My Golden Dilemma

I’ll be the first to admit that I chose to watch my childhood hero Kobe Bryant close out his career, rather than to watch the Golden State Warriors win number 73. But instead of talking about the ridiculousness of his 60 points, I will spend the day before the NBA
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Love, hate and rivalry

I hate the Boston Celtics. I hate the green, I hate that dumb leprechaun, I hate that every time we discuss that stupid team we incorrectly pronounce the Irish word “Celtic,” and I especially hate The Truth. I detest the entire institution, and I would love to see them get
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Dear Mr. Spanos

Hi. You don’t know me. We’ve never met. You have no clue of my history with the San Diego Chargers, the team you unfortunately own. Which probably makes this all a lot easier for you. An hour and a half, Dean. Two with traffic. That’s how long the drive is
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81 Reasons

Don’t read this column. At least, not yet. Instead, think for a second. Try to remember being 9 years old. People don’t remember the past chronologically, but by the few moments they find the most personally formative. I’m no exception — in fact, I can honestly admit I remember only
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The Mamba Manifesto

Just when I thought I had cried enough with finals coming up. I read the poem, and I couldn’t handle it. Kobe, the one show my parents would let me stay up late to watch as a kid. Kobe, the greatest spectacle in the entertainment capital of the world. Kobe,
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Better late than never

Because of my Latino family’s religious-like devotion to soccer, I grew up with an indifferent perspective toward basketball. My lack of interest in the sport continued throughout my teenage years because I was terrible on the court: I couldn’t shoot if my life depended on it, I dribbled as if
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