. Among the cluster of pictures in this Newton, Massachusetts, gym is an image of 10-year-old Aly Raisman, so determined to hold her position, her little arms holding up the entire weight of her body, while her legs and toes point to the ceiling. Back then, Raisman was not the most skilled. Just strong. She was smaller than everyone and burned to beat everyone, whether it was press handstands or chin-ups. “Can we do a contest?! Can we do a contest?!” she’d exclaim. If she did 20 chin-ups yesterday, she’d pull off 21 the next day, even if it was not a contest. She was seven years old. There are also black-and-white newspaper photos of 22-year-old Raisman, roaring, as she wins gold at the 2016 Olympics, next to headlines like: “Gold Fever!” and “Alexandra the Great!” The young girls who train at the gym had huddled around a television that year, cheering Raisman’s every move in navy T-shirts that said “Team Aly.” The girls see that Raisman was just like them: Poised. Relentless. Driven by dreams bigger than their bodies. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
No. 1 Recruit Kayvon Thibodeaux Large and In Charge of Destiny (6.28.18):
Kayvon Thibodeaux couldn’t help that he sprouted to 6’2″ by age 13. He couldn’t help that he charged through kids in his Pop Warner All-Star Game that year like they were hollow figurines. An ambulance was called when one boy couldn’t get back up. “He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He was just strong,” says his mother, Shawnta Loice. “They couldn’t stop him.” Until referees did. They were so concerned for the other team’s safety that they pulled Thibodeaux out and didn’t allow him to re-enter the game. Thibodeaux, known then as Diesel, weighed 10 pounds when he was born. The toddler would even crawl out of his crib, pour milk into his bottle, sip, then climb back into his crib and sleep, according to his uncle, Isaiah. Thibodeaux grew accustomed to cruel comments as he got older: He’s too big! He’s old! Just look at him! Parents demanded he provide his birth certificate. Kids would exclude him on the playground. He wasn’t a troublemaker, but teachers assumed he was the culprit if something happened in class. He has a red skateboard signed by Tony Hawk, but never learned how to use it because he thought he was too big to ride. What made him an outcast as a middle-schooler now has him the nation’s No. 1 overall recruit in the class of 2019, according to 247Sports. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Unassuming Indiana Basketball Prospect Romeo Langford Just Wants to Play Ball (4.12.18):
Everyone in New Albany has a story about Romeo Langford. Drive a few miles down Charlestown Road in the sleepy Southern Indiana city and listen to the legend growing around the 5-star, 18-year-old prospect. Inside Kroger, a silver-haired man is bent over and unpacking Philadelphia Cream Cheese and Noosa Yoghurt. His eyes widen as I ask about Romeo. “He’s the best we’ve ever had,” Chuck Stroud tells me. Stroud’s been a New Albany High School season-ticket holder for 20 years. “He’s humble. He’s a good kid. And that don’t happen too much anymore.” Romeo smiles and signs autographs for more than 90 minutes after every game, even as his hand grows stiff, even as his slice of pizza turns cold. He takes photos with babies. He visits the sick in hospitals. And every night, he puts on a show. Scoring from anywhere—midrange, from three, at the rim—he is so unstoppable in the open floor that he is considered a “once-in-a-generation” talent by Jim Shannon, his New Albany coach. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Introducing College Basketball’s Breakout Star, Mikal Bridges, the Kawhi Leonard Clone (3.7.18):
They used to call him Noodles. Inspector Go Go Gadget. String Bean. Brittle (short for Brittle Bones). Praying Mantis. Mikal Bridges was so skinny and lanky and his arms were so long—”freakishly long,” Bridges tells me—that his Villanova teammates roasted him with a range of nicknames. The 6’7” swingman was an easy target then: a freshman. A young freshman (17 years old). About 185 pounds. Gangly shoulders, little head (they called him “Pea-head,” too). His mother, Tyneeha Rivers, sympathizes. “My wingspan is the same as World B. Free,” Rivers tells me, referring to the wiry 76ers legend, as we sip tea at a Starbucks in Philadelphia in February. Mikal has a 7’2” wingspan. “He’s always had ridiculous, stupid-long arms.” She laughs, remembering the Noodles days, back when no one was calling her son, now a redshirt junior, a potential 2018 NBA draft lottery pick. When he redshirted his first season to bulk up, he was simply a punching bag to the upperclassmen. “Any chance they got to try to punk him or go at his body or be physical with him, they’d do that,” guard Phil Booth says. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Put Some Respect on Candace Parker’s Name (5.17.18):
She watched the 2011 All-Star Game from her couch, crying and angry, feeling left out. Four years into the league and she hadn’t been healthy enough to play in the event. “I’m going through this for a reason,” she told herself, and would keep telling herself, as injuries lingered and losses stung. Parker exploded for 33 points, 15 boards and four blocks against the Lynx in the 2012 Western Conference Finals but lost the series. Season over. Again. The next season, she played in her first All-Star Game and earned MVP. Then the Sparks fell to the Phoenix Mercury by one point as Brittney Griner sank a series-winning turnaround over her in the Western Conference Semifinals. Parker buried herself in her maroon and gold sheets the next day and didn’t do much for the next few weeks. In 2015, she sat out the first half of the season and then came back to record a league-best 6.3 assists per game, the only non-guard to ever achieve that mark. Last season, she poured in the game-winning layup against the Mercury in the 2017 Western Conference Semifinals despite a sprained ankle but fell to the Lynx in the Finals again. Up, down, up, down. It’s a rhythm all basketball players know and try to control. But the older you get, the more you realize how little control you have. You can do everything right and lose. You can do everything wrong and win. You train your body beyond its limits, but it fails you. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
You Need to Know About Asia Durr (1.31.18):
Asia Durr isn’t blinking. Her No. 9 Louisville Cardinals are facing No. 5 Ohio State. Durr’s brown eyes are frozen, teeth clenched. She doesn’t see anyone. Doesn’t hear anything. In this moment, on this hardwood at Nationwide Arena in Columbus, someone is going to suffer. Scratch that. With the ball in her possession and 30 seconds to strike, an entire team will. Durr jabs hard to the left, then crosses to the right—too quick, too slick—and her defender inevitably bites. Durr pops a step-back three, leaning like she knows it’s good. Of course it is. It’s only the first quarter, but she’s got that look in her eye. Terry Durr, Asia’s father, who is seated directly across from the Louisville bench, recognizes that look immediately. “She’s ready to destroy someone,” Terry says of his daughter. In this moment, she’s someone else. The woman obsessed with SpongeBob SquarePants who taught her poodle, Precious, to howl when the theme song comes on, who loves haunted houses and horror movies but gets so scared she has to sleep with the lights on for the next few days—that girl takes on a different personality. “I call her the Baby-Faced Killa,” says DeQuan Jones, a friend who plays for the Fort Wayne Mad Ants of the NBA G League. “She looks so innocent, but when she steps on the court, she literally will attack you.” (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Top QB recruit Justin Fields Can’t Wait to Compete with Jake Fromm (1.25.18):
One morning in late December 2017, Justin Fields wakes up, pulls up a chair in his family’s home in Kennesaw, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta, and reflects on all that happened the day before. On that red-letter day, the 18-year-old quarterback signed with the University of Georgia, becoming the first No. 1 overall prospect to pick the Bulldogs in the 13 years that ESPN has ranked prospects. Fields wore a tuxedo to his signing ceremony as 100 people filled the auditorium at Harrison High School. But today, he’s wearing a gray Georgia T-shirt, black shorts and a silver wristband that reads “Commit to the G.” A red Georgia flag waves on the front lawn in the 52-degree chill. His dog, Royce, a little black and white Shih Tzu with an endearing overbite, is tugging at Fields’ calf for attention. He’s appropriately dressed in a mini red Bulldogs shirt. But outside his home, outside Kennesaw, few can understand why the 6’3″, 225-pound quarterback with the size, athleticism, arm strength, lights-out quickness and razor-sharp IQ (he also has a 3.9 GPA) would choose Georgia. The program already has a true freshman in Jake Fromm, who led the Bulldogs to the SEC championship and national championship game. “It’s shocking,” says Barton Simmons, director of scouting for 247Sports. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
The Mad Scientist of the NFL (11.10.17):
“Here, what we believe in is: You either get better or you get worse. You never stay the same.” Sean McVay, the 31-year-old coach of the Los Angeles Rams, the youngest head coach in modern NFL history, is standing outside the offices of the team’s training complex in Thousand Oaks, California. He speaks with the conviction of a man who cannot, will not, stomach complacency. And he isn’t just talking about his players; he’s talking about himself. Every second is monumental for the first-year head coach. Five minutes later, he dashes off to a meeting, where he will labor over formations and movements and should-have-beens and better-bes. “He’s like a mad scientist,” says Chris Ashkouti, a close friend since seventh grade. McVay has transformed the Rams from a punchline to a contender, from a 4-12 nightmare to a 6-2 first-place standing in the NFC West. He’s revitalized one of the NFL’s worst attacks into the second-highest-scoring offense. And he’s doctored Jared Goff—last year’s No. 1 overall pick, who went 0-7 as a rookie starter—into a quarterback on the rise. But the mad scientist doesn’t want to hear any of that. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
So You Think You Know Lonzo Ball…(10.9.17):
The real Zo is still the 10-year-old boy who understood passing was like double-dutch: all rhythm and all timing. He calculated the precise second to throw the ball from one end of the court so that it soared over the hands of defenders and onto the fingertips of teammates at the other end without touching the ground. The real Zo is a 13-year-old boy whose AAU team trailed by one with 20 seconds left. He drove to the basket, fooling the crowd by passing to his center, wide open underneath the basket, instead of shooting it himself. Clank. Ball’s team retrieved the ball with seven seconds left. “I’m going to give you the ball again,” an unfazed Ball told his visibly dejected center. “Be ready.” Ball whipped the ball to the center again—to the chagrin of over-zealous parents—but this time, the big man delivered the buzzer-beater layup. The real Zo is a 14-year-old freshman challenging a senior for a starting varsity spot at Chino Hills High. “Are you nervous?” whispered John Edgar Jr., another childhood best friend, at tryouts. “Nah,” Ball said. “I’m not nervous at all. What do you mean?” Ball earned the nod. The real Zo is an 18-year-old man elevating a struggling UCLA squad to a No. 2 standing and Sweet 16 appearance in 2016-17, leading the nation in assists. “His strength is his speed,” says Steve Alford, UCLA’s coach. “You can’t catch him.” The real Zo is now 19—and every move he makes must be immaculate. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Doubters and Would-Be Tacklers: Beware of Ronald Jones, USC’s ‘Texas Tesla’ (11.29.17):
USC has the ball, 1st-and-goal at the 2-yard line with fewer than six minutes to go against UCLA. Quarterback Josh Rosen and the Bruins have cut the lead to 21-17. Sam Darnold hands the ball off to Ronald Jones II, the Trojans’ 6-foot, 200-pound tailback, who clutches the ball tight, ducks his head down and pummels his way through much bigger linemen. Even as one would-be tackler grabs him at the knees, Jones grinds his way out of the pile and into the end zone for his second touchdown and what turns out to be the winning score. He finished with 122 rushing yards on 28 carries in the Trojans’ (10-2) 28-23 victory. “You can’t just hit him or knock him down, because he’ll just bounce up and go through you,” said Colorado head coach Mike MacIntyre, whose team fell victim to a 25-yard Jones burst the previous week. On the play, Jones escaped not one, not two, but three defenders and even carried one on his back for five yards before shedding him for another 15, as if to scream, “WEIGHT ROOM!” So who is Rojo, the tackle-breaking back from McKinney, Texas, who is suddenly rising on NFL draft boards, and whose 16 touchdowns rank seventh nationally and tie for first in the Pac-12? A player who has so much North-South explosion, bringing him to top speed after his first cut, that his teammates call him the Texas Tesla? (READ FULL STORY HERE).
“It’ll be a little different this year”: U.S. Legends Watch 2018 FIFA World Cup Draw With Mixed Feelings (12.1.17):
LOS ANGELES — “What time is it?” Alexi Lalas, U.S. National Soccer Hall of Famer, asks me the question Friday morning, as there are no windows inside the Fox Sports studio in Los Angeles. Plus, it’s pitch-black outside. Lalas woke up at 3 a.m. to facilitate a 12-mile soccer carpool with fellow analyst and L.A. Galaxy legend Landon Donovan plus commentator Rob Stone. The trio arrived before 4. I tell Lalas it’s now 6:30. It’s 30 minutes before the 2018 World Cup Final Draw, which will be broadcast live around dinnertime in Moscow, Russia, the host of the Cup. All 32 qualifying teams are about to be funneled into groups to learn their first-round matchups. “World Cups are where perceptions are changed, both of individual players and teams,” Lalas tells B/R. “Because of the platform and the power of that platform, it almost defines who you are as a person, who you are as a team, who you are as a country.” And the draw itself? “It can decide a lot,” Lalas says “It can really form opinion. It can, to a certain extent, make or break you in terms of who you’re coming up against.” It’s an odd thing to watch the draw live in a country that failed to qualify for the Cup for the first time since 1986. It’s more clinical than emotional, like watching a party on TV without being invited. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
The Real First Family of Hoops (7.20.17):
The Ogwumikes are the type to play next-after-next-after-next-after-next-after-next in pickup, looking bewildered when everyone else in the gym starts taking off their kicks to call it quits. All four Ogwumike women, whose last name means “warrior” in Igbo, one of the national languages of Nigeria, are relentless. “No matter how we feel when we walk on the basketball court, we all have this sense of pride, so we always work hard,” Erica says. Last season, Chiney took a nasty elbow to the mouth. She felt her tooth shake—it fell out the next day—but she kept playing. Only now has she set up an appointment for an implant. Nneka has a three-inch scar on the right side of her body from diving into the scorer’s table while playing for the Polish team CCC Polkowice in the Final Eight of Euroleague in Russia. She hopped right back in the game. Olivia has been whacked in the head as an undersized forward more times than she’d like to remember. Erica is the only Ogwumike to wear a mouth guard, as she boxes out players a head or two taller than she in the paint. “We’ve all had our battle scars,” says Chiney, who is sitting out this season to rehab a left Achilles injury. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
How Mo’ne Davis made her hoop dreams come true: Inside Life after Little League (2.21.17):
Mo’ne Davis calls for the ball. She drains a three, holding her follow-through for a second longer as she and a teammate battle two others for most threes made during a drill. “BOOM!” the boys on the sideline shout. Davis, wearing white and chrome Nike Kobe A.D.s, scurries around the perimeter, releasing shot after shot. “They cheatin’!” Davis hollers, waving her arms and hip-checking one of her opponents. She pops three more in a row. “Oh yeaaaaahhhh,” she says, bouncing up and down, sensing victory. Davis has been knocking down shots at Philadelphia’s Marian Anderson Recreation Center with these same boys—her teammates on the Anderson Monarchs, a youth recreational team—for the past eight years. The center’s gym, with its four rows of brown bleachers, its cream-colored wall tile and its green and white scoreboard, has long been home to the 15-year-old—since before she became an American sensation in 2014 as the first girl to pitch a shutout in the Little League World Series; before she starred in Spike Lee’s Chevrolet commercial; before she couldn’t walk anywhere without fans approaching her for pictures.(READ FULL STORY HERE).
My Game-Day Style: Austin Rivers (2.14.18):
Even when he was nursing an injured ankle with a protective boot last month, Austin Rivers made sure his ‘fit was on point. “If I’m going to sit, I might as well look good,” he says. Though the boot is no fashion statement, it didn’t deter Rivers from suiting up for a more “grown” look he’s transitioned to. It’s a recent change in his game-day style that resulted in the purchase of 18 tailored suits from designers such as Musika Frere and Gucci. He owned just one last year. “I went all-in,” says Rivers, who returned to action last week. “I went from not having suits to being Mr. Suit.” Gone are the days of dressing like an L.A. guy, or what Rivers calls “the Melrose look” (trendy streetwear with ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirts). “Young boy-type stuff,” the 25-year-old says. Well, those days are almost over. “I have range. Some days I’ll be super professional, and some days I’ll look like a fucking rapper.” He’s also done with the fashion he donned as a teen—oversized threads, headbands and Air Force 1s—referencing the baggy clothing LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony wore in the early 2000s. “I wanted to be like the basketball players,” he says. (READ FULL STORY HERE).
BIG3 Thinking Bigger (8.29.17):
“Rick!” Kenyon Martin screamed as he walked in. “You a bad mof–ka, man! Rick a bad mof–ka!” Coach Rick Mahorn, the hustler, the former Detroit Piston “Bad Boy” Martin grew up idolizing as a kid from Saginaw, Michigan, had been the first to enter the press room after his Trilogy squad won the first-ever championship crown for the BIG3, co-founder Ice Cube’s half-court three-on-three basketball league for former NBA players. Mahorn looked exhausted, as his team had clawed back from an 11-point first-half deficit against the Gary Payton-coached 3 Headed Monsters at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas on Saturday. Mahorn had slowly reached for a chair, smiling once he got settled. He had a look of pride on his face: “What a great game, s–t,” Mahorn said. “Way to end the season on a great game. I’m still mad we ain’t played perfect.” Then came Martin. Mahorn greeted the former Denver Nuggets star with a headlock hug, and K-Mart flashed a wide smile. Al Harrington, who played 16 NBA seasons, chimed in too, turning to Mahorn: “I love my coach, man. I love my coach. Look at him! I love Unk! I looooove him! That’s all I got to say. I love this man, God damn, I love this man.” (READ FULL STORY HERE).
Excellence Defined: UConn Women Make History Again with 91-Game Win Streak (1.15.17):
Connecticut wasn’t satisfied with leading SMU by 24 points at the end of the first quarter, 26 at the end of the half, 35 at the end of the third Saturday afternoon. UConn refused to give an inch until the final buzzer sounded. With the 88-48 win, the top-ranked women’s basketball team ascended into hoops immortality. The 11-time national champion Huskies won their 91st straight game, setting the longest streak for consecutive wins in NCAA Division I history for men or women. But Connecticut has been here before. Having topped John Wooden’s legendary UCLA streak of 88 consecutive wins (1971-74) when it won 90 straight (2008-10), the Huskies have outdone themselves. “So many things that have happened at UConn are just beyond anybody’s expectations, beyond anybody’s imagination,” UConn head coach Geno Auriemma said on the SportsNet New York broadcast after the historic win. “It’s almost like it’s a fairy tale. It’s the kind of thing you can’t ever plan for or anticipate.” How could two completely different Huskies teams achieve the improbable in just over six years? “That’s definitely something [Auriemma] instills in us while we’re there: never be satisfied with what you’re doing,” Atlanta Dream guard Tiffany Hayes, who helped UConn set the 2008-10 record, told Bleacher Report. “Even if you’re having a good practice, you can always have a great one,” Hayes said. “His thing was, you can’t be perfect, but if you’re chasing perfection, you can catch excellence.” (READ FULL STORY HERE).