Rarely during 35 years of marriage have I found myself scrambling to find gifts that would bring a smile to my wife’s face. Unfortunately, back in October of ’92, the reservoir of ideas that had served me well during our first decade together had run uncharacteristically dry.

My name is not Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am 36 years old, exactly one year older than the Minnesota Timberwolves, and I live in Minneapolis with thousands of my brothers and sisters. I have often thought that with any luck at all we could see the Wolves parade down Nicollet Mall on a perfect early summer afternoon, because when I was six my dad took me to see Doug West and the T-Wolves beat the Charlotte Hornets and ever since then I’ve believed, but I’ve had to be content with what I have.

When I heard about the Argentinian named Messi arriving from Barcelona, I left early in the
morning and walked the riverbank, following the quais from the Île de la Cite past the Jardin des
Tuileries to a fishing spot under the shade of the Pont Mirabeau. I caught two carp off the wake
of a tourist riverboat, enough for Hadley and Bumby to enjoy for a supper fried in butter and
potatoes.

The Quick Lane Bowl takes place in Detroit in the week following Christmas whenever there isn’t a surging pandemic. It was founded in 1997 as the Motor City Bowl and played at the Pontiac Silverdome until moving to Ford Field in 2002, where the Detroit Lions play real NFL teams.

I was about eleven years-old when I got my first 10-speed. It was a used-up mess, but to me, it was beautiful. The chipped metallic blue paint never hindered the rocket-fast frame under my body.

I am never not listening to ‘One Shining Moment.’ I’m talking about the Luther Vandross version, of course. I don’t mean this literally. I don’t have a Spotify playlist setup to play the official March Madness anthem on repeat for all hours of the day. I mean this in a similar way…

In 1977 the Portland Trailblazers won their first and, at this writing, only NBA championship. They did this after never making the playoffs before in their six year existence.

When they won their first game of the season, I thought, OK, good, not going to get shut out this year.

The second, hey, a sweep!

I’m still learning how to be sad about Kobe because I’m still learning how to be sad about myself.

It’s been a tough year to love football. I suppose it’s always difficult to grapple with the emotion of loving something as undeniably barbaric as America’s most popular sport, but justifying my love for football has been more challenging in these times than it ever has been.

At a 2019 mid-season Portland Thorns vs. North Carolina Courage match, our mohawked capo revealed a dress with three arrows surrounded by a rainbow border. A cheer arose from the crowd of Rose City Riveters, the Portland Thorns supporter’s group.

The Under Review is dedicated to featuring local and national organizations with social justice, racial equality, and/or the fight against gender or LGBTQ+ disparity, who use sports, writing, or education as their main tool for empowerment and change. It is our honor and pleasure to offer our support to Minneapolis’s own Circle of Discipline with Center Court’s inaugural post.

I was chatting with a co-worker about the Super Bowl when he said something that disturbed me: “I always liked the Chiefs because they were underdogs. I don’t think I can cheer for them anymore now that they’ve actually won it all.”

How my mom and a utility infielder made me fall in love with baseball.

I know it’s bad because I miss Jim Nantz. I miss the Masters. I miss golf. I miss what could arguably be called the most boring sport on television…

We have a predilection to abuse
antidepressants we are both tornadoes
of trailer trash who learned to skate