Farewell columns that descend into list form are disgraceful cliches — the likes of which no self-respecting writer would ever allow. My bad.
Here’s the problem about Glen Miller's Final Four appearance with UConn: It should have been us.
Less than 36 hours until perhaps the biggest weekend of Tyler Bernardini’s collegiate basketball life, something was amiss in Penn basketball land.
A team or athlete encounters any number of mental hurdles in a given season. That's where sports psychologist Joel Fish comes in.
Saturday's win against St. Joseph's, which secured seniors Jack Eggleston, Conor Turley and Dan Monckton their first Big 5 win at the eleventh hour, was no small feat.
Brushing past a collection of scantily-clad cocktail waitresses in a Las Vegas casino last month, my father and I stopped to stare down the cyber-wall of sports odds.
Penn couldn’t hold a 15-point second-half lead against the Delaware Blue Hens, falling 97-94 in double overtime in its home opener.
In his first season, Miller led the Quakers to 22 wins, an Ivy title, and a riveting near-miss against Texas A&M; in the opening round of the NCAA Tournament.
Men's basketball player Jack Eggleston, known for cheering on his roommates from the women’s basketball and soccer teams, plans to attend a game for every 2009-10 varsity sport at Penn.
Penn's defense played great. But unless the offense gets its act together, the team won't achieve its goals.
May 9 - Legendary college, professional and Olympic coach Chuck Daly, who steered Penn to four Ivy League and Big 5 titles in his six seasons at the helm, died Saturday after a bout with pancreatic cancer. He was 78. Though perhaps best known for directing the Detroit Pistons "Bad Boys" teams to back-to-back NBA championships in 1989 and 1990 and earning Olympic gold with the "Dream Team" at the 1992 Barcelona games, Daly will forever be remembered in West Philadelphia for his successes on the Palestra's vaunted hardwood.
May 9, 8:43 p.m. Legendary college, professional and Olympic coach Chuck Daly, who steered the Quakers to four Ivy League and Big 5 titles in his six seasons at the helm, died Saturday after a bout with pancreatic cancer. He was 78.
In a sport where half a second can separate first from last, 10 years might feel like a long time. Maybe even a little longer for Marion Jones. Two grand-jury testimonies, five doomed-to-be-stripped Olympic medals and six months in jail longer. A full decade after anchoring the Nike International team to victory in the 4x200 meters at the 1999 Penn Relays, the former track star returned to West Philadelphia last night to headline the latest installment of the "Race and Sports" lecture series in Huntsman Hall Auditorium, a program co-sponsored by the Wharton Sports Business Initiative and the Center for Africana Studies.
Over the past couple weeks, the Penn baseball team has had, to borrow from the immortal axiom of last year's Spring Fling headliner, woes in different area codes. Since last playing at Meiklejohn Stadium over two weeks back, the Quakers have dropped a doubleheader to Brown in the "401" of Providence, R.
What do you get when you blend a fake afro, a Celine Dion video, a cookie monster mask and a human banana? Besides a phenomenal theme party, of course. The answer: a third-place finish at the Student Athlete Advisory Committee's athlete talent show, revived for the first time since 2006 at the Zellerbach Theater this past Monday evening.
So, you're a Penn sports fan. Tough sledding, eh? No football titles since 2003, the worst basketball season in nearly two decades, and if Glen Miller has to wish one more departing hoopster "well on his future endeavors," you might just burst out of your Red and Blue Crew T-shirt like some sort of Incredible Ivy League Hulk.
Ever seen that "game of inches" speech from Al Pacino in Any Given Sunday? Man, does that fire me up. It's pop culture Red Bull - like a '70s Springsteen track or watching the Celtics fail. "Look at the guy next to you," Pacino sermonizes to his fictitious Dallas Sharks football team before the big game.
Justin Reilly? He's that scruffy mass of energy at the end of the bench, the one who comes in, swarms the ball for a few possessions in the paint, maybe picks up a couple fouls against the other team's bigs. He's an agitator - the guy at the gym who doesn't get picked until late but is sure to annoy the hell out of the poor guy he ends up guarding.
I'd heard about them before, sure - even seen a couple on TV courtesy of this year's Detroit Lions and the old New Orleans 'Ain'ts teams of the early '80s. But it wasn't until Saturday night at the Palestra that I encountered one in person: the paper bag head, complete with two holes for the eyes, a frowning face penciled in, and a gangly, anonymous body dangling underneath it all.
The sign was kind of clever, you had to admit. "Penningitis," it read, courtesy of the Princeton band. "Terminally Infectious Since 1740." But the Tigers' trumpet-wielders had it all wrong. There was no disease in the air at Jadwin Gym on this night - just some serious allergies to the bottom of the net.