Ever since Mike Tyson was champ, twenty-something dudes have microwaved nachos, popped opened Natty Lights, watched sharks do unspeakable things on TV, and whispered a billion 'Whoa, dudes.'
There's no doubt Matt Leinart loves his son very much.
Unlike the LeBrons and A-Rods of the world, anointed as special from pre-K, Matt Leinart exudes an approachability rarely seen in superstars. It's why kids on the autograph line chat him up like a buddy with whom they could stay up late playing Xbox.
The everybody-loves-Jeff Bridges home base is, of course, 'The Big Lebowski.'
Brett Favre likes to tell stories.
Rick Rubin's undulating face hair is just as famous as his body of work. In homage to the yogis he read about as a boy on Long Island, Rubin hasn't shaved since he was 23. It's long been his registered trademark.
From the outside, Rick Rubin's house above Zuma Beach is a generic millionaire beach home. There's a rarely used tennis court and a circular drive.
James Salter has been a fighter pilot, a rogue, and a climber. He counts Robert Redford as a friend.
Maybe it's impossible to spend time with Patrick Stewart and not have the conversation move to the extraterrestrial.
There are times when a sports figure doesn't deserve sympathy.
As a kid, Terry Bradshaw didn't amaze me. My hero was Steelers backup Terry Hanratty, who nabbed two Super Bowl rings while completing three passes.
All backups take their cue from Elrod Hendricks, the patron saint of erstwhile catchers.
Baseball loyalists cite the game's legendary numbers - 300 wins, 500 homers, 3,000 hits - as evidence of the sport's elegance, beauty, and gravitas. What no one mentions is how wretched and painful it is to actually watch a former star gasp and sputter his way toward a legendary number.
I've seen few things more depressing than the end-of-season Giants-Padres series in 2001 in which Barry Bonds hit his 68th homer of the year while a .227-hitting, rapidly fossilizing Rickey Henderson staggered like a delirious marathoner toward 3,000 hits.
The only reason baseball's numerical touchstones have any significance is that most players - even the game's greats - peter out just barely before they reach them.
If nothing else, the act of reaching a milestone often serves to reveal a superstar's true nature.
As anyone who has read 'Sports Illustrated's Steve Rushin knows, it's quite possible to write an unreadable column without being a TV pundit. But if you want to be a consistently good columnist, you can't be on television.
I grew up in a town without fathers.
I tested in the top percentile for IQ, but I couldn't tie my shoes or really ride a bike without training wheels until I was almost 7.
I was a classic attention deficit disorder kid, always bored and mouthing off at school.
