It's hard from seeing Shaq on tape how truly immense he is, but many years ago he did a guest spot on "Curb Your Enthusiasm." In that episode I played the doctor who ultimately gave him the good news about the knee that Larry had allegedly injured when he tripped him while sitting court-side. The script called for…

If the name "Maurice Cheeks" is synonymous with vacuous insights like the one you've left here, you're well-named.

As an ex-lawyer, I have rarely seen a case in which the insanity defense would seem more appropriate.

"Hey, no compound fracture, no foul!

I don't know what it says about me but I dug the black dog that was doing dance circles to the right of the poodle center stage, kind of like a canine Gladys Knight and the Pups…

I've always claimed that if you really want to know what an athlete is made of, look at their behavior when they lose.

Unmentioned but not unnoticed or appreciated, the late, great Jim Zulevic, ladies and gentlemen, a man so funny he can make you laugh from the grave.

Dear Number Six,

As an ex-Hoosier, I am surprised it took this long for some Hoosier to concoct as feculent a gem as this. Only in the state of Insanity that is Indiana could the words "I can't breathe" be construed as too confrontational, especially in light of all the confrontations that have resulted in the unnecessary and wholly…

Is there any more toxic form of unjustified regard than the one that cops reflexively (and inappropriately) over-extend to other cops merely because they perform the same job?

As an ex-Chicagoan, this clip is chilling because it reminds me that as sophisticated and great a city as Chicago is, its slip is definitely showing as a repository and resting place for aged jocks who couldn't cut it selling cars.

This is just a pictorial version of Mutual of Omaha's "Wild Kingdom, 2.0"

By all means, feel the emotion, heartfelt and deep.

The brine that spills from your eyes is nothing more than your Soul raising a toast to your emerging humanity.

Mr. Hawkins just made my All-World team in the only game that matters:

Santa's bad elf is really no more than an existential pygmy, reduced to standing on street corners, sucking down carcinogens, while he twists and tilts at windmills he can't even see, much less understand.

A classic case of when a man's tongue not only outruns his brain, but jukes his conscience right out of its jockstrap.

That Mr. Cooper thought that asking the mothers what the results would have been had their sons been white was difficult while they viewed it as an easy one to answer encapsulates the dynamic of what's wrong here: white guilt exposed for what everyone else knows to be true. The tragedy implicit in that dynamic is only…

I don't know…you'd think the young lady might've suspected things weren't going to go well when the cab driver joy-rided her through Texas en route to Florida…

Living proof that evil incarnate exists.