Sport

WHEN LAWRENCE, KS BECAME AN ALGERIAN SUBURB:

Scottish Fans Remind America How to Celebrate (Henry Zavalick, June 17, 2026, American Spectator)

Boston has once more been occupied by the United Kingdom, albeit rather happily this time. For the last week, tens of thousands of “Tartan Army” soldiers have descended on the city with World Cup zeal, good cheer, and an unparalleled thirst for beer. The occasion, of course, is Scotland’s first appearance in the World Cup since 1998, accompanied by its first World Cup victory since 1990 after June 13’s 1-0 win over Haiti.

Scotland’s first World Cup win in 36 years led to an impromptu victory lap of the city, bagpipes and all, and historic sales for restaurants and pubs. A full parade of raucous, singing Scots with bagpipes and kilts marched to Fenway Park on Sunday, where they threw in support for the Red Sox against the Texas Rangers. The Scottish fans have brought an animated energy to the city of Boston, and its residents have embraced it for the singular event that it is.

Sad that it has taken all these visitors to remind us how great daily life in America is.

IT’S STAYING HOME:

A near-perfect World Cup opener takes the USMNT into uncharted territory (Henry Bushnell, June 13, 2026, The Athletic)

It began with thunderous chants of “U-S-A” and climaxed with the best 45 minutes in U.S. men’s World Cup history.

It was seven years and 364 days in the making, and it was worth every day, hour, second of waiting.

U.S. soccer fans and players had, for years, dreamed of this moment, a glitzy World Cup opener on home soil, an unparalleled stage for their sport. They had dreamed of meeting it, of igniting America, of elevating soccer.

But no one could have realistically envisioned this — a rousing 4-1 win over Paraguay, patriotic glee on the field and in the stands, silky soccer and eruptions of noise.

“I mean, my whole life I feel like I’ve envisioned it,” U.S. defender Chris Richards said. “But tonight was way better than what I could’ve envisioned. It was surreal.”

In front of 70,492 fans at SoFi Stadium near Los Angeles, it was more than a near-perfect start to this home World Cup.

It was, as Sebastian Berhalter said while recalling the victory lap to thank the fans, “what U.S. soccer should be.”

OPEN THE BORDERS:

They came for the World Cup. They fell in love with Buc-ee’s and ranch dip. (Angela Yang, 6/10/26, NBC News()

“People are kind of amused seeing me experience America and thinking so big of little things for them, because if you live here, you might just be used to it,” she said. “But for someone like me … it’s really cool.”

Other tourists who have gone viral sharing their U.S. experiences have also remained apolitical in their posts, appealing to American social media users seeking more “wholesome” content.

A German fan, who goes by Freddy on X, appears to have gotten the most attention online with his posts about the gas station chain Buc-ee’s, the sheer size of American stadiums and his first meal at Waffle House.

PEARL JAM SESSION:

He Gave It All to Help the Knicks Win in 1973. He’s Still in Pain Today.: Earl “the Pearl” Monroe was part of the last championship team. Now 81, he has thoughts on what really matters. (David Waldstein. June 9, 2026, NY Times)

More than half a century later, after dozens of surgeries and unrelenting pain from a punishing career on hardwood floors and concrete playgrounds, those words still echo, even though it is not so easy and carefree to be Earl Monroe these days. Not that he would complain. An acknowledgment of his constant pain, from his feet to his head, had to be coaxed out of him during a chat at one of his favorite restaurants not far from his home in Harlem.


Now 81, Monroe is paying the price for his Hall of Fame career and all the joy he brought to Knicks fans in the 1970s. He was not known as Earl the Pearl just because it rhymed. His is one of the most apt nicknames in sports: He was elegant, sophisticated, cherished; and it still applies.

Outwardly, it appears as though he has been retired for 6 years, not 46. He bears the unmistakable aura and presence of an elite athlete, even though he uses a walker, which he hates and vows to chuck aside one day.

But he has endured more than 40 operations, he said, including a knee replacement, two new hips and spinal fusion. He can barely turn his head because of the pain in his neck.

“Every time I make a little progress, I’m back in the hospital,” he said. “Mentally it’s hard, because I know I can’t do things anymore. It’s disheartening. But then you think about people facing harder things. I say something for them in my prayers at night.”

Monroe dislikes discussing it all, but he understands that fans and admirers still care about him and want to know how he is faring, and hope he can infuse the current team with some of that elusive championship mojo.

But more important, in his view, is that by sitting for an interview, he would get to shine a light on one of his enduring missions, the charter school in the Bronx that bears his name.

NATIONALITY IS A CHOICE:

How migration became a key to World Cup success (Ben Brindle, June 5, 2026, The Conversation)

The 2026 World Cup will feature more foreign-born players than any previous edition. Nearly a quarter of the 1,248 players selected for national teams were born in a different country from the one they will represent.

In some squads, the proportions are far higher than this – 96% of Curaçao’s players were born abroad, as were 85% of the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s and 73% of Morocco’s. Overall, foreign-born players make up the majority of footballers in eight of the tournament’s 48 squads.

CLUTCH HITTERS:

How a Road Less Traveled Led to Baseball’s Boys of Summer: Anne Keene reflects on a soulful interview between author Roger Kahn and poet Robert Frost that sparked one of the game’s most human narratives. (Anne Keene, 3/26/20, The Saturday Evening Post)

In 1960 The Boys of Summer author Roger Kahn was in his early 30s when he drove along backroads bordering streams in the Green Mountains to spend the afternoon with New England poet Robert Frost. When the sportswriter reached the end of a dirt road, he got out of his car and walked up a hill to Frost’s cabin, where he lived alone, from May until the leaves changed in the fall, when the poet returned to Cambridge.

At the time, Kahn was a celebrated sportswriter who covered the Brooklyn Dodgers for the Herald Tribune in the early 1950s. He based The Boys of Summer on players such as Jackie Robinson, who broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball, Pee Wee Reese, Preacher Rowe, Carl Erskine, and Roy Campanella. Twenty years after his Boys retired, Kahn caught up with his middle-aged Boys as they struggled through life.

Kahn had met Frost at the Bread Loaf Writers’ conference at Middlebury College in 1951, where the poet pitched to the writer in a summer baseball game with the spine of the Green Mountains in the background. It was there, on that grassy field, when a love for America’s Pastime connected two artists who appreciated the delicate, often brutal plight of the aging athlete.

The World Series was a month away when the 86-year-old snow-headed poet greeted Kahn, wearing blue slacks and a ragged gray sweater. With a face as weathered as the mountain, Frost cut a strapping agrarian frame from years of laboring behind a plow, and daily hikes through the woods, where he conjured phrases about the road less traveled.

The Saturday Evening Post’s “A Visit with Robert Frost” interview drew a response that stunned both Kahn and Frost. Hundreds of letters poured into the magazine from readers. Many enclosed the November 19th feature, asking Kahn to autograph it because they knew he captured Frost in his purest form toward the end of his life.

THICKENING:

How Everest Has Changed Since Into Thin Air: Scaling the world’s highest mountain is a very different experience than it was when I climbed it (Jon Krakauer, May 4, 2026, The Atlantic)

When I climbed to the summit of Everest in May 1996, I was, according to the Himalayan Database, only the 621st person to arrive there since the mountain was first summited, in May 1953. During the 30 years following my ascent, Everest was climbed approximately 13,000 times. At least 90 percent of those ascents were made by clients and employees of commercial guiding companies. As this astounding number suggests, scaling the world’s highest mountain is a very different experience than it was in 1996. Most notably, Everest climbers are now much less likely to die. From 1921, when the first serious attempt to climb the mountain was made, through 1996, one person was killed, on average, for every five who reached the summit. Over the next 28 years, that ratio diminished to one death for every 68 summits. In 2025, only five climbers died and 866 reached the summit, a ratio of one fatality for every 173 climbers who got to the top.

The greater likelihood of surviving an Everest expedition might come as a surprise, given the numerous photos of alarming traffic jams on the mountain that have gone viral in recent years. But the very real risks posed by these crowds have been mitigated by other developments. Weather forecasts are more accurate, oxygen masks are more efficient and reliable, guided climbers are now provided with as many oxygen canisters as they are willing to pay for, and each commercial climbing client is typically ushered up the mountain by at least one personal Sherpa guide.

YOUR LYIN’ EYES:

How the ‘Moneyball’ Oakland A’s Reinvented Baseball and Beyond: The team showed the sport—and plenty of other businesses—a new way to build a successful team (Jared Diamond, April 16, 2026, WSJ)

Yet for as long as America’s love affair with baseball has lasted, the sport’s practitioners knew shockingly little about how the game was truly played for most of that time. Teams built their rosters while relying on rudimentary statistics like batting average and runs batted in for hitters and win-loss record for pitchers. They deployed strategies like the sacrifice bunt and stolen base with remarkable frequency despite lacking real evidence to justify such usage.

These were simple concepts to understand, but unbeknown to almost everybody for generations, they might have been flawed. Batting average counts every type of hit as equal, even though home runs are clearly worth more than singles. A starter’s record fails to take into account the quality of the teammates around him. Bunting means willingly giving up one of your 27 outs, the most precious resource that exists in the game.

The problem was that until recently, nobody realized that everything they thought they understood about baseball might be wrong.

Analytics removes emotion.

LIES OUR TEACHERS TOLD US:

When Baseball Threw Physics a Curve: Sports, science, and collective delusion. (Brad Bolman, 10.22.25, Pioneer Works)


The first curveball is generally credited to William Arthur Cummings, a star of mid-nineteenth-century baseball, who earned the nickname “Candy” for his sweet mastery of the craft. Using an underhanded motion, Cummings twisted his hand as he released the ball, producing an initially straight pitch that curved away to the side as it reached home plate. He claimed his inspiration was the spiraling motion of tossed clamshells. In September 1875, his “peculiar inside-curving ball” was noted in coverage of a game between the professional squad from Hartford, Connecticut, that Cummings played for and an amateur team from Ludlow, Massachusetts. (The amateurs still won the game, the early equivalent of a local rec team defeating the Yankees.)

As other pitchers began to integrate Candy’s technique, newspaper discussion of “curved ball” pitching spread across the eastern U.S. In 1877, the Evansville Daily Courier of Indiana hailed a new local hurler who pitched “the popular ‘curved’ ball so swiftly that no one in the club was able to strike the balls.” After years of batters’ domination, curving balls rebalanced the scales back in the pitchers’ favor. Within a decade, the curveball was heralded as a revolution—“the greatest change ever introduced into the game,” according to an account from 1883, around the same time that Candy considered retiring to become a house painter.

How the curve worked, however, was initially a mystery. “Please tell me what a curved ball is in playing base-ball,” asked one Cincinnati Enquirer reader in May 1876. That August, another inquired, “What is meant by a curved ball—is it a pitch or an underhand throw, how does it curve, and can you explain how it is done, how the ball is held, etc.?” The curveball was, in the first place, a tactical curiosity for passionate fans and aspiring players. With many men eager to make a nickel on the new national pastime, mastering the pitch promised upward mobility. Yet as the Enquirer’s answers made clear, its exact mechanics were elusive: “A curved ball is one which leaves the hand in a straight line and just before it reaches the home plate suddenly curves out toward the end of the bat…. by a twist or twirl of the ball that can not well be described.” Commonality did not initially mean common understanding.

Originally an art to be mastered, the great curveballers were labeled “artists” for decades. But over time, the pragmatic matter of how to throw a curveball became a scientific problem: Was it even possible to do so? Spectators, after all, had witnessed balls that appeared to contradict the laws of motion. That all this might simply be trickery of the eye accorded with a widespread wariness in the late nineteenth century about fraud and deception. Newspapers of the era abounded with accounts of sleight-of-hand subterfuge: “Pepper’s ghost,” for instance, in which reflective glass panes made an off-stage ghost appear to float before theater audiences, wowed crowds from London to New Orleans. Magic was often just a trick of the eye.

“Why does a ball ‘curve?’” asked Columbus Ohio’s Dispatch in July 1876. Here was a question “our scientific heads can spend a deal of brain power in solution of.” While it was widely accepted that the “laws of motion” made a curving pitch impossible, the Dispatch conceded “it is a fact … that there is such a thing as curved balls. Every base-ballist knows it.” The everyday know-how of players seemed to trump the public understanding of science. Could it be, as one popular theory proposed, that the force of air against the ball slowed one rotating side more than the other and produced a curving motion? The Dispatch granted that “the thinking men among us may ferret out something more probable.” Debates continued: In July 1877, “several young men” wrote the Minneapolis Tribune that they were fully divided on whether it was possible to throw a curving ball. In September, a writer asked the Chicago Inter-Ocean to “Explain the philosophy that governs the curved ball as thrown by some of the professional baseball players of the United States, or as curved on a billiard table by scientific players.” People wanted not just to behold or even throw the curve themselves, but to understand how it could be possible in the first place.

SHE DUG THE LONG BALL:

The surprising feminist history of baseball’s biggest anthem (Chloe Veltman, 4/02/26, NPR: All Things Considered)

“Take Me Out” was not only catchy, “it also had very unusual lyrics,” Clermont said. At a time when women did not yet have the right to vote, but were playing in women’s leagues and filling the stands at occasional “Ladies Days,” “Take Me Out” celebrates a fictional young woman’s deep and abiding passion for baseball:

Katie Casey saw all the games.
Knew the players by their first names.
Told the umpire he was wrong.
All along, good and strong.

“She didn’t want to just go to the ballpark, sit in the bleachers and be silent or whatever,” Clermont said of the song’s hard-hitting protagonist. “She wanted to participate.”