Kenneth Walker III's Heisman Trophy Odds Shift to +500 After 5 TDs vs. Michigan
Oct 30, 2021
Michigan State's Kenneth Walker III celebrates his touchdown against Michigan during the second quarter of an NCAA college football game, Saturday, Oct. 30, 2021, in East Lansing, Mich. (AP Photo/Al Goldis)
If you were looking to buy low on Kenneth Walker III as a Heisman Trophy dark horse, that time has passed.
The Michigan State star is now +500 to win college football's top individual honor, the fourth-best moneyline at DraftKings Sportsbook. His odds skyrocketed following the Spartans' 37-33 victory over rival Michigan on Saturday.
Their offense was effectively a one-man show, as Walker carried the ball 23 times for 197 yards and five touchdowns. He now has 1,194 yards and 14 touchdowns on the ground for 8-0 Michigan State.
At +170, Alabama's Bryce Young is the Heisman favorite, but he hasn't built an unassailable lead. Young's 2,453 passing yards and 26 touchdowns to three interceptions are impressive yet not otherworldly.
Michigan State still has trips to Purdue and Ohio State and will host Maryland and then Penn State in its finale. Should the Spartans win out, Walker could overtake his fellow contenders in the Heisman race.
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Wynn Las Vegas Closes Sportsbook, Poker Room Temporarily Because of Coronavirus
Mar 13, 2020
FILE - This June 17, 2014, file photo shows the Wynn Las Vegas and Encore resorts in Las Vegas. The corporate owner of the Wynn and Encore resorts on the Las Vegas Strip is accusing a company building a $4 billion casino across the street of copying its building design. Wynn Resorts Holdings has filed a federal trademark infringement lawsuit alleging that Resorts World Las Vegas wants to mislead the public into believing that its new 3,000-room project is affiliated with Wynn. (AP Photo/John Locher, File)
The Wynn Las Vegas will reportedly close its sportsbook and poker room Sunday due to concerns about the COVID-19 pandemic.
Richard N. Velotta of the Las Vegas Review-Journal reported the news Friday.
David Purdum of ESPN.com also reported on the closure, noting the Wynn will be the first Nevada casino to do so. However, state officials in Illinois ordered casinos to suspend gambling operations for 14 days beginning Monday, while Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine directed Ohio casinos to do the same because gatherings of more than 100 people are being prohibited in the Buckeye state.
While sports gambling is not legal in Ohio, Illinois just launched legalized sports betting for the first time this week.
This comes at a time when gamblers will not have many sports to bet on as the coronavirus continues to impact the sports world.
The NBA, NHL and MLS all suspended their seasons, while the NCAA canceled the men's and women's basketball tournaments. March is typically a major month in Las Vegas when it comes to sports gambling because of the Big Dance, but that will not be the case in 2020.Ā
As of Friday, CNN reported there have been more than 132,000 people infected with the coronavirus across the globe.
Dwyane Wade and More Athletes from Around the Sports World Vote on Election Day
Nov 6, 2018
CHARLOTTE, NC - OCTOBER 30: Dwayne Wade #3 of the Miami Heat reacts against the Charlotte Hornets during their game at Spectrum Center on October 30, 2018 in Charlotte, North Carolina. NOTE TO USER: User expressly acknowledges and agrees that, by downloading and or using this photograph, User is consenting to the terms and conditions of the Getty Images License Agreement. (Photo by Streeter Lecka/Getty Images)
Tuesday is voting day across the United States, and a number of stars from the sports world have made it known they performed their civic duty.
ESPN's Malika Andrews reported Monday the NBA made a concerted effort to emphasize the voting process and helped set up voting registration tables at the Las Vegas Summer League as well as the rookie transition program.
Thereās too much at stake in this election to sit it out ā thatās why Iām proudly supporting Mayor Andrew Gillum for Governor. Make change happen. Go vote TODAY. #VoteItForward#Floridapic.twitter.com/LoEVVLiY1w
Rock the Vote partnered with the Women's National Basketball Players Association to convey the importance of voting, and Renee Montgomery, Gabby Williams and Alysha Clark helped rally WNBA fans for Election Day.
We love @theWNBPA and everything they have done this year to encourage others to vote tomorrow.š³
That's why we teamed up with these elite players to make their voices heard for the midterms! #AthletesRockTheVote
I voted today. You should, too. But plz donāt write me in for anything. Iām not qualified nor have I thought of my campaign slogan yet. Iām thinking āMandatory Taco Tuesdayā #Williams2028pic.twitter.com/6TmAAHbdxj
Polls closed at 6 p.m. ET in Indiana and Kentucky, with voting concluding at 1 a.m. ET in parts of Alaska, according to the New York Times' Astead W. Herndon and Jugal K. Patel.
That leaves some time for sports fansāespecially those on the West Coastāto get to their local polling stations before it's too late.
What Happened in Vegas Stays with Bubba Derby
Sep 28, 2018
A thousand miles from home, Bubba Derby watches the room blacken as credits start to crawl across the dark screen. It's past 2 a.m. and he needs to get some rest before returning to the baseball field at noon. The 20-second Netflix countdown begins to tick, offering him another fleeting reprieve from reality. He lies in bed with his finger on the remote and wonders: Can he shut out the memories for long enough to drift into dreams, or will he lie awake with the nightmares? 18ā¦17ā¦16ā¦
He remembers all the good things in his life. That's the strategy the therapist taught him. He is alive. So are his father, his mother, his sister, his cousin, his aunt, his nephew. Everyone who went to Las Vegas with Bubba that weekend last fall came home. He knows that 58 people never did. But too late. Now he's back thereā13ā¦12ā¦11āand the gunshots are silencing the music, and the bullets are ripping through the earth and through the people around him.
He tries to picture what his family will do the next day. That's the strategy he taught himself. Maybe his sisters, Kim and Val, will visit his parents, Al and Julie. The Derbys all live within 20 minutes of each other, and they rarely let a week go by without a family barbecue. Maybe his nephew, Kaison, will play some wiffle ball with grandad in the backyard. 8ā¦7ā¦6ā¦
For the first few months after the shooting, sleep was sweet relief. Then came the nightmares. In one that haunted him for weeks, Bubba heard car horns and sirens from inside a hotel room with his mother and father. He peered through a sliding glass door to see a faceless man opening fire on the street. The man turned and walked toward Bubba's hotel room. Bubba begged his parents to hide. The man started to sprint. Bubba opened the door to confront him. And then Bubba would jerk awake. 3ā¦2ā¦1ā¦
He finds the courage to click off the next episode, to move on. But he leaves the TV screen on, to hold off the darkness.
We don't really go to music festivals for the food or the drinks or the drugs. We don't even go just to listen to the music. We go to experience a certain kind of connection. We go because sometimes the best way to stir our souls is to brush shoulders with strangers and sing at the top our lungs. We go to feel alive.
Bubba arrives at the Route 91 Harvest Festival just after he finishes his first stint as a Triple-A starting pitcher in the Milwaukee Brewers organization. At 23 years old, he is now just one call-up away from The Big Show. A crew of close familyāhis parents, his sister Kim and her husband, his nephew, his aunt, his cousin and his cousin's girlfriendāaccompanies him to Las Vegas for the festival. And when they aren't exploring the Shelby Museum or floating along the Lazy River at the Mandalay Bay, they watch almost every gig as a pack. During the next-to-last performance of the festival, a little after 7 p.m. on Sunday night, October 1, Bubba hoists Kaison onto his shoulders, the little guy beaming in his brand-new cowboy hat and American flag bandana, as Luke Combs strums on stage a hundred feet ahead. They sway together, and Bubba pulls out his phone to snap a selfie. Behind them, the golden windows of the Mandalay Bay glow against the desert sky. None of them have shattered yet. Nothing has.Ā
Pictured from the Route 91 Harvest Festival last October are Jori Jellison (far left) and Darci Wallace (third from left), along with Bubba Derby carrying Kaison on his shoulders.
After Combs finishes his set, Bubba's family huddles around Kaison. They ask the six-year-old whether he wants to stay at the festival or go see Cirque du Soleil with his grandparents. Jason Aldean is Kaison's favorite singer and "Burnin' It Down" is his favorite song, but to everyone's immediate surpriseāand later, to their eternal gratitudeāhe chooses to leave. As the Derbys wave goodbye, none of them suspects that it could be for the final time.
Kim and her husband lie on the lawn near the back of the venue and soon fall asleep. Bubba weaves through the crowd with his Aunt Monica, his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend. They settle into a spot with a nice cushion between themselves and the next group of people, waiting for the headliner.
A few minutes later, a group of five women squeezes into the sliver of space. Two of them are Darci Wallace and Jori Jellison. Darci's older sister, who's been friends with Jori since high school, is turning 47. Jori has three teenagers at home, and she's enjoying a weekend to let loose. At 31, Darci is on the other side of parenting, with two kids under four back home.
The two groups don't take notice of each other at first. Bubba is trying to keep a low profile because, earlier, a picture of him on Instagram had gone up on the big screen by the stage, to which his cousin had shouted, "He plays in MLB!" Darci and Jori have enough friends in their group that they don't feel the need to make any more. Then, they all smell that smell. Someone just farted.
Jori turns and blames it on Bubba, a perfect stranger. He isn't responsible, but he still blushes with embarrassment. Jori takes a swig of his beer as a penalty, and the three fast friends laugh it off. "We were just party pals," Jori says. "He didn't know a thing about me or Darci. He didn't know we were mothers. He had no reason to save us."
At 10:05 p.m., they think they're hearing firecrackers. Aldean has started playing "When She Says Baby," a love song with a driving drum beat, and the concert is coming to a close. Aunt Monica, who works for a California police department in payroll, tells Bubba and his cousin that, no, those aren't firecrackers at all. But they see Aldean strumming away on stage: If he is safe, they figure, well, so are they. They look back at the stage, and it's empty. The crackling sounds cease, and a hush falls over the crowd. When they hear that terrible crackling noise again, there is no doubt: Someone is shooting at them.
People carry a victim at the Route 91 Harvest country music festival after shots were fired.
People duck. People freeze. People scream. But Bubba knows he has to move. "Get down!" he cries out, as he leaps onto Darci and Jori. He stretches his 5'11" frame as far as his limbs will allow. He sees his cousin covering his girlfriend. And for a moment, his eyes meet Aunt Monica's. "It was the look of, 'Is this it?'" Bubba says. "'Is this the last time I'm going to see you? Are we about to die?' That look is as haunting as anything I saw."
The dirt around them blasts from the force of the bullets. Jori braces for the pain of being shot but tells herself she'll survive. She thinks the gunfire is coming from a helicopter. Darci watches a bullet crater the ground a foot away from her face. She tells herself she'll get home to her children or die trying. Bubba scans the park. By now, most of the crowd is crouching on the ground, but several country-music fans are streaking toward the exits. Bubba can't tell where the shots are coming from, either, so he just listens for a break. He grabs Jori with his right hand and Darci holds on to Jori. Where, he wonders, can they run?
"It was the look of, 'Is this it? Is this the last time I'm going to see you? Are we about to die?'"
The shooting pauses again. There will be 10 more bursts during the 10 minutes of terror. But, for a moment, another hush hovers over the crowd. "Go!" Bubba yells, and the three fast friends are off, running with their backs bent and their heads low, weaving through the bodies around them and beneath them. Darci looks down and sees one of the first victims. She wants to stop and help, but too late. The next burst begins. Bubba grips Darci and Jori more tightly as they try to survive the final 50 feet to a House of Blues just ahead.
Bubba pulls Darci and Jori across the threshold of the tent. Blood and dirt and sweat stain their clothes and their skin. Under the cover, Jori collapses. Bubba picks her up and places her and Darci behind a couch. Darci freezes. Bubba looks at her and mouths the words "Don't panic." He scans the structure and the heaves of people paralyzed with fear. This canvas and plastic cannot possibly protect them from the gunfire; these people, he thinks, are going to die. Bubba grabs a nearby barstool and hurls it into an empty area. "We have to keep moving!" he shouts.
"People didn't know what to do, so they just froze," Darci says now. "He saved a lot more lives than ours."
Finally, Bubba thinks he has found an escape: A fence, constructed to keep festival-crashers from getting in, has been bulldozed by the first wave of survivors fleeing. He returns to Darci and Jori and offers them his hands again. He nods toward the exit, opening up onto Giles Street. "Run for your lives," he tells them.
Two days after the shooting, Bubba jumps in his truck and speeds home. He'd been stranded in Las Vegas for an extra 36 hours because he'd parked in the same garage as the shooter. On Monday, he hadn't slept or eaten well. But on this Tuesday afternoon, he begins to feel safer with every foot he puts between himself and that godforsaken city, with every mile marker that moves him closer to home in Southern California. What he didn't know then was that pain had packed itself in his suitcase, that panic had buckled into the passenger seat.
Bubba Derby
When he gets to his family home, a humble midcentury modern east of L.A., he has a tearful reunion with a few family members who were able to return home on Monday and with a few others who never went to Las Vegas. He'd spent the previous day wishing he were here with them, but now he feels the overwhelming desire to be alone. He retreats to his childhood bedroom, where the muscle car posters are still tacked to the walls and where he stays during the few months a year when he isn't playing professional baseball. He decides to watch Transformers: The Last Knight. But then, the first blast of robotic gunfire stuns him.
Any psychologist could have told Bubba that this was PTSD introducing itselfāthat the part of his brain responsible for memory was short-circuiting and slipping the past into the present, that the part of his brain responsible for producing emotional responses was now hypersensitive to stress. Bubba didn't know how to deal with those emotions, but he'd long ago learned that the best way to cope with stress was to keep moving. He launches himself toward the remote and flips off the TV.
Bowdien Henry Asa Derby was raised in this house, the baby of the family and spoiled from the start. His childhood nickname stuck to him like a number ironed to the back of a jersey, and as soon as he could stand, Bubba was toddling around the bases after his sister Val's softball games. As soon as he could speak, he was telling people he'd make the majors when he grew up. Most people would smile politely, but Al Derby latched on to the idea. If his son's dream was to be a baseball player, then a baseball player he would be.
Al signed up to coach Little League and enrolled Bubba at age four. They'd arrive hours early for practice so Bubba could take extra swings. They'd stay hours late so he could finesse his fielding. During games, Al would keep meticulous box scores that he'd file away in the garage. If Bubba committed an error or his three hits in a game were stained by a single strikeout, then father and son would be the two shadows flickering on the field in the headlights of Al's Toyota Tacoma, making sure Bubba would be better prepared for the next test.
Al Derby, Bubba's father
Bubba burned through 105-degree southern California days. He crisscrossed baseball diamonds across the county on Friday nights, wondering what parties his friends were enjoying instead. And there weren't any holidays from baseball. When he was 11, he and his dad went straight from Easter service to the baseball field. Occasionally, Bubba would overreact to the pressure, like the time Al kept taunting him to hit a pitch and Bubba drove the first one straight back into his father's shin. But over time, he learned that the best way to keep his emotions at bay was to keep throwing, keep swingingākeep movingāuntil the stress would subside. "Sometimes, I know, I pushed him too hard," Al says. "He could take a lot. He never quit. He never crumbled."
Word of what happened in Vegas beats Bubba home. Darci and Jori had posted thank-you messages to him on Facebook, and soon TMZ had tracked him down for a FaceTime interview and labeled him a hero. He decides that the best way back to a normal life is to return to the field, so he decides to keep a commitment he'd made weeks earlier to coach for his alma mater, La Salle High School.
As he stands in the dugout, Bubba can see the players stealing glances at him. And he can feel the relentless buzzing of his iPhone in his pocket. He checks it each time, hoping for more information about the shooter or updates on the victims. He stares at his screen so often that the La Salle coach pulls him aside and asks if he might feel better switching it off for a few minutes. In his mind, Bubba erupts. That phone saved his life 48 hours ago. It had helped him find his sister and confirm the rest of his family had survived. But then he loosens his grip and loses himself in the game.
Bubba had been a star from the start at La Salle. In his first year of high school, he played on the freshman, JV and varsity teams, all at the same time. Harry Agajanian, his coach, marveled at Bubba's work ethic and his ability to excel under stress. "Kids like him sometimes burn out really quickly," Harry says. "The pressure he felt every game, especially in his last two seasons, was insane."
Before the start of Bubba's senior season, the La Salle squad bused down to San Diego for a team-building activity. Bubba hadn't eaten that morning, and when the team pulled into the Carl's Jr. parking lot, his mouth started watering. But, stepping off the bus, he was greeted by Marines. The La Salle Lancers were given 90 seconds to dump their belongings into camouflage backpacks and put on their uniforms. And then they ran.
For the next two nights, military volunteers at Sergeant Mike Muller's Camp Goalz subjected the team to seemingly endless runs in the sand, seemingly impossible obstacle courses and seemingly pointless punishments. At night, the Lancers had to keep a fire burning on the windy beach.
In the morning, before first light, they were woken by fireworks. And at all times, each boy was expected to keep a 10-pound stoneā"the rock of responsibility"āoff the ground. During the more physically demanding challenges, many of his teammates crumbled. But Bubba had long ago learned to keep moving forward. When two kids considered quitting the team just to go home for the weekend, Bubba convinced them to stay. When a freshman teammate couldn't handle holding his rock and running, Bubba shouldered it for him. At times, he ran for miles with three or four rocks.
Jordan Leitsch, one of the camp's volunteer instructors, looked at Bubba and saw a future leader. Like Al, he tried to bring out the best in Bubba by leaning into him even more fiercely. Bubba never backed down.
"If I just sit in a dark, quiet room and let my mind wander off to wherever it goes, one hundred percent of the time it's going to that night."
On the first weekend back from Las Vegas, Bubba agrees to meet his parents at his grandmother's house. As a boy, he'd spent most of his afternoons stealing his grandmother's tinfoil to make baseballs for backyard games with his cousin Jordan. They'd hide from her belt in forts they built in her living room. They'd return to her love at the kitchen table, where there were always plenty of empanadas. She died in October 2016. And now, in October 2017, he and his parents are trying to sell her home.
Bubba arrives ahead of his parents. He plays some music on his phone's speakers. He chooses a country playlist. It's still hard for him to hear country music, but anything beats silence. "If I just sit in a dark, quiet room and let my mind wander off to wherever it goes," he says, "one hundred percent of the time it's going to that night."
Julie Derby, Bubba's mother
As his mom walks in the house, the track changes to "Dear Hate." Country star Maren Morris had written the lyrics in the wake of the Charleston shooting but didn't release the song until after Las Vegas.
Dear Hate I saw you on the news today Like a shock that takes my breath away You fall like rain, cover us in drops of pain I'm afraid that we just might drown
Drops of pain drench Bubba's cheeks. His mom holds him on the couch as he sobs.
Dear Love Just when I think you've given up You were there in the garden when I ran from your voice I hear you every morning through the chaos and the noise You still whisper down through history and echo through these halls And tell me love's gonna conquer all Gonna conquer all
"All the thoughts were going through my head," Bubba says. "Why didn't I get shot? So many people around me got shot. Why was I able to survive? I've been a good person, but there were better people than me there who didn't make it. Everything hit me at once. Once I got it out, that was a turning point for me. That's when I started to heal."
The three fast friends burst through the fence, and Bubba's Apple Watch buzzes. It's his sister Kim. He tells Darci he needs to let go of her hand so he can answer. No, she can't let him do that. He puts her hand on his shirt and tells her to hold on to that instead. She does. Kim tells Bubba that she and her husband fled at the first sounds and were safe now in the Tropicana Hotel. Bubba peers north and sees the white facade shining less than a block ahead. He is no longer just running away. He is running to reunite with his family.
As they cross East Reno Avenue, they pick up a Route 91 festival worker named Sophia who sticks with them for the rest of the night, but she's gone the next morning before they can find a way to keep in touch. The four rush into the Tropicana through an employee entrance.
Suddenly, they're on the casino floor, chairs overturned and poker chips abandoned on their tables. Bloodied survivors are shaking under the slot machines. Whistles and bells and chimes of good fortune mock them through the loudspeakers. Bubba's sister and brother-in-law come careening around the corner. Fearing rumors of another attack that had filtered through the crowds, the group of six sprints across the parking lot to the Hooters Casino.
Concertgoers flee during the shooting.
Bubba paces about with his phone, searching for service. He tries to call his mom. Beep...beep...beep... The call fails. He watches the police in paramilitary gear and the FBI agents flood the casino floor. He sees the death toll on TV rise from a few to a few dozen. He hears that the shooter is dead. He tries to call his dad. Beepā¦beepā¦beep... He sees Darci and Jori applying bandages to a bloodied woman. He watches Jori give the stranger her left shoe. He checks on his sister, who tells him she's going to throw up. All she can think about is whether Kaison, her firstborn, is safe. Bubba toggles his phone on and off airplane mode.
A mile and a half away, Al, Julie and Kaison are sheltered in a parking garage at the Mirage, where they'd been watching Cirque du Soleil. Julie had learned of the shooting in a frantic phone call from Kim. "They're killing us!" Kim had screamed. When Julie told Al, they talked each other out of sprinting down the strip, straight toward the gunfire, to find their children. They knew they needed to keep Kaison safe. So they follow Mirage employees to the garage and pray. After hours of missed connections, Julie sees Bubba's face on her iPhone screen. Bubba tells his mother that they are all safe but that another mother-son reunion is more important than theirs right now. He tells her to put Kaison on the phone. He sprints through the slot machines to Kim, who is curled on the floor, shivering in a blanket. He hands her the phone. "Hi, baby," she says. She doesn't cry until she hangs up.
Finally, Bubba breathes out. He looks down at his lower body for the first time and sees blood on his cowboy boots and on his jeans. He remembers reading about how adrenaline can mask even the most painful injuries, and he wonders: Have I been shot? He takes off his boots and rolls up his pants. No bullet holes.
On the plane back home to Californiaābefore Darci had wept at the sight of her babies at her front door and Jori had cuddled on the couch with her two teenage daughters all nightāJori asks Darci: How will we ever thank Bubba?
The next week, the three meet at the Anaheim Packing House, a trendy food hall between their houses. Darci asks Bubba for his ID, because she can't believe he's only 23. Darci gives Bubba a keychain she'd made with their names on it. Jori gives him a poop-emoji speaker. For three hours, they laugh and cry. Then they make a bold plan: They will go to another concert together.
Darci Wallace, Bubba Derby and Jori Jellison pictured in September 2018.
On October 19, they meet again at Montana's Country Nightclub in San Dimas for a Route 91 survivors night. In just three weeks, Bubba has gone from the guy who was game for any concert in Southern California to a man who considers pulling off at every exit along the 210 to attend one. When he arrives, the survivors are let in first, which gives him a chance to check every exit. And when he scans the crowd, he sees the nervous tics among the strangersāthe half-smiles, the full drinks, the shaky sways. It's a room full of people already realizing the difference between survival and escape. And it helps Bubba understand he isn't alone. "It was the first time I went out and I didn't feel vulnerable," he says. "It was the first time I danced."
But like the line dances that night, healing does not follow a straight path forward. A few nights later, Bubba's parents arrive at his sister Val's house to head out for a planned family dinner. They're a half-hour late. The Derbys don't even have a reservation, but Bubba is livid. He swears at his mother and storms out of the kitchen. A few days after that, Kim invites him to the beach with her kids. It's a dreamy Southern California day, and she pulls off at the first street parking space they can find. Bubba parks behind her but then complains for the entire 10-minute walk that they parked too far away. When he's still bothering his sister by the water, she tells him not to ruin a rare day with his niece and nephew, and he lets go.
In Las Vegas, he ran on pure instinct, and every move had been right. But now, no matter how long he runs, pain manages to keep up. No matter where he stops, panic finds him. Bubba calls someone he thinks might have a solution: Mike Muller, the veteran who put him through hell at Camp Goalz when he was 17. "Subliminally, that's what the camp is for," Muller says. "When the shit hits the fan, look around and take a breath and get through it. That's what he did [in Las Vegas]. But it stays with you, and I told him he needed to keep talking about it."
"Bubba reminded me that I could have an impact on people's lives still. In Las Vegas, he could have just fled for safety, but he didn't."
Muller also tells him about what had happened to Jordan Leitsch, the volunteer instructor Bubba had bonded with at the camp. In the intervening years, Leitsch had relocated to Wisconsin and lost his left leg, his life savings and, very nearly, his marriage. Bubba calls the Brewers, and by the time Leitsch is home recovering from surgery, gear and a letter from the team are waiting for him, and Bubba and Muller are planning a fundraiser to pay his medical bills. Only months later does Leitsch learn what happened in Vegas. "Bubba reminded me that I could have an impact on people's lives still," Leitsch says. "To see the way he turned out really encouraged me. In Las Vegas, he could have just fled for safety, but he didn't. With me, he could have just said, 'Hey, we all have our struggles,' but he didn't. Both times, he stayed and helped."
On the one-month anniversary of the shooting, Bubba feels strangely calm. He spends the day driving a parts truck for the GMC dealer where his mom works and imagining, at every hour, where he was at that moment in Las Vegas. He pulls off the interstate at his last stop. There's a soft haze hanging over the San Bernardino Mountains. He's listening to Go Country 105, music no longer a trigger. Then, he hears a few familiar chords but can't quite place them. He stops at a red light. He recognizes the song. It's "When She Says Baby" by Jason Aldean. The light turns green. He stares past it toward the mountains, his body as stiff as the brakes. He closes his eyes. The light cycles back to red. He doesn't move forward.
All winter, Bubba longs for the return of baseball. He craves the joy of jokes in the locker room and the pride of putting on the uniform. He wants to make the majors, because maybe then he would feel like there was a reason why, on a night when so many lives were stolen or scarred forever, he had escaped without a scratch.
He spends weeks of the offseason searching for the shooter's motive, scanning articles from major news outlets and then diving into the catacombs of the internet, through unverified Facebook posts and even conspiracy theory videos on YouTube. Finally, his brother-in-law tells him that he's never going to understand why and that he shouldn't give the killer any more of his attention.
Bubba had always made friends as easily as he'd hit home runs. And he had a soft spot for the misfits. At the little league drafts, Al knew that the last kid picked would be the first kid Bubba invited on the family's next trip to Disneyland. But after Las Vegas, trusting strangers is no longer second nature. Outside of his family, Jori and Darci are the only other people he knows who have seen what he's seen, and sometimes it feels like only they can understand why part of him is still running. Sometimes it feels like the only way for them to move forward is to stick together again.Ā
Kaison Viray, age 6, pictured in September 2018.
Darci is about the same age as Bubba's older sisters, so she and her husband make fast friends with them, too. Darci's daughter Lila and Kim's son, Kaison, become friends. Bubba jokes that his new little friend and Kaison will get married someday. Lila starts calling him Uncle Bubba. When Lila hears Bubba's voice on the phone, she asks him to come to Chuck E. Cheese's with her. When she watches him on TV, she wears a pink shirt that her mother made her, with Bubba's No. 11 ironed on. They all go to Disneyland together one day in December, and after Darci and her husband, Dan, return from the single ride they enjoyed apart from the kids, they discover that Bubba has bought Lila a stuffed animal, of baby Bambi.
Darci and Dan are there when the Derbys send Bubba off to training camp in March, and they're there a few weeks later when the family visits him in Arizona. She wears a hat that reads BUBBA THE BRAVE. "We met under horrible circumstances," Darci says, "but we're like family now. When I see him, I don't think about all the bad memories. Instead, we create new good ones."
When Bubba arrives at Brewers spring training, he knows teammates are trying to be respectful of what he's been through. But he can sense what's left unspoken when they say, "It's really great to see you, man." When teammates ask him to tell the story, he feels out whether they want the full version or the short response. His default answer is to say that he saw the devil that day.
For months, he declines interview requests from magazines and morning shows across the country. He creates a custom glove with stitching over the thumb to commemorate the dead: 58 STRONG. "Maybe I would have felt like a hero if so many people hadn't died," Bubba says. "But so many people died. And so many people got hurt. There were so many shattered lives. I felt like I shouldn't have any attention. When people called me a hero, I couldn't stand it. But I did want people to know how much good there was in the midst of this tragedy."
The routine of returning to work helps him continue to heal, but even on the field, pain is always ready to pounce. A week into practice, the Brewers trainers are reviewing Bubba's heart rate with him when one asks if he was wearing his Apple Watch that night. Bubba says he was, and he scrolls through his Health app to see that just after 10, when the shooting started, his heart rate spiked from the 60s to 120 beats per minute. The trainers are stunned. Pitchers typically have heart rates north of 150 on the mound. "That's low," one of them tells Bubba, "especially if you were running for your life."
A few weeks later, he stands by first base with his position group to receive instructions from pitching coach Fred Dabney. As Bubba looks around the group, he sees red dirt from the field smeared on a teammate's pants. He remembers the blood on those cowboy boots and jeans that night in Las Vegas. And then he realizes something. "The first thing that came to my mind scared me," he says. "Why did I never think about whose blood that was? When I was searching my body looking for bullets, and I was fine, my mind just said, 'You're good.' Not until that point, months later, did I think about how right then I had only been concerned for my own safety."
At the Hooters casino, besieged by hundreds of survivors, Bubba passes the hours with routine. He volunteers to assist hotel employees handing out blankets and bottled water. He returns to his group to check on Darci and Jori and Kim, parked behind a slot machine. By 3 a.m., he finally connects with a cousin back home in California, and they set up a group text message thread with everyone in Las Vegas. From the group thread, Bubba eventually gets word that Aunt Monica and his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend are safe in their suite at the MGM Grand, which is right across the street. Monica invites Bubba to come crash with them.Ā
When Bubba bends down to tell Kim the plan, Darci overhears it and asks:
"Can we come with you?"
"Of course," Bubba says.
"By the way," she says, "I'm Darci and this is Jori."
Wrapped in blankets, they sprint across the deserted street from Hooters to the MGM Grand. Inside, they see something none of them expected: People are rolling dice and pulling levers on slot machines and placing cards on poker tables. Hooters had looked like a refugee camp, but in the MGM Grand, it's Las Vegas as usual. Outside, 58 people have perished. More than 500 have been injured. And before the bandages have been applied, before the bodies have been buried, America has already begun to move on.
They shut the door behind them in the suite and settle into their new realities. No one has much to say, but they are almost all togetherāBubba, his aunt, his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend, his brother-in-law and sister, and the band of strangers he was now bonded with forever. They snack on Goldfish and guzzle bottled waters and share phone chargers. About an hour after they arrive, Bubba gets another call from his mom. She and Al and Kaison are on the way over in a cab.
A pair of festivalgoers walk near the scene of the shooting in Las Vegas on October 2, 2017.
Bubba meets them in the lobby, hugging his exhausted parents and gently shaking Kaison awake. They ride the elevator up to their Grand Tower suite. When the doors open, Kaison, seeing his mom a few feet ahead, bounces from his stroller and barrels across the carpet to meet her. They move into each other's arms. On a night from hell, heaven looks like a tearful family together in a fourth-floor hallway.
"I saw what I saw," Bubba says. "I went through what I went through. At the end of the day, I got to go home with everyone. You can't compare that to someone who lost a husband or a wife or a child. When I left Vegas, I got to leave that behind. That's how I've begun to heal, to live my normal life with my family. Imagine trying to live your normal life without someone who was an everyday part of it. That's impossible. I saw what I saw, and I'll see it every day for the rest of my life. I can't change that. But I can wake up smiling tomorrow because I can call my sister and tell her how much I love her. So many people can't, and that breaks my heart."
Bubba jets to Colorado Springs in April for his first full season as a Triple-A starter for the Sky Sox. The rhythm of starting pitching suits him. When the team is at home, he gets to the clubhouse at the same time every day. On days when he doesn't pitch, he sits in the same spot in the bullpen. When he does go to the mound, he catches the ball, crouches, prays to his grandmother and goes to work.
Bubba doesn't strike an imposing presence on the mound. And with a fastball that rarely breaks 92 miles per hour, he isn't the kind of prospect you typically expect to see in Triple-A at 24 years old. "Hitters see him warming up and get excited," says Landon Burt, who coached him at San Diego State. "Then they get up to the plate and are back in the dugouts without realizing how they got out."
In 12 games with the Sky Sox the season before, he'd gone 5-0 with an ERA of 3.55 and 49 strikeouts. But this season he doesn't seem to have the same stuff, with an ERA just south of 4.50 and nearly as many losses as wins. At one afternoon practice, Dabney, the pitching coach, notices that Bubba seems to be somewhere else. Dabney has just returned from his son's wedding, and he tells the guys that although he doesn't have a daughter, if he did, the only player who could date her would be Bubba. "If you asked Bubba to bring your daughter home by 11," he says, "he'd have her there by 10:15. If you told him to put an empty seat in between them at the movies, I know there'd be popcorn in that chair."
Dabney has them all rolling now, gathered around the field, telling the team he could go gamble on a riverboat and get Bubba to take care of his house for weeks. Now he says he's changed his mind, and he might kick Bubba's ass just for imagining a date with his imaginary daughter. At first, Bubba laughs along with the rest of the group. Then he looks at Dabney and says, "I've seen the worst of the worst, and I'm not afraid of anything." The pitchers fall quiet.
"At times, I can tell something is different," Dabney says. "Now he's a little more reserved. I can see him thinking on the mound too much. He needs a little more encouragement in knowing that he's doing well. I tell him a lot more that he's doing fine. This year versus last year, he needs a lot more security."
Coaches and teammates with the Colorado Springs Sky Sox have tried to give Bubba the mental space to sort through the events of the past year.
During a road trip to Memphis, Bubba is standing with his hand over his heart for the national anthem when a familiar sight startles him. The ballpark backs up against a series of low-rise buildings, and Bubba spots someone on a roof. To Bubba, motionless on the field, the man appears to be staring at his team. As soon as the song ends, Bubba makes a beeline for the dugout and searches for the man again. He's gone.
"When he tells the story about Las Vegas, it can fool you into thinking he is OK. But how can anyone who has seen what he has be OK?"
For the first hour of the game, Bubba worries he is losing his grip on reality. In the fifth inning, another pitcher, Aaron Wilkerson, asks aloud in the dugout: "Hey, did anyone see that guy up on the roof before the game?" Bubba exhales. In the sixth inning, he hears a pop pop pop and springs up to see men doing construction on the same roof. "That was an eye-opener," Wilkerson says. "When he tells the story or even talks about Las Vegas, he's composed, and it can fool you into thinking that he is OK. But how can anyone who has seen what he has be OK?"
In early June, the Sky Sox fly to Sacramento. It's Bubba's only trip back home to California this season, and Darci decides to bring her family to watch him play in person for the first time. She and her husband fell in love in Sacramento, and the couple picks up Bubba from his hotel and bring him to the restaurant on the water where they were married. They walk along the river and sit down for beers. Bubba and Darci can never forget what drew them together. What they survived is the foundation of their friendship. But they don't discuss it much anymore. Instead, Darci shows Bubba photos of her daughters on her phone. Bubba catches them up on the season so far.
After a few hours, they drop Bubba back at the stadium. Night falls, and they return to settle into their seats with a big group of friends. Bubba doesn't play, but the Sky Sox win 7-2, and after the game he's buoyant. He invites Darci and four-year-old Lila down to the field to watch a postgame fireworks show.
Bubba doesn't like fireworks anymore. He braces himself for the blasts by tucking his knees into his chest and sitting in front of the rest of the group so they can't see his face. Before the show begins, Lila slides up next to him. She's wearing her pink No. 11 shirt and a fuzzy pink sweater. It's chilly and she snuggles in closer. She asks her Uncle Bubba if he's excited for the big show. He says that he is. She asks him what his favorite color is. He says it's red. She tells him hers is purple. Lila leans her little head against the pitcher's big arm.
Maybe a part of Bubba will always have to keep running from what happened in Las Vegas, but in this moment, he is still. They stare up into the night sky. There, in the darkness, a loud crackle and a flash of light.
Fans tailgate in the parking lot of Miller Park before a home opener baseball game between the Milwaukee Brewers and St. Louis Cardinals Monday, April 2, 2018, in Milwaukee. (AP Photo/Jeffrey Phelps)
When buying a ticket for a sporting event, a critical note to remember is the game is merely part of the fun. If you have the time and ability yet aren't tailgating, then, my friend, you're doing it wrong.
There are dozens of ways to plan a memorable pregame parking-lot party, and some people do itĀ real big with RVs and canopies.Ā Simplicity, however, is both enjoyable and practical. Even in a small group, you can party hard, responsibly and efficiently.
Editor's note:Ā B/R may earn a share of revenue from the links on this page. Prices and availability may change.
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Weber 14" Smokey Joe Charcoal Grill ($29.99, Walmart.com)
Deciding which grill you should buy primarily depends on a couple of factors: What car are you driving to the game? How many people are you feeding? Are you both willing and able to crouch to flip the burgers, brats, etc.?
Although larger setups are ideal for those with trucks, big groups or flexibility concernsāhey, it is what it isāthe cost-effective route is a reliable Smokey Joe by Weber.
Again, the grill might sit lower to the ground than preferred, but that can be remedied with a portable grill table, if necessary.
If you're grilling, you need somewhere convenient and sturdy to spread out the buns, condiments and chips. But not everybody has a truck or SUV to haul a typical table.
The fix is simple: Get one that folds in half!
Cosco makes a lightweight table with dimensions of 36.5" x 29.6" x 3". Plus, it weighs only 25.5 pounds and includes a handle for carrying. It should fit in trunks of most sedansāmeasure first!āand isn't a burden to haul in and out.
Forks and spoons might not even be necessary if you're only eating finger food. But if not, don't disrespect the basics.Ā
The mDesign storage system is not complex; it holds forks, knives, spoons and napkins. (Wow!) Most importantly, napkins don't need to be folded in some utensil-sized slot. Your hands are already full. Ain't nobody got time to grapple with a napkin.
Cornholeāor bagsāis straightforward and suitable for all ages. It features two teams of two alternating shots trying to land a bean bag on a wooden board and (hopefully) through a hole.
Personally, I want to hear the bagsĀ "thunk!" on impact rather than listen toĀ "tsss" every time and feel a little weight in my hand before throwing. Trust me, one way or the other, you'll care.
Because of thatāand if you're not interested in a homemade setāpick up a set of regulation-sized Tailgating Pros' boards that include bags. While it's a little pricey, cornhole is an awesome way to enjoy an outdoor holiday or a random night with friends. Its use extends beyond tailgating.
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Wilson NCAA Official Composite Football ($19.99, Wilson.com)
For good reason, tossing a football around is a classic move. Sure, it's logical to play catch with a baseball outside of the ballpark. However, when someone makes an errant throw or misses the ball, that thing might roll forever or hit someone.
Although footballs are prone to odd bounces, they don't make it very far. Respect your fellow tailgaters and grab a Wilson football with comfortable, easy-to-grip laces.
Truthfully, it's pretty difficult to screw this one up. Your demands for a tailgate chair should be few: sturdy, holds a drink, easy to pack.
Voila. This is a relatively inexpensive Coleman that fits the criteria. And at that price, you can grab a couple.
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AOMAIS Sport II Bluetooth Speaker ($29.99 each, Amazon.com)
While relaxing in that comfortable lawn chair and sipping on your favorite drink, you'll hear plenty from your surrounding tailgaters. Sometimes, though, the simple truth is you don't want to.
That's when you can power up your pairing AOMAIS bluetooth speakers. After an easy connection between the speakers, you can link a bluetooth device to them and play music at a reasonable levelāor blast it, if you're feeling some type of way.Ā Ā
We won't judge.
'Those Kids Aren't Getting Educated'
Apr 9, 2018
The film on Kevin Durant as he left Montrose Christian School for the University of Texas, in 2006, reflected a talented teenager full of potential. He had a reach like Stretch Armstrong but no true position. He could shoot from all over the court but had to narrow his shot selection to optimize his efficiency. He could outleap most of the competition, easily snatching boards thanks to a recent growth spurt of nearly half a foot the previous summer. His frame, though, was still wiry; stronger players often outmuscled him.
Yet, it didn't seem to matter. The kid could score at will.
He had all the tools at his disposalāand an enthusiasm for the game that could outlast any shooting slump. But there were a number of mundane basics Durant needed to learn were he to become the silky-smooth, bucket-getting All-Star, league MVP and NBA Finals MVP the world knows today: how to tape his ankles, how to stretch properly, how to build an entire day around the night's game so his mind and body peaked when showtime came.
"Back in college, I didn't know how to watch film," Durant said recently. "I didn't know what I was looking at when I got into the film room."
It was then that Rick Barnes, KD's coach at Texas, showed him the ropes. He taught Durant the minor things that became major.Ā
"I didn't know what a pick-and-roll coverage was," Durant said. "I didn't really know how to work on my game individually and take it seriously. I learned all that stuff from Rick Barnes. It was key for me, because I was always just a kid enjoying [playing] ball. I didn't really think it would be just a job. That transition from being a high school player and working my way to be a pro, I learned a lot in that year. Some kids need that."
Despite Durant's promise and obvious skill set, Barnes refused to baby him. "I'm so grateful," Durant admitted, relieved. "I didn't realize it back then. Obviously, it was tough. But now, I realize that all that stuff was very, very important for me and my growth as a player, and if you have a good coach and a good staff, that's vital for you."
Kevin Durant and Rick Barnes at Texas.
The education Durant received in college was unique, andāto a growing extentāan anachronism in the modern NCAA. According to Durant, coaches don't seem as interested or invested in cultivating the deep, meaningful relationships when the most elite players are routinely one-and-done.
"Nowadays, these coaches are just like daycare owners," Durant said. "They're like, We're just going to get these guys for a year and we're not going to really coach them, because I know they're going to be out the next year. That's not how basketball's supposed to played. That's not how you're supposed to be coached. You can't teach the game like that."
Durant was among the first classes of players impacted by the one-and-done rule mandating that players be at least 19 years of age and at least a year removed from their high school graduation to be eligible for the league. (The change affected the 2006 draft class; Durant was a McDonald's All-American that year.) At the time, the concept of one-and-done athletes was more an outlier than a rule.
Now, the culture in the NCAA has shifted drastically. One-and-done is a cornerstone of NCAA hoops. Abuses are rampant; scandal is everywhere. An ongoing FBI probe threatens to link many of the top NCAA Division I men's programs to possible rule violations.
BOISE, ID - MARCH 15: Deandre Ayton #13 of the Arizona Wildcats handles the ball against the Buffalo Bulls during the first round of the 2018 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament at Taco Bell Arena on March 15, 2018 in Boise, Idaho. (Photo by Kevin C. Cox/G
Players, for their part, seem to know they are short-term rentals. College basketball wrapped up just last week, and already the exodus of the elite-level talent has begun. Deandre Ayton is bidding farewell to Arizona after one stellar season. Trae Young is bouncing from Oklahoma. Marvin Bagley III is leaving Duke. Many more will likely follow suit in the coming days and weeks.
One-and-done has also prompted a number of players to search for alternate routes to the NBA that don't involve college at all. In 2008, Brandon Jennings bypassed college to play professionally in Italy. In 2009, Latavious Williamsāpartly because of academic ineligibilityāskipped college to play with the Tulsa 66ers of the then-NBA Development League to buy time before being drafted by the Miami Heat a year later. More recently, this past December, LaVar Ball took his sons, LiAngelo and LaMelo, out of the NCAAāand high schoolāequation altogether when he announced the two teens would play in Lithuania. (LiAngelo recently filed paperwork to make himself eligible for the NBA draft.)
And then last month, Darius Bazley, a 247Sports 5-star recruit who signed with Syracuse, opted for the G League in lieu of playing for the Orange.
Jim Boeheim, Syracuse's head coach, responded to the news critically, though without condemning Bazley for his decision. "I hope he does great," Boeheim told ESPN's Golic and Wingo. "But I don't think it's the way it will be. I think it will be proven it's not the way to get to the NBA. ... The last 48 McDonald's All-Americans, 47 of them went to college. Of the next 48, 48 will go to college. It's the best route."
Some pros around the league who went the more traditional college route disagree.Ā
"People talk about education," JJ Redick, the sharpshooter for the Philadelphia 76ers, said. "Those kids aren't getting educated."
JJ Redick receives advice from Mike Krzyzewski while at Duke, where Redick starred as a rare NBA prospect staying through his senior year.
Redick played at Duke for four years and earned national player of the year honors. Upon arrival at the university, he recalled, his coach, Mike Krzyzewski, implored his new recruits to stick around so they could get the full experience.
"He used Elton Brand as a great example," Redick said. "He said when Elton was at Duke, he knew he was only going to stay a year or two, but he unpacked his bags. It wasn't one foot in, one foot out the door, and I think a lot of kids now are getting recruited as one-and-done. The school and the kids are saying it's one-and-done. So, how does that help your program? How does that help your culture? I don't think it does. Certainly, it's worked. Guys have won championships. Coaches have won championships because of it, but I don't think it's a good system."
The question of youth development and its relationship to the business of basketball has long been a sore spot for the NBA. At a press conference last summer, the league's commissioner, Adam Silver, appeared torn when addressing the subject.
"We've talked a lot about youth development, in terms of whether we should be getting involved with some of these young players even earlier than when they come into college," he said. "And from a league standpoint, on one hand, we think we have a better draft when we've had an opportunity to see these young players play at an elite level before they come into the NBA. On the other hand, I think the question for the league is, in terms of their ultimate success, are we better off intersecting with them a little bit younger? Are we better off bringing them into the league when they're 18, using our G League as it was designed to be as a development league, and getting them minutes on the court there?"
Silver's predecessor, David Stern, was among the primary architects of the one-and-done rule. In the early 2000s, a steady influx of talent entered the league straight from high school. And Stern, who represented the owners at the collective bargaining table, expressed his concern. "Their presence there is unseemly in my view," he said.
He proposed an age limit, which many of the players opposed. Billy Hunter, then the director of the players union, strongly disputed the premise on philosophical grounds. "I can't understand why people think one is needed except for the fact that the NBA is viewed as a predominantly black sport," he said. "You don't see that outcry in other sports, and the arguments that have been in support of an age limit have been defeated." (Despite the objections, the players ultimately agreed to the provision.)
Billy Hunter and David Stern.
Hunter wasn't alone in his assertion, and todayāwhen around three quarters of the league is blackāmany still wonder what role race plays in the system.
"From an economic opportunity, I don't think we should prohibit 18-year-olds from coming out of high school and coming into the NBA," Redick said. "I look at college basketball. I look at the one-done-rule, it's all just forms of control. There is a little bit of a race element there. People complain about NBA players, saying they're not ready, but no one really gives a shit if somebody goes pro in golf or tennis."
He added: "People are making money out of this system, and the high school kids should be able to come to the NBA and make money."
Spencer Haywood, the former Laker great who opened the door for underclassmen to enter the NBA earlyā"the Spencer Haywood rule" as it is now knownāhas been an outspoken voice against the rule-making process for some five decades. He recently made headlines when he told Sporting News the system was racist. "If you have 11 blacks on your team and you are, say, in Kentucky, and they're creating all this wealth but not getting paid? It does have a tinge of slavery." he said.
Spencer Haywood, pictured in Denver at a halftime awards ceremony in November.
Haywood was recently named chairman of the National Basketball Retired Players Association board of directors, and over the phone he talked about the NCAA and what he views as problematic eligibility rules. "You have someone coming to a player and say, āWell, you know, I think I want to buy you a dinner. You worked so hard last night and you did such a great thing for this town and this city in which this university is set in. So, I want to buy you a dinner,'" he said.
"And lo and behold, from that dinner, which is a $40 dinner or a $50 dinner, that player is then ineligible. So where is the fairness? And then most of those players are coming from African American, deprived areas. I mean, this is their way out, and this is their avenue."
For Durant, getting drafted meant security.Ā
"The reality of it is, you're still going to change these kids' lives if they get drafted," he said. "Where a lot of these kids come from, to make that much money out of high school, it would be incredible, but you're giving up some of that teaching that you need. Because you're not getting it at the high school level if you're a pro basketball player. There's still a game that you need to learn."
CLEVELAND, OH - JUNE 06: Shaun Livingston #34 and Kevin Durant #35 of the Golden State Warriors looks on during practice and media availability as part of the 2017 NBA Finals on June 06, 2017 at Quicken Loans Arena in Cleveland, Ohio. NOTE TO USER: User
Durant was able to wait a year, but with time comes additional risksāparticularly regarding health. His now-teammate, Shaun Livingston, had the choice to go pro straight out of Peoria High School. And the decision to do so later proved its worth. In a game against the Charlotte Bobcats, Livingston suffered what many experts described as one of the worst injuries they had witnessed on an NBA court. (He had dislocated his patella and torn three of the knee's four major ligaments. Doctors initially feared the leg would need to be amputated.)
Had Livingston sustained the injury in collegeāsay, at Duke, where he seriously contemplated attendingāit's likely that NBA teams would have bypassed him. But because Livingston was in the league, he was able to heal under the watch of NBA trainers with the security of a guaranteed contract that stretched a year after the injury happened.
Livingston has never been a fan of the age limit. "You're not in control of your destiny," he said. "You're not able to write the story that you want to write, because somebody makes you write it and it goes to shit and then it's like, Oh, that's hard for me to live with. It's hard. You're not taking your life into your own hands, and that's hard to do."
Now, he and Durant play together for Golden State. The former often thinks of the college experience that could have been. "March Madness...that's the most exciting time," he said. "That's the coolest part of the one-and-done. Win or go home, right? It's exciting. But after saying that, 10 out of 10, I would've made the same decision. Ten times out of 10."
He added: "I'm able to sleep easy at night, because at the end of the day, these are all my decisions, so I can accept that."
The Philadelphia phenom Ben Simmons also suffered an injury shortly after joining the NBA. And like Livingston, his setback might have thwartedāor at least hinderedāhis pro dreams. One of the reasons he has strongly advocated against the one-and-done rule is the risk that college play can pose to athletes' health. "I think just prepare yourself as best you can," Simmons said. "Take care of your body and do what you need to do until it's time for you to make that decision, but enjoy the time you have there, because it goes so quickly."
Simmons was heralded out of Monteverde Academy, and upon reaching LSU in 2015 he staged his own protests against some of the NCAA's archaic rules. He famously didn't attend classāwhich later resulted in his missing a few minutes of a gameābut was blunt about his aims. "I'm going to the NBA next season," Simmons said in One and Done, a documentary about his year of college that premiered in 2016. "Why bullshit if it's not going to help me?"
PHILADELPHIA, PA - APRIL 6: Ben Simmons #25 of the Philadelphia 76ers dunks the ball past LeBron James #23 of the Cleveland Cavaliers in the second quarter at the Wells Fargo Center on April 6, 2018 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The 76ers defeated the Ca
The NCAA has, for years, run ads touting the "student" angle of being a student-athlete. But the amount of scholarship taking place is coming under more and more scrutiny. According to a 2016 study conducted by Shaun Harper, a researcher and professor at the University of Southern California's Race and Equity Center, graduation rates among black athletes in the most money-driving sports at elite programs have declined in recent years.Ā
"I actually think that one-and-done is a waste of time in college," Harper said. "Because if you're not there ultimately to earn a degree and graduate, I don't know that it makes sense for one to be there at all, especially given how few graduate after six years. Why waste time having someone there in the first year or for a first year. Does that make sense?"Ā
Any solution to fix the one-and-done system will need to be multi-layered, whether the G League plays a more pronounced role in the lives of players exiting high school or the NBA dissolves the age limit. Not every high school player is ready to take on the NBA like LeBron James, and a solution will need to take that into account.
In a recent phone interview, Stern admitted how complicated the puzzle truly is.
"It's a very difficult problem, but it requires everyone, all the parties to it, to take a little responsibility rather than look for everyone else to take care of it," he said. "Whatever else the NBA does elect to do, it has already made a substantial step by making the G League into a very respectable minor league, projecting 30 teams next season and a place where players can perfect their basketball skills, and I dare say, subject to the loud chorus that will try to drown me out, that the G League could be a place that can give kids a better education than they will get for the four months that they're going to stay in school."
The pressure is on to find a remedy.
In March, a report surfaced that NBA executives were formulating a blueprint for the league to open relationships with elite high school prospects in providing an alternative to a college pit stop. The Pac-12 formed a task force to study and develop policy-change recommendations for the NCAA. The Big East proposed that student-athletes attend college for two years or not at all and recommended tighter regulation of agents, among other endorsements.
Whatever happens, it's uncertain how a new system might alter the college experience.
Despite his brief stint, Simmons said that there were plenty of benefits to student life. "I loved being at LSU, meeting all those people, and I made a lot of friends. The coaches out there were great to me," he said. "But just the system of the NCAA, that's the hardest part to get around."
For Durant, college gave him something beyond socialization and books. Something a bit more vital: time. "I looked at that as you're still in between being a professional and being a kid," he said. "I had some responsibilities, but I didn't have a lot. I didn't have the responsibilities of being a professional, and not just on the court, but as a man as well."
"There's always pros and cons to everything," he added. "The pros, the money and the exposure and playing at the highest level, but it would've took me a couple extra years to figure out that stuff. So I'm glad I sacrificed that, being able to have that choice. For me, it worked out perfect for me. ā¦ So I could learn what it took to be a pro. Now, I came into the league more ready mentally. Physically, my body, my game and all that stuff would've translated because I just know how to play, but just being a pro, that stuff is real."
Howard Beck contributed to this report from Oakland.
Patricia Padauy, right, passes a handwritten note to her friend Sharamy Angarita, as they clean and sort out items at the memorial site of Padauy's son Joaquin Oliver in Parkland, Fla., Wednesday, March 28, 2018. Volunteers, students and parents were sorting items left at the memorial sited for the 17 students and faculty killed at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School on Valentine's Day. Flowers and plants will be composted while all other items will catalogued and saved. (AP Photo/Marta Lavandier)
Coach Todd Fitz-Gerald was in the first base dugout when he realized what was happening that day. He'd been working in his clubhouse office, preparing for one of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas Eagles' last baseball practices before their season opener. Fitzāas everyone knows himāstepped into the dugout to check on the field.
He looked for the groundskeeper, Jeff Heinrich, but he was nowhere in sight. Normally, Heinrich, a police sergeant who just worked the field for fun on his off days, could be found tending to the crisp, bright green grass and freshly dragged amber-red dirt. What Fitz saw, instead, was a sea of students pouring from the school's gray buildings in the distance. He heard the fire alarm and the swelling chorus of sirens drawing close. And then he heard "active shooter" on his radio.Ā
Soon, Heinrich reappeared with a boy who'd been shot in the leg and had a bad limp. Fitz and Heinrich took him into the clubhouse, where they found a medical kit and treated his wound. Paramedics came soon, and the boy would live. "Worst thing I've ever seen," Fitz recalled to me later. The hole in the boy's leg was bigger than two baseballs. "Wide-open. Wide-ass open. Looked like hamburger meat, man."
The Stoneman Douglas campus shut down for weeks after that. Baseball field included. Season opener, canceled. And with Parkland activists renewing the calls for gun control and against gun violence, Fitz knew some would question the need to get back to baseball. How can you even care about a game after all this? How could baseball possibly matter now?Ā
"F--k that," Fitz said. His players were hurting too. They lost friends, and they lost two giants of the athletic department whom most Stoneman Douglas baseball players knew and loved: assistant football coach Aaron Feis and athletic director Chris Hixon. Like Heinrich, Feis and Hixon ran toward the shooting to try to save people. Unlike Heinrich, they died doing soāFeis, as a shield; Hixon, trying to disarm the shooter.Ā
Among Fitz's reasons for moving forward with the season is that Stoneman Douglas is a powerhouse. The team won the state and national championships just two seasons ago, in 2016. Studs such as Cubs first baseman Anthony Rizzo and top prospects Jesus Luzardo (a pitcher with the Oakland A's) and Colorado Rockies third baseman Colton Welker are among its notable alumni. By Fitz's accounting, this year's team, before the shooting, had the chance to be the best in school history.Ā
The Stoneman Douglas baseball field
The team's star is John Rodriguez, a senior shortstop. Though committed to Florida International, he's a legitimate draft prospectāhe's a lanky 6'2" with strength and room to grow. Six more players have scholarships to various colleges. Fitz's son, Hunter, is a junior third baseman who just grew six inches in the past year, suddenly a 6'4", 210-pound slugger.Ā
And Fitz, for his part, has a few national coach of the year awards to boot. (In 2008, he earned the honor from Baseball America, USA Today and the ABCA, and again in 2016 from MaxPreps.) He is a stoic man who used to pitch at the Division II level. He stands about 6'0," with blue eyes, a shaved head and goatee.Ā
But as nice as a potential national championship might be, pushing forward is about more. "These kids have been playing baseball since they were four years old," Dave Taylor, an assistant coach, said. "We're going to stop because some jackass shot up the school? Naw. This is how you cope. Hit in a cage. Throw a ball. Hard as you can."
Fitz admitted that he didn't know exactly what to do. "There's no manual for this," he said. "There's no script. You just want your kids to be OK."
So he drew on what had worked for him in tragedies past: He got to work. His mother, Judy Fitz-Gerald, died in September after battling breast cancer for 18 months. (Fitz's players carried her casket.) The next day, the team met for practice.Ā
The day after the shooting, Fitz called a team meeting at DC Baseball, a vast indoor training facility where the team worked out a few times a month. It has eight full-sized batting cages, an artificial turf infield and a color palette dominated by neon green. The infield, in the center of the place, is surrounded by nets keeping unexpected flying objects from causing harm. They gathered there.Ā
The players and coaches hugged and cried. They had pizza and soda. Then they all sat in a circle on the infield as Fitz took the floor. "There are two ways we can go forward," he said. "We can put our head between our legs, or we can lift our heads, be strong for each other, and persevere. We're not gonna let the act of one cowardly individual define who we are."
And, he added: "You have a responsibility. Be strong for the school. Be strong for the 17 families. Some people are going to be activists. That's good. We are baseball players. That's also good. Do what you're best at, as well as you can. Through that, we can give these people something to be happy about."Ā
The boys agreed. Although Fitz had intended for this to be merely a social gathering, many of the players insisted on working out. They took batting practice, and threw, and fielded ground balls. "Just to forget what happened," Rodriguez said. "For a little bit."Ā
They practiced for real the very next day, even though the Stoneman Douglas field was still closed. The police were conducting a post-shooting investigation on campus, and the carnage needed to be cleaned up. It would all take about two weeks. We can't practice here? Fitz remembered thinking. We're going to go practice somewhere else.
North Broward Prep, a high school across town, offered its field.Ā
Lewis Brinson of the Marlins speaks to Stoneman Douglas team.
Major league teams kicked in too. The Astros invited Fitz and his players to spring training's opening day. As a gesture of solidarity, all 30 MLB teams wore "SD" hats in place of their own. The Red Sox sent a box of hats signed by every member of the team. Lewis Brinson and Justin Bour from the Marlins came to a Stoneman Douglas practice, hit ground balls and talked with the team. The Marlins invited the Eagles to spend a day at their facilities, and the boys met Derek Jeter, the Florida franchise's newly minted CEO. They smiled all that day and took a million pictures.Ā
Jeter told the boys that baseball could help them heal. He was uniquely suited to empathize with their situation; after 9/11, his New York Yankees returned to the field to help quell the emotions of the city and the nation. The way forward, he said, wasn't just in playing, but also in thinking of what they gave others by doing so. "We knew, playing in New York, that we couldn't change the events that occurred," Jeter explained to reporters. "We looked at it as we were distracting the fans three hours a day."
The future Hall of Famer later informed the Eagles that they would play their game against Coral Springs High at the Marlins' stadium on April 4. He'd charter buses for them, the locker rooms would be theirs for the day, and they could take batting practice on the field before the game. "Derek just wanted to give the boys a distraction," a Marlins rep said. "Something to look forward to."
The outpouring of love didn't stop there: Ryan Tannehill showed up to practice unannounced one day. Jesus Luzardo started a memorial fund for the family of Chris Hixon. Dwyane Wade, upon learning that a victim was buried wearing his Heat jersey, spoke to the students. Numerous schools, companies and individuals sent banners, jerseys, hats, gifts. Even cupcakes.Ā
Brandon Auerbach, a senior second baseman for Stoneman Douglas who will play at South Alabama in the fall, told me that the attention was moving. "Makes us feel seen," he said. It was also inspirational. Some days, Auerbach would tell his coach: "We're not going to lose because of this. We're going to win in spite of it."Ā
On March 2, the Stoneman Douglas Eagles finally played their first game. "[It] felt like a playoff game," Rodriguez said. The stands overflowed, the crowd swelled around the fences, and they were loud. A dozen scouts were there by the dugout. Jonathan Strauss, a senior outfielder heading to Queens College on scholarship in the fall, sensed a victory. "We just knew we were going to win," he said.Ā
And they did.Ā
But one victory didn't make coping with the tragedy any easier. Some, like Rodriguez, managed to compartmentalize the emotional weight of what happened, separating it from what happened on the field. "You'll hear music in the clubhouse, and you'll practice," he told me. "And you can forget about everything else. You have to. You gotta focus up."Ā
But for many of the players, not all days were so good. Some would burst into tears on the field. For others, the concept of "play" lost all meaning, felt unnatural.Ā
The coaches had their own struggles. Taylor, who normally patrols the school as a security monitor, has been replaying the day of the shooting in his head, wondering what he might have done differently. After another monitor radioed him about a suspicious kid heading his way, Taylor locked eyes with the shooter as he entered the building. "Keep seeing that stupid kid's face," he told me.Ā
The shooter ducked through another door, and Taylor doubled back to the second floor to try to head him off another way. But when the shooting began, he panicked and locked himself in a maintenance closet. He radioed in what he'd seen and heard. Texted his family, telling them he loved them. When an officer guided Taylor out of the building, he saw Feis on the ground.
This isn't real, a voice in his head said. Feis ain't down. Ā
Taylor told me that, guilt-ridden, he has lost sleep in the days since the shooting. He's even yelled at players. One day at practice, Taylor chewed out Rodriguez for throwing slightly wide to first. He quickly snapped out of it, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "C'mere, buddy." He spread his arms and hugged Rodriguez. "You know I love you," Taylor said.Ā
The ups and downs continued after the season opener. The team won some and lost some. After a particularly ugly outingāa 10-0 loss that ended early by mercy ruleāFitz reminded the kids that the diamond could be cathartic. "It's the best therapy," Fitz insisted. He said they could come to the field as much as they wanted, even on Saturdays. He'd be there for hoursāto hit ground balls and throw batting practice to whoever wanted some. "You're never going to forget what happened," he said. "But out here, you can, for a moment."
Soon after that, the team rebounded. The Eagles won their next five games by mercy rule. After one of those mercy games, Fitz invited me to join him and Taylor at a friend's house. The two drank beer and confided how moved they were by the resiliency of their players. "We've got some good, tough boys, Fitzy," Taylor said. "Can't believe it sometimes. I'm a grown-ass man and this s--t's tearin' me up. Can't imagine dealin' with that at that age."Ā
"Kids are more resilient than adults, lotta times," Fitz replied.Ā
Crufts Dog Show Results 2018: Thursday Winners, Updated Schedule and TV Info
Mar 8, 2018
Great Danes are judged on the first day of the Crufts dog show at the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham, central England, on March 8, 2018. / AFP PHOTO / Oli SCARFF (Photo credit should read OLI SCARFF/AFP/Getty Images)
The best working and pastoral breed prizes were decided at the 2018 Crufts Dog Show on Thursday at the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham, England.
Border collieĀ Nahrof Blurred Lines at Huntly was the winner of the pastoral group whileĀ the NewfoundlandĀ Newgradens Llori Nanya scooped top spot in the working group.
Here's a look at Thursday's winners, followed by the updated schedule, viewing details and a brief recap of the action.
Winner: Nahrof Blurred Lines at Huntly (Border Collie)
Reserve:Ā Pemcader Thunderball (Welsh Corgi)
Third:Ā Clingstone's Make My Day (Collie)
Fourth:Ā Mybeards Hero (Lowland Sheepdog)
Full results are available from the competition's official website.
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Friday, March 9
Terrier and hound breeds
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Saturday, March 10
Toy and utility breeds
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Sunday, March 11
Gundog breeds and Best in Show
Ā Ā Ā
Crufts 2018 is being broadcast in the UK on Channel 4 and More4. Crufts also provides a live stream via its officialĀ YouTube channel.Ā
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Thursday Recap
Crufts 2018 kicked off in style with the youngĀ Newfoundland picking up the first prize. The competition's official Twitter account showed the moment of glory:
Competition in the pastoral group was fierce, but first place eventually went to the border collie from Ireland who was a popular choice. Crufts showed the announcement on Twitter:
Thursday's winners will now return to compete in Sunday's Best of Show finale, where the ultimate prize will be awarded.
Friday will see more winners announced as the attention switches to terrier and hound breeds as the world-famous dog competition continues.
Chloe Kim Is Just Getting Started
Jan 18, 2018
The attention was overwhelming.
It was last February, and Chloe Kim had been appearing at a series of test events in Pyeongchang. A media horde followed her every step, snapping her picture. Korean children flocked to her, hoping to get a glimpse of the world's best halfpipe riderāa girl who looked like them but whose accomplishments still boggled their imagination. (A promotional video from the trip released by the U.S. Embassy in SeoulātitledĀ "Just Like Chloe Kim"āshows Chloe inspiring a group of young Korean snowboarders who, in Korean, say they want to ride in the Olympics, just like her.) Reporters asked dozens of personal questions, in English and Korean, many of which centered on Chloe's connection to South Korea. The country was preparing to host the Winter Games in 2018, and the assembled crowd surmised that the occasion would be a homecoming of sorts for the athlete.
"I felt like Kim Kardashian," Chloe would later say.
Chloe was in the land of her parents to represent the United States as a member of a flock of top-tier athletes traveling to promote the importance of leadership and respect for diversity abroad. Her prodigious success on the snowboard made her an easy choice for such a trip, but her heritage, too, made her perfect for the mission. Chloe's parents, Jong Jin Kim and Boran Yun Kim, moved from South Korea to the United States in 1982. And she still has a number of family members who live there.
The trip abroad in 2017 culminated with a visit to a college class. There, Chloe sat at the front of the room and was asked if she had any life advice. As the students stared back at her, Chloe struggled to come up with an answer, unsure of what, exactly, she was supposed to say. "I don't know if you can learn anything from me," she blurted out. "I'm still a teenager. I don't know what I'm doing with my life."Ā
It's easy to forget Chloe Kim is just 17 years old, even as she is poised to become the most famous Korean-American female athlete in history. She might have earned that title four years ago, in 2014, had it not been for a technicality. Then, Chloe placed high enough at a qualifying event for the Sochi Olympics to make the U.S. team. The only problem: She was 13 years old, deemed too young to compete. (The minimum age was 15.)
Chloe's coaches estimate that she was the world's third-best snowboarder at the time on the halfpipeābehind two women (Kelly Clark and Torah Bright) more than a decade her senior. Since then, Chloe has surpassed them both.
ASPEN, USA - JANUARY 24: (FRANCE OUT) Chloe Kim of the USA takes 1st place during the Winter X Games Women's Snowboard Superpipe on January 24, 2015 in Aspen, USA. (Photo by Nathan Bilow/Agence Zoom/Getty Images)
In 2015, she became the youngest snowboarder to earn gold at the X Games. And a year later, she became the first female snowboarder to land back-to-back 1080s (for which she was awarded a perfect score of 100, a feat matched only by Shaun White). Now, despite still being younger than most of the field, Chloe is among her country's best hopes for a gold medal.
The media has latched onto Chloe's every moveāperhaps in anticipation of her star turn, with all the attendant NBC camera crews and marketers' dreams coming true. Everything from her hair color to her humorous captions on Instagram (147,000 followers and counting) and her musical tastes (Chloe has lately become a Belieber) seems to attract attentionāand sponsors (Chloe has contracts with Burton, Monster, Toyota and more).
Many expect greatness from Chloe. "She is one of the most talented young riders I've ever seen," Clark, her friend and most serious competition, said.
It's easy to understand how Chloe has gotten to where she is today once you've seen her fly on a halfpipe. "She looks so relaxed, carries a ton of speed and makes it look pretty easy," Rick Bower, the U.S. Snowboard head halfpipe coach, told me by phone. Chloe's style is difficult to pinpoint, mainly because there isn't really a competitor who can replicate what she does. "It's hard to describe my style," Chloe has said. "People will tell me that I'm really flowy."
While Chloe certainly has an immeasurable amount of raw talent, her parents have been there to push her along the way. Her mother attends nearly every event and practice and rarely misses a run. Chloe and her father are pretty much attached at the hipāhe is his daughter's regular reminder that success didn't come without effort and discipline. "Mr. Kim came over [to the U.S.] and had this mentality that if you want something, you have to work for it," Bower said. "He tells Chloe that she's nothing special, which is something a U.S. dad would never do."
The coach added: "It's served him and Chloe well."
Bower recalled one day last year when, while training in New Zealand, a nasty storm hit the resort where Team USA was training. Strong winds swept over the mountain peaks, creating poor visibility that would make for a terrible ride. Bower and his coaching staff recommended that the team take the day off and rest, but Jong Jin saw the conditions as an opportunity: Similar conditions could arise during a competition, Chloe's father thought. So he and Chloe took to the mountain. "They didn't get anything out of that day," Bower recalls. "But they were trying to make the most of it."
That's how things almost always seem to go, whether Chloe is at a competition or on social media. She always seems to be pushing forward.
Don't forget, though: Chloe Kim is just 17 years old, and as the world prepares to watch the first act of what many expect to be a decorated, dominant career on the slopes, she is still figuring things out. She's figuring out life as an American adolescent. She's figuring out how to grow up famous. She's figuring out what it means to be a Korean-American superstar.
Jong Jin Kim moved to the United States to pursue an engineering degree at California State University, Long Beach. But he also had ambitions of snowboarding glory. He had developed a passion for the sport early in life and rode mostly for fun. But his wife, Boran, didn't share his passion for the slopes.
When Chloe turned four, Jong Jin began taking her with him to the mountain to encourage Boran to join. He bought Chloe a $25 snowboard on eBay and enrolled her in group lessons. As she progressed, Jong Jin passed along a few skills, including his unusual technique of making it down the mountaināswitching between a regular stance (with the left foot leading) and goofy (leading with the right). "It was almost like an accident," Bower told me. "Without knowing it, he gave her a solid foundation." (Through a family spokesperson, Jong Jin Kim declined to be interviewed for this article.)
Chloe showed lots of promise, which prompted Jong Jin to enter his daughter in her first contest when she was six. She finished third in her age group. Within a year, she had won two gold medals and three silver, catching the attention of the U.S. national team coaches. "Watching her at a young age was like watching Shaun White," Tommy Czeschin, a former coach with U.S. Snowboarding, told me. "She was leaps and bounds better than anyone her age, her height, anyone she would ride with."
When she was eight, Chloe moved to live with Jong Jin's sister in Geneva. Jong Jin would visit during school breaks, and father and daughter would commute to Avoriaz, France, for practice sessions. They left at 4 a.m., transferred trains twice and rode a gondola just to get to the mountains; by the time they returned home, it was 11 p.m. "It was quite a mission," Chloe says.
Chloe returned home to California when she was 10 and joined a developmental program at Mammoth Mountain. Every weekend, Jong Jin and Chloe would drive 325 miles to get her to practice. They would hit the road before sunrise, as early as 2 a.m. "What would happen is that he would carry me out of bed," Chloe remembered in 2016. "I would wake up in a new spot every time without even knowing what happened."
When they arrived at the mountain, other parents would watch their kids ride from the bottom of the hill, but Jong Jin suited up and rode down alongside Chloe. His approach always stood out, sometimes to the befuddlement of other families. "He never knew much about snowboarding," said Czeschin, the former coach, "but he did everything he could."
Eventually, the demands of training and traveling became so great that Chloe's personal life needed reorganizing. "I had some social anxiety when I was younger because I wasn't surrounded by many people in my life. I was very shy," Chloe said. "It was kind of scary to meet new people." She switched to online home-schooling and then to a new program, with the Independent Learning Center, after her grades fell off a bit. The camaraderie on the mountain, Chloe says, helped her break out of her shell and made her more outgoing.
These days, on Instagram, there are plenty of photos of Chloe hanging with her board-riding friends, like Kelly Clark. She's also created a separate profile for her mini-Australian shepherd, Reese.
Aside from her acclaim and early fame, Chloe is, by many indications, a typical teenage girl trying to determine what she thinks and who she is. This became apparent to me last September, when I saw her at a press conference during the Team USA Media Summit in Park City, Utah.
One of the assembled reporters asked one of several questions about her Korean-American heritage: "Do you identify pretty strongly with both cultures?"
Chloe looked noticeably uncomfortable. "I always get that question; it's never my first answer to say that I'm from Korea or, like, āI'm Korean,'" Chloe replied. "It's always, like, āI'm American.' Like, I feel like I'm prettyāwhat do they call it, āTwinkies'?"
Chloe looked at meāI'm also Korean-Americanāas if searching for affirmation. "Yeah," I told her, slightly startled. "Or bananas."
"Yeah, bananas," she continued. "I don't know. Like, you know, like, Asian on the outside, white on the inside. I don't know. It's, like, weird. But I just grew up in the States, so I feel like I identify more with, you know, the American culture."
It was hard to tell whether Chloe was joking or serious. (She could not be reached for a follow-up interview to clarify, despite multiple requests through her spokesperson dating back to September. The spokesperson, Laura Potesta, declined to comment.) I asked the Olympic gold medalist, figure skater Kristi Yamaguchi, who is a fourth-generation Japanese-American, what Chloe might have meant by the comment. She told me she had thought about it in her youth. "I totally get where Chloe is coming from when she said, āI see myself as a Twinkie,'" she said. "It's not because she doesn't see herself as Asian. I think it's not necessarily seeing yourself as white. It's just identifying as American."
Kristi Yamaguchi won gold for the U.S. in ladies' singles figure skating at the 1992 Winter Olympics in Albertville, France.
Chloe's hometown of Torrance, a suburb in southwest Los Angeles, boasts a sizable Asian-American populationā34.5 percent, according to the most recent U.S. census. The mountain was a different story, however. A recent study by the National Ski Areas Association Journal, a trade publication for ski resort operators, found that, nationally, nearly 90 percent of riders are white. Of the top 15 female snowboarders in the worldāacross slopestyle, halfpipe and big airāonly three women are of color.
At the press conference in Park City, Chloe said she hasn't seen many Korean-American snowboarders on the hill. "I don't really see a lot of crossover," she said. "Most of my snowboarding friends are white."
Jong Jin, during an Instagram live session, also noted: "Of course people always noticed me. ... I was the only Asian person on the slopes."
The Hall of Fame tennis star Michael Chang, who is Taiwanese-American, told me that playing in a predominantly white sport was at the back of his mind frequently. He often feared isolation because of his race. "When you're young, when it comes down to it, you just want to fit in," he said. "You don't really want to stand out, even though you do." Chang grew up in Hoboken, New Jersey, which was approximately 80 percent white. And in 1989, he became the youngest male tennis player ever to win a Grand Slam title. (He was 17, the same age as Chloe will be at the Olympics.)
Chloe has likely seen a lot of the things that Chang saw, or she will when she makes her splash on the international stage. At the press conference in Park City, she suggested that, on a few occasions, people have awkwardly challenged her Americanness. She explained a typical interaction:
Where are you from?
"Los Angeles," Chloe responds.
No, where are you really from?
"I was born in Long Beach," she says.
No, where are you really from?
"My parents are from Korea," she says.
Yamaguchi told me that she, too, had experienced a similar form of racism as an American athlete of Asian heritage traveling on the road. While passing through the Halifax airport in 1990, on her way to the World Championships, she was stopped by a stranger who questioned her nationality based on her appearance. Yamaguchi was taken aback. "They kind of were just like, āOh!' because it was an international competition, and they just assumed I was not American," Yamaguchi told me. "The way I looked, they thought I couldn't speak English."
Much of the Korean-American community is watching Chloe from afar, excited for the whole world to take notice of her talents. Justin Chon, a Korean-American director and actor whose recent film Gook explored the lives of Korean-Americans during the Los Angeles riots, told me that, for him, Chloe's Olympic moment carries a special, though complicated, significance. "She represents all of us," he said. "We're Korean by blood and that's our heritage, that's our culture, but we're Korean-American."
Over the last year, in anticipation of the 2018 Games in Pyeongchang, Chloe has had to answer dozens of questions about her connection to South Korea. "I don't really click with Korean culture, but obviously I have a Korean face," Chloe said in Park City. "I feel like I can't go around telling people I'm straight-up American."
But much of Chloe's family still lives in Korea, and she visits from time to time.Ā She's particularly excited that her grandmother (who has been too frail to fly) will finally be able to see her compete.
When I saw her, in September at the Team USA Media Summit, Chloe admitted that she probably can't relate to how her family feels about her competing in Korea. "That's where they grew upāthat's where they feel connected," she said.
She paused for a second, gathering herself. "But Korea doesn't feel like home to me. It's just another place, another contest."
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Joon Lee is a staff writer for Bleacher Report and B/R Mag. Follow him on Twitter: @iamjoonlee.
ESPY Awards 2017: Date, Host, TV Schedule, Awards List and More
Jul 10, 2017
LOS ANGELES, CA - JULY 16: NFL player Peyton Manning of the Denver Broncos, winner of the Best Record-Breaking Performance award, attends The 2014 ESPYS at Nokia Theatre L.A. Live on July 16, 2014 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Christopher Polk/Getty Images For ESPYS)
It's a tradition unlike any other. No, not The Masters, but the 2017 ESPY Awards.
This year, the ESPYS will recognize some of the world's best female and male athletes for their accomplishments in their respective sports, all while coming together to celebrate the impact and importance sports has on society.
This year be the award show's 25th anniversary, and former Indianapolis Colts and Denver Broncos quarterback Peyton Manning will be this year's host. The ESPYS will take place Wednesday, July 12, at 8 p.m. ET at the Microsoft Theater in Los Angeles. The show will be broadcast on ABC and live-streamed on Watch ESPN.Ā
Here's a breakdown of this year's award categories and nominees:
Best Male Athlete
Kris Bryant, MLB Sidney Crosby, Stanley Cup Finals Michael Phelps, Swimming Russell Westbrook, NBA
Tom Brady, Super Bowl Kevin Durant, NBA Finals Shay Knighten, WCWS Deshaun Watson, CFB National Championship
Best Breakthrough Athlete
Giannis Antetokounmpo, NBA Laurie Hernandez, Gymnastics Aaron Judge, MLB Dak Prescott, NFL Christian Pulisic, Soccer
Best Record-Breaking Performance
Bill Belichick most Super Bowl wins by a head coach Michael Phelps extends his own record of most gold medals/most Olympic medals Diana Taurasi breaks WNBA career scoring record Russell Westbrook most triple doubles in a season
Best Upset
Clemson defeats Alabama, CFB National Championship Denis Istomin over Novak Djokovic, Australian Open 2nd Round Mississippi State defeats Connecticut, Women's NCAA Basketball Final Four
Best Game
Cubs vs. Indians, World Series Game 7 Patriots vs. Falcons, Super Bowl Federer vs. Nadal, Australian Open Final
Best Comeback Athlete
Matt Bush, MLB Roger Federer, Tennis Jordy Nelson, NFL Candace Parker, WNBA
Best Play
Julian Edelman Super Bowl catch vs. 16. Noah Brown TD catch around defender Morgan Williams buzzer beater vs. UConn vs.15. Larry Nance dunk Aaron Rodgers to Jared Cook vs. 14. Lamar Jackson hurdles defender Northwestern buzzer beater vs. 13. Edwin Encarnacion walk off HR Russell Westbrook buzzer beater vs. 12. LeBron James dunk off the backboard Chris Coghlan leaps over catcher vs. 11. Sidney Crosby one-handed goal Olivier Giroud scorpion kick goal vs. 10. Warriors jump ball transition dunk Mario Mandzukic goal in UEFA Final vs. 9. Jarrod Dyson catch
Best Team
Chicago Cubs, MLB Clemson Tigers, CFB Golden State Warriors, NBA Pittsburgh Penguins, NHL New England Patriots, NFL South Carolina Gamecocks, Women's NCAA Basketball US Women's Gymnastics
Best International Athlete
Canelo Alvarez, Boxing Usain Bolt, Track and Field Katinka Hosszu, Swimming Conor McGregor, MMA Cristiano Ronaldo, Soccer
Best NFL Player
Tom Brady, New England Patriots Ezekiel Elliott, Dallas Cowboys Khalil Mack, Oakland Raiders Aaron Rodgers, Green Bay Packers Matt Ryan, Atlanta Falcons
Best MLB Player
Kris Bryant, Chicago Cubs David Ortiz, Boston Red Sox Rick Porcello, Boston Red Sox Max Scherzer, Washington Nationals Mike Trout, LA Angels
Best NHL Player
Sergei Bobrovsky, Columbus Blue Jackets Sidney Crosby, Pittsburgh Penguins Patrick Kane, Chicago Blackhawks Auston Matthews, Toronto Maple Leafs Connor McDavid, Edmonton Oilers
Best Driver
Ron Capps, NHRA Lewis Hamilton, Formula One Jimmie Johnson, NASCAR Simon Pagenaud, IndyCar Martin Truex Jr., NASCAR
Best NBA Player
Kevin Durant, Golden State Warriors James Harden, Houston Rockets LeBron James, Cleveland Cavaliers Kawhi Leonard, San Antonio Spurs Russell Westbrook, Oklahoma City Thunder
Best WNBA Player
Tina Charles, New York Liberty Elena Delle Donne, Washington Mystics Maya Moore, Minnesota Lynx Nneka Ogwumike, Los Angeles Sparks Candace Parker, Los Angeles Sparks
Brooks Koepka Sergio Garcia Dustin Johnson Rory McIlroy Henrik Stenson
Best Female Golfer
In Gee Chun Ariya Jutanugarn Lydia Ko So Yeon Ryu Lexi Thompson
Best Male Tennis Player
Roger Federer Andy Murray Rafael Nadal Stan Wawrinka
Best Female Tennis Player
Angelique Kerber Jelena Ostapenko Monica Puig Serena Williams
Best Male College Athlete
Ian Harkes, Wake Forest soccer Frank Mason, Kansas basketball Matt Rambo, Maryland lacrosse Zain Retherford, Penn State wrestling DeShaun Watson, Clemson football
Best Female College Athlete
Inky Ajanaku, Stanford volleyball Kelly Barnhill, Florida softball Kadeisha Buchanan, West Virginia soccer Kelsey Plum, Washington basketball Zoe Stukenberg, Maryland lacrosse
Best Male Action Sports Athlete
Oystein Braaten (NOR), Ski John John Florence, Surf Nyjah Huston, Skateboard Mark McMorris, Snowboard
Best Female Action Sports Athlete
Lacey Baker, Skateboard Anna Gasser, Snowboard Kelly Sildaru, Ski Tyler Wright, Surf
Best Jockey
Javier Castellano Mike E. Smith John Velasquez
Best Male Athlete With a Disability
Will Groulx, Cycling Mike Minor, Snowboarding Steve Serio, Wheelchair Basketball Brad Snyder, Swimming Roderick Townsend, Track and Field
Best Female Athlete With a Disability
Oksana Masters, Nordic Skiing Tatyana McFadden, Track and Field Becca Meyers, Swimming Shawn Morelli, Cycling Grace Norman, Triathlon
Best Bowler
Jason Belmonte Francois Lavoie EJ Tackett
Best MLS Player
Andre Blake, Philadelphia Union Stefan Frei, Seattle Sounders FC Matt Hedges, FC Dallas David Villa, New York City FC Bradley Wright-Phillips, New York Red Bulls
Best Male US Olympic Athlete
Ashton Eaton, Decathlon Ryan Murphy, Swimming Michael Phelps, Swimming Kyle Snyder, Wrestling
LOS ANGELES, CA - JULY 13: Craig Sager, winner of the Jimmy V Perseverance Award (R) and Vice President of the United States Joe Biden onstage during the 2016 ESPYS at Microsoft Theater on July 13, 2016 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Kevin Winte
Aside from honoring the outstanding performances of today's athletes, the ESPYS also recognizes courageousness, grit and perseverance through theĀ Jimmy V Perseverance Award.Ā
If you don't know what the Jimmy V award is, here's a brief explanation, courtesy of ESPN:Ā
"The Jimmy V Perseverance Award is given to someone in sports who has overcome great obstacles through perseverance and determination. It is named for Valvano, the NCAA-winning coach who gave an emotional acceptance speech at the 1993 ESPYS that included his famous words "Don't give up. ... Don't ever give up!" He died of cancer later that year."
You can take a look at Valvano's 1993 speech here.Ā
After honoring the late great TNT NBA sideline reporter Craig Sager in 2016, the ESPYS will honor New Orleans Saints superfanĀ Jarrius Robertson, a 15-year-old diehard Saints fan who hasĀ undergone two liver transplants and 13 surgeries due toĀ biliary atresiaāa chronic liver disease that has affected his growth.
NEW ORLEANS, LA - FEBRUARY 17: New Orleans Saints Super Fan Jarrius 'Little JJ' Robertson celebreates after scoring during the NBA All-Star Celebrity Game at the Mercedes-Benz Superdome on February 17, 2017 in New Orleans, Louisiana. NOTE TO USER: User ex
He receivedĀ his second liver transplant this past April and received support from players and coaches from the Saints.
Despite his health issues, he remains a prominent figure on Sundays for the Saints. In a statement, Robertson showed his deep appreciation for the honor, per ESPN.
"When I first heard the news I thought I was dreaming!" Robertson said. "The ESPYS? For real? The past two years have been a blessing in so many ways for me and my family. I have been able to do things I never thought I would be able to do. But to be included with Craig Sager, Stuart Scott, Leah and Devon Still, Eric LeGrand and the man himself, Jimmy V, is truly amazing and I am really grateful and humbled."
If you're not a Saints fan, you may remember Robertson from the 2017 NBA All-Star weekend, where he essentially stole the show, as documented here.Ā Ā
His speech will be a memorable one, so you don't want to miss it. Ā
