Tag: sports

Monkeywrench Movie Review. Part One.

Chris Birt — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 22:11:47 -0500

I am a gearhead, or as they say across the pond, a "petrolhead." While this ostensibly disqualifies me from writing a movie review, my British friends think otherwise. Particularly if I am writing about British films.

12 Things about the Mighty Ducks Movies that Bothered Me

Brandi Brown — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 13:03:00 -0500

The Mighty Ducks trilogy is easily the best movie franchise ever to come out of Minnesota (as far as I know). Still, I take issue with a few things in the movies. Specifically, twelve things.

Simulated Madness

Lisa Pahl — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 14:59:12 -0600

Who could forget the game last December when Douglas Stewart, the low-scoring walk-on from Minneapolis, stepped out from the shadows of his all-conference teammates to lead the Annapolis Fightin’ Crabs to a national championship?

You’re forgiven if you don’t follow the defending champs; they don’t, alas, exist in the realm people persist in calling the “real world,” but rather as data warriors in the complex alternate universe that is SimulatedSports.com College Basketball.

Go{pher} Broke

cristina — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 14:55:10 -0500

University of Minnesota Athletics Director Joel Maturi is a triple-A battery of a man. Walk into his office at the Bierman Athletic Building on the East Bank and he leaps out of his chair and shakes your hand as if you’re about to parachute out of an airplane together. Trim and fit at 62, Maturi is glib and empathetic.

Marathon Man

admin — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 00:00:00 -0500

Beyond a long window that offered a panoramic view of the Minneapolis skyline, the end-of-the-workday exodus was already under way. Traffic was snarled on the streets stretching all the way downtown. Dave St. Peter had his back to the window, and he was looking and sounding like a man whose day was just getting started. St. Peter has a big, open, Midwestern face—it could be the face of a small-town high-school principal or insurance salesman—and he somehow manages to come across as both relaxed and impatient.

As It Was Meant to Be Played

admin — Mon, 26 Feb 2007 00:00:00 -0600

I sat in a lawn chair in the middle of frozen Lake Nokomis, nibbling on chicken kabobs and sipping a tequila slushy, thinking, How serious can this pond-hockey thing be?

The Man & The Woman on The Hill

admin — Wed, 22 Sep 2004 00:00:00 -0500

A red sun is setting over the lake, its hue cast through the shutters of a rustic living room where a small television atop a white wicker stand is tuned to a Twins game. “Get some hits, damn it,” seethes the increasingly agitated sports agent on the wicker couch. “Crying shame.” The agent glares at a listless Twins hitter, stands abruptly in anger, and steps out to tend to his steaks on the outdoor grill. His son—the other lawyer in the room—remains on the couch reading the New Republic, shaking his head in parallel disgust.

The Long Bomb

admin — Fri, 26 Sep 2003 00:00:00 -0500

The last time our Golden Gophers won a Big Ten football championship, none of this year’s players had been born. It’s possible that some of their parents hadn’t either. In 1967, we had a shifty quarterback named Curt Wilson, a bruising fullback from South St. Paul named Jim Carter, and an All-American defensive end in St. Louis Park’s Bob Stein. The team finished 8-2 and shared the conference title with Indiana and Purdue.

The Missing Links

admin — Fri, 22 Aug 2003 00:00:00 -0500

A green sign on the east end of the National Sports Center in Blaine beckons young golfers with a verdant 18-hole putting course called “Tournament Greens.” On a late July afternoon, the course crawls with boys and girls as young as six years old practicing their putting. They wear lime-green T-shirts that advertise the Southwest YMCA in Eagan.

Stranded On Third

admin — Fri, 27 Jun 2003 00:00:00 -0500

I feel like throwing up: Willie Mays is screaming at me. He’s slammed the brakes on, and his sports car is screeching to a halt, and he is throwing me out. I feel nauseated, even though I’m perfectly aware of the fact that the “Say Hey Kid” of yore has famously turned into the Say Hey Asshole of bitter ex-athletes, and even though I’ve been warned to expect an unsettling, possibly random dressing-down. One just doesn’t expect Mays to go to Defcon Five at the mere mention of Ray “Hooks” Dandridge, his Mr. Chips roommate with the minor league Minneapolis Millers in 1951.