Tag: Columns

Len Dawson’s cigarette and Fresca Super Bowl photo is the perfect front cover for his Hall of Fame career

In one of the biggest moments of his life, Dawson’s iconic photo encapsulated an era of football.

Ask any active NFL player how they spend their time during breaks in the action in real games, and you’ll likely get the same variety of responses. In an era that prides itself on meticulously watching calories and treating the body like a temple, modern players probably won’t smoke or drink before competing against other elite athletes. They have to be prepared for what is essentially a battle, and anything less than their physical best puts them at a disadvantage in such a struggle.

Based on one black and white moment in a Pro Football Hall of Fame career, former Chiefs quarterback Len Dawson did not possess that strict mindset.

The legendary Kansas City signal-caller and later NFL broadcaster died at the age of 87, his family announced Wednesday. As tributes poured in from around the football world, one iconic photo from Dawson’s career stood tall above the countless wonderful stories, memorials and words of appreciation.

I’m talking about the time that a clearly exhausted Dawson — with his jersey and uniform already disheveled in an appropriate “football” way — smoked a cigarette while drinking a Fresca during the halftime of Super Bowl I versus the Packers in January 1967.

Look at Dawson’s face. How casual he is. How seemingly relieved he is while copping one solitary moment of peace — in this case, a small cigarette — during a football game that undoubtedly took a toll in more ways than one. If there were ever a moment that summarized what it’s like to strap the pads on and put one’s body through the rigors of pro football, it was Dawson sitting on that folding chair, hunched over, just trying to kick back for a few minutes.

Dawson wasn’t necessarily alone or unique in smoking mid-game. Far from it. Here’s what Chiefs Hall of Famer Fred Arbanas once told Yahoo Sports about Kansas City’s laissez-faire approach to smoking in the locker room:

“I’d smoke a cigar, and probably more than half the guys smoked cigarettes back then. A lot of times, you’d come into our locker room, and you could hardly see, it’d be so smoky in there. There were plenty of other guys smoking cigarettes, too, but Lenny’s [Dawson] the quarterback — he’s the one that they snapped.”

That’s befitting of a 1960s era before smoking’s toxic effects on the lungs were common knowledge and before it was a United States medical standard to advise against smoking. Dawson wasn’t alone as a football player, professional athlete or many people in other physical endeavors then. It was a different time with a different standard of health.

But not everyone showed such candor at what it was like to play a dangerous game like football and to try to take a breath amidst all the punishment. Not everyone encapsulated an era of sports history behind the scenes in the same way. Dawson did — whether it was intentional or not.

After losing that Super Bowl to Green Bay, Dawson and the Chiefs returned three years later in Super Bowl IV to capture Kansas City’s then-lone NFL championship over the Vikings. After completing 12-of-17 passes for 142 yards and a touchdown, Dawson was named the MVP of that game.

Many people will — and probably rightfully — consider that Super Bowl IV performance the highlight of Dawson’s prolific career. They might even point to his various top AFL passing marks over the years. More likely, they’ll note that his bronze bust in Canton can epitomize all of those achievements in one neat package.

With respect, I have to disagree.

When I think of the late Len Dawson, I think of the time he just wanted to step back from all the chaos of a football field with a cigarette and a soda in a glass bottle. And when I think of Dawson at that moment, what I envision is a warrior recharging for a brutal battle by simply trying to take a load off while he could.

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Kurt Busch’s openness about his head injury sets a strong, needed example for NASCAR drivers

Kurt Busch is leading by example with transparency in his recovery.

Kurt Busch won’t race again this weekend, and his continued absence from NASCAR events he surely dreads missing is proof of seismic, important change: Drivers are starting to understand the importance of taking care of their brains.

More and more, they seem to be prioritizing their health and safety, as the sport sheds the misconception that injuries equate to weakness and recognizes the serious implications that come with concussions and head injuries.

There’s no doubt Busch would do anything to be behind the wheel of his No. 45 23XI Racing Toyota this weekend at Richmond Raceway. The same was likely true for the last three races he’s missed at Pocono Raceway, Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Michigan International Speedway.

But Busch is set to miss his fourth consecutive NASCAR race, and the reason behind it, though obviously unfortunate, should be applauded.

During a qualifying round at Pocono in late July, Busch spun and crashed hard, smacking the wall and wrecking his car. Though he was able to exit the car on his own, he was not cleared to compete after multiple evaluations in the infield care center. Busch said he was experiencing “concussion-like symptoms” after the wreck and has been unable to return to the track since.

In Busch’s latest statement on Twitter about missing his fourth straight race, he said:

“Brain injury recovery doesn’t always take a linear path. I’ve been feeling well in my recovery, but this week I pushed to get my heart rate and body in a race simulation type environment, and it’s clear I’m not ready to be back in the race car.”

Good for him.

This is obviously a difficult and perhaps painful path for 44-year-old Busch, but all the more reason he, NASCAR and his doctors should be commended for taking brain health and concussion symptoms seriously. He’s not hiding his symptoms and prioritizing his health over his race car and position in the point standings.

The response from Busch — along with NASCAR and his team, 23XI Racing, which is co-owned by Michael Jordan and Denny Hamlin — is the latest example of what appears to be a (relatively recent) shift in the sport toward valuing athletes’ health over the need to be competitive above all else. In this instance, Busch is setting a strong example, especially at a time when his precarious playoff spot could be in jeopardy if there are more than 16 different regular-season race winners this season (there are currently 15).

It resembles what we’re seeing in other sports, particularly in football with the rise of chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or CTE, and increased knowledge about head injuries and their subsequently longterm effects, which potentially can be fatal. More and more athletes are aware of their brain health and taking precautions to keep themselves safe.

It’s encouraging to see NASCAR and its athletes embrace that mentality shift, but it wasn’t always the case.

Not that long ago, drivers would conceal their injuries or concussion symptoms for the sake of their jobs, further endangering themselves and their competitors. They feared being viewed as weak or damaged, they worried their teams or potential future teams would hold it against them, they didn’t know where to turn for help and they anticipated forever being attached to a longterm stigma about head injuries.

Dale Earnhardt Jr. — NASCAR’s loudest concussion health awareness advocate who pledged to donate his brain to science — noted all that in his 2018 book, Racing to the Finish. He acknowledged hiding his own concussion symptoms, especially early in his career, and detailed why that was a mistake. He knew how people spoke about others in the garage, how they wondered if a driver was permanently affected after a bad accident or head injury.

The Hall of Famer explained that if a driver was in a wreck, evaluated by the infield care center and cleared, most interpreted that as the driver being OK both physically and mentally. He wrote:

“Those infield checkups were the same as they’d basically always been: pretty simple. Everyone has fibbed to their doctor from time to time during a routine physical, right? He says, “How have you been feeling?” and we say, “Oh, I’m fine,” just to get out of there and go home. Racecar drivers didn’t just do that from time to time. They did that all the time. Most probably still do. Why? I said it to those reporters in 2002 and it’s still true: I didn’t want to tell anyone how bad I’d felt until after I got better and I started running better because I didn’t want anyone to think I was broken, that I was messed up.”

Earnhardt explained he’d be shaken up or possibly concussed after a bad wreck Sunday, feel better by Thursday and get back behind the wheel the following weekend, opening himself up to further injuries. He didn’t want to miss a race or alter people’s perceptions of him, so he kept going, sometimes when he shouldn’t have.

Of course, some NASCAR drivers have been in Busch’s position in the past and missed races because of head injuries. Back in 1997, Ricky Craven suffered a concussion during a wreck and missed a handful of races as his symptoms worsened.

During Earnhardt’s full-time NASCAR career, he was sidelined more than once with concussion-related symptoms — most recently when he missed the second half of 2016 before returning in 2017 and then retiring at the end of season. Tragically, he estimates he’s had between 20 and 25 concussions throughout his career, but he’s spun his experiences into awareness advocacy that’s almost certainly having an impact on the NASCAR garage.

So while this is not a new topic in the sometimes-violent sport, it certainly seems like head injuries are being taken far more seriously now by both NASCAR and its athletes. In 2017, NASCAR expanded its concussion protocol, emphasizing awareness for symptoms of head injuries.

NASCAR’s medical team provides neurological support and evaluations for the other physicians in the infield care centers, where drivers must go to be cleared after serious on-track incidents. If a driver isn’t cleared, they’re further evaluated, like in Busch’s case. And if they ultimately aren’t cleared by neuro specialists at the track, like Busch, the driver then must get medical clearance to return to competitions from an approved, board-certified neurologist, neurosurgeon or neuropsychologist with at least five years of experience treating sports-related injuries.

Unfortunately for Busch, that hasn’t happened yet, but he’s doing everything in his power to ensure a safe return to competition. The 2004 NASCAR Cup champ been granted a medical waiver to keep him eligible for the 10-race playoffs this fall — though whether or not he’ll make it could depend on the number of regular-season winners, in addition to his health.

Of course, it’s never a positive when an athlete suffers a head injury, and surely everyone, including his competitors, hopes he recovers quickly.

But instead of fighting or concealing it, Busch has been transparent about his situation, and hopefully that inspires other NASCAR drivers, should they find themselves in a similarly unfortunate position, to follow his example, choosing to value their brains over racing.

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Yes, Denny Hamlin’s meme was racist, damaging and proof NASCAR still has work to do

Denny Hamlin should have known better before tweeting a racist joke.

Denny Hamlin should have known better.

One of NASCAR’s highest profile drivers — a 41-year-old three-time Daytona 500 winner and 23XI Racing team co-owner — should have known not to tweet a racist, anti-Asian meme.

Even if it was his attempt to poke fun at his friend and competitor, Kyle Larson, who ignited a wreck Sunday at Talladega Superspeedway that collected the two 23XI cars, a racist joke emphasizing harmful anti-Asian-American stereotypes is unacceptable.

On the last lap of the GEICO 500, Larson was running near the front and moved multiple lanes up the track to try to steal the lead and victory. In the process, he made contact with Kurt Busch’s car, and as Busch bounced off the outside wall and came back into traffic, he hit Bubba Wallace, ruining both 23XI cars’ chances of a strong finish. That’s racing; it happens.

Monday, Hamlin tried to poke fun at Larson, seemingly without thinking about the destructive effects of racist jokes that uphold dehumanizing stereotypes. He tweeted a meme: A clip from Family Guy, a show no stranger to racist and misogynistic jokes, upholding an ugly stereotype about Asian-American women not being able to drive well. To make matters worse, the clip features a character — Hamlin’s meme superimposed Larson’s name over her — with heavily stereotyped accent.

Hamlin could have used any meme, any joke to tease Larson — who is half Japanese and the only Asian-American full-time driver in the NASCAR Cup Series — about his last-lap incident. The internet is abundant with meme choices that don’t target already marginalized groups of people, and he could have chosen any one of those to tease his buddy.

Had he tweeted a meme that wasn’t inherently racist and simply made an innocuous joke about Larson, it probably would have been fine. But he employed an already malevolent and demeaning punchline to make his point, and that’s the problem.

Later that night, Hamlin deleted the tweet and apologized — though he should have further explained why it’s offensive.

But some in the NASCAR world, like FOX Sports’ Mike Joy, and fans still missed why this was so horribly offensive and that there were, in fact, racial implications.

A screenshot of a now-deleted tweet from Mike Joy.

As an organization, NASCAR — working to be more inclusive, diversify the predominantly white, male sport and welcome all fans and participants — obviously saw the anti-Asian-American racism in Hamlin’s tweet. And Tuesday, the governing body announced: “This morning, we alerted Hamlin that he must complete sensitivity training and the process must be started by the end of this week.”

Toyota, the manufacturer for both 23XI Racing and Joe Gibbs Racing, the team for which Hamlin competes, agreed with NASCAR’s response.

It doesn’t matter if Larson — who NASCAR suspended and his former team fired in 2020 after the driver used the N-word — wasn’t offended by the joke. It doesn’t matter if you, the reader, are not offended by the joke. A racist joke is still racist. So again, Hamlin should have known better and at least reflected on why he found the joke funny and if it had the potential to cause harm to others.

Often rooted in bigotry or xenophobia, stereotypes are dehumanizing, and reinforcing them can have real-world negative impacts, including violence, especially when the target is a group of people already marginalized or discriminated against.

Hate crime directed toward Asian American and Pacific Islander communities is on the rise and has been exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic. As the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism noted earlier this year, anti-Asian hate crime increased by 339 percent in 2021 compared with 2020, NBC News reported.

Via the American Psychological Association:

“In the incidents documented by Stop AAPI Hate, women were targeted more than two thirds of the time, pointing to more complex gendered stereotypes that also contribute to the current violence, said [Dr. Derald Wing Sue, a professor of psychology and education at Columbia University’s Teachers College], including the shooting deaths of six Asian American women in Atlanta.”

Last year, eight people, including six women of Asian descent, were killed in a shooting rampage at Atlanta-area spas. It happened five days before NASCAR’s race at Atlanta Motor Speedway, and the track and sport honored the victims.

“It definitely hits closer to me probably,” Larson said after winning that 2021 Atlanta race. “Hopefully things will get better in our world. It’s just a terrible, terrible time for Asians. I hope it gets better.”

Barely a year later, one of NASCAR’s biggest stars tweeted a racist joke to his sizable platform at the expense of AAPI communities, particularly women.

NASCAR’s sensitivity training is a slap on the wrist for Hamlin and others who have had to take it before as the result of their actions, including Kyle Busch after using an ableist and derogatory slur in 2021 and Larson after using the N-word in 2020. Whether that training had or will have a meaningful impact on those who have taken it will only be determined by their future behavior and actions.

Hopefully, empathy, compassion and humanity will be reinforced in addition to an education about how racism and bigotry impact people regularly and how to combat it. Hopefully, it will encourage Hamlin and others to ask themselves before saying something: Could this negatively impact an already discriminated against group of people, whether it’s about race, disability, gender or sexual orientation?

Hamlin might not have asked himself that before tweeting the racist meme Monday. But he should have.

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Elysian’s newest beer, Dank Dust IPA, smells exactly like 4/20

Elysian went hard on the “botanicals” for this specifically-timed beer.

Welcome to FTW’s Beverage of the Week series. Previously, we’ve folded these in to our betting guides, whether that’s been for the NFL slate or a bizarrely successful run through the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament. Here, we mostly chronicle and review beers, but happily expand that scope to any beverage that pairs well with sports. Yes, even cookie dough whiskey. 

Elysian has long been a favorite in the relatively short timespan of this feature. Its Halloween-themed pumpkin beer mix pack was better than expected. The beer it partnered with the Seattle Seahawks to brew — Hawkitect wheat ale — is a pretty great stadium brew.

So when it reached out with a sampler of its newest beer, a spin on its flagship Space Dust called Dank Dust IPA, I jumped at the opportunity. This isn’t surprising. I am very easy to peer pressure into drinking things. If you offer to send something my way, I will most likely drink it and write about it here on the friendly confines of For The Win.

This was no normal beer, however. As the brewery’s founders explained in a special Zoom-based tasting session, this was the alter-ego of Space Dust. A beer that was supposed to launch April 1 but — wink-wink-nudge-nudge — got unexpectedly (not unexpectedly) delayed to just under three weeks later.

My friends, this is a beer that smells, and tastes, exactly like marijuana.

No photo can accurately capture what’s going on here. Cracking this beer immediately made my office smell like the basement of a frat house. That pine-y hop profile lives up to the “danky” moniker in a big way — this thing smells like a baggie of weed. This is a scent of sticky floors and indecipherable texts that just say “hoagie cake.” It’s… a lot.

The pour itself is very pretty — golden brown, fluffy white head, etc — but hoooo boy, you’re not gonna notice that. You’re gonna notice that if you spill this on your couch, your kids aren’t gonna be allowed to have playdates at your house for a while unless their friends have cool parents.

That dank flavor is overwhelming up front, even though there’s no cannabis or THC or any marijuana product in the beer itself. This, I’m assured, is intentional.

“Before you open this you’ve got to roll up a towel and plug it under your door or else your neighbors will worry,” founder Dave Buhler told For The Win during the tasting.

The cause is the addition of soluble terpenes to an already-potent IPA, creating a very distinct flavor profile. One Elysian was careful to label as “botanical” in more wink/nudge, cover-our-bases messaging.

“We were trying to mimic the smell of diesel which is… a kind of, uh, botanical,” said fellow founder Joe Bisaccia. “The terpenes in dank dust are meant to mimic the botanicals, which help perk you up rather than mellow you out.”

Dank Dust is less aggressive as it warms up, and I did feel some of the intended energizing effects, though that could have been the power of suggestion at play. The extreme, uh, botanical profile either wears down or simply becomes commonplace, giving way to the citrus IPA notes the flagship version of the brew hit so well. Elysian’s founders assure me this is a feature rather than a bug. As those terpenes collect in our smell receptors, it dulls the effect even though the world around you still smells very much like a tsunami of bong water.

Our tasting also featured regular Space Dust, which is much more my style. The difference between the two is remarkable. Space Dust is lighter and easier and complex in its own right. Dank Dust has to be approached with caution. Where I could drink three or four of the original no problem (before heading off for a nap since they’re 8.2 percent ABV), one Dank Dust is enough to top me off.

So yeah, it’s an interesting idea and an interesting beer. Elysian has pulled something off here, but I’m not sure exactly what. Dank Dust is worth seeking out for a try and, if you’re a connoisseur of certain “botanicals,” could be your jam. For me, though, this was an idea more interesting in theory than execution.

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NFL players are right to back out of verbal deals during this year’s free agency

NFL also stands for “Not For Long.” Free agents definitely have that in mind.

Once millions of dollars start flying around, it can be easy to forget that NFL free agents don’t have to sign on the dotted line because they said they will. Like any person with a regular job, they are still playing the open market.

Verbal agreements are just that: Verbal, non-binding and an open opportunity to seek more compensation if you see your talented pals around the league getting bigger bags of cash.

Nowhere do we have a better reminder of player choice and leverage than this year’s free agency period. Three separate players — J.D. McKissic, Randy Gregory and Za’Darius Smith — have now backed out of deals they said they would sign. Gregory went from re-upping to Dallas to join the Broncos. McKissic pivoted on the Bills and returned to Washington.

But Smith, once set to join Lamar Jackson and the Ravens, encapsulates a clear and welcome trend.

Aside from the awkward tweet deletions from social media teams meaning to promote “their” new players, it’s worth highlighting what three separate professionals reneging on their word means.

Players are right to leverage what minimal power they have as free agents, given the limitations of the CBA. Until you’re officially on someone’s books, play the field as much as possible. In a professional sports league where one injury potentially means the end of your career (and cash flow), you’d be silly not to.

From that perspective, it’s also great that McKissic, Gregory and Smith — three guys in their late 20s who might never see another big NFL contract — happen to be the three case studies. Each tells us something different about the “commitment” of free agency.

First, there’s McKissic. After he was apparently on his way to the Super Bowl favorite Bills on a two-year, $7 million contract, he had a change of heart. He instead stayed in Washington on the same exact terms. Huh? Let me connect the dots for you.

The Bills live and die with Josh Allen’s cybernetic arm. They’re going to throw the ball. A lot. They have one of pro football’s best complements of offensive firepower and already have an established hierarchy of options. If you’re a multi-purpose platoon back like McKissic, who needs to touch the ball often to show your value, it makes more sense to return to the pop-gun Commanders, so you have options when you hit the open market again in a couple of years. Sometimes, it’s about more than signing with a better team. Sometimes, it’s where you, personally, can fare better.

Next, in Gregory’s situation, the Broncos also, quite literally, gave the 29-year-old pass rusher what the Cowboys did.

Five years. $70 million. $28 million guaranteed. That’s weird. What is happening? It doesn’t add up. Oh, wait. The Cowboys reportedly “protected” themselves too much with their version of Gregory’s contract — in that there was likely some sort of easier means to back out of their commitment.

Yeah, I probably wouldn’t sign a contract where my boss could potentially fire me on a whim the moment I tore my ACL or ankle up, either. Like Gregory, I would prefer more security. To each, their own, am I right?

Finally, in Smith’s situation, he saw the forest for the trees. The Ravens gave him $45 million over three years. An amicable agreement for a veteran released by Green Bay. But then some of his edge pass rush contemporaries, Von Miller and Chandler Jones, signed for considerably more. Uh-oh. The writing was on the wall.

Or I guess it wasn’t. And so it’s back into the free-agent pool for Smith, who had unwittingly low-balled himself.

What McKissic, Gregory and Smith are showing during this free agency is a relatively simple concept: Until the ink is on the paper and dry, no one is under any obligation to “honor” their agreements. Get your money and stability whenever you can, especially in a league predicated on putting your body through hell.

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I conquered Daytona International Speedway at 145 mph in a NASCAR stock car and lived to write about it

This was a wild, once-in-a-lifetime kind of ride in the driver’s seat.

DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. — Not going to lie, I was a little terrified.

The last time I had driven a stick shift was more than a decade ago, and I repeatedly stalled out in the middle of a busy East Lansing street. That’s all I could think about as I stood on pit road at Daytona International Speedway, dressed in a firesuit and about to climb into a NASCAR stock car.

In the driver’s seat. By myself. On the 2.5-mile track, NASCAR’s second-biggest oval that’s home to the Daytona 500.

Thanks to the NASCAR Racing Experience, for eight minutes Thursday, I had a license to turn laps in a race car on the giant iconic NASCAR track.

The day before, I asked driver Alex Bowman for tips, advice, anything that might help.

“Floor it,” the No. 48 Hendrick Motorsports Chevrolet driver said. “That’s really the only advice you need to know. And if you don’t floor it, you have failed your team, so you better floor it.”

Oh, god.

(Brian Lawdermilk/Getty Images)

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As I waited for my turn on pit road, my mind furiously ran through what I remembered of the detailed notes I took during a brief how-to and safety training session.

I’ll have a spotter; just listen and do what he says. Push the button on the steering wheel and hold it to talk to him. Constant throttle, don’t lift in the corners.

The leader of the instructional session said, “All you gotta do is go fast, turn left and not hit nothing.” And while he was helpful and answered my many follow-up questions, I still felt not at all qualified or prepared to pilot a race car.

“Trust the car,” he said. “Trust your instincts.”

Except, my instincts were limited having never surpassed 100 miles per hour in a passenger car and with subpar stick-shift experience.

Helmet on and firesuit zipped up, I climbed through the driver’s window of a No. 43 Chevrolet — a car number synonymous with seven-time NASCAR champ Richard Petty — and immediately realized the shifter was not my biggest concern.

Comfortably in my seat, my feet were were practically in a different zip code than the clutch, brake and gas pedals.

Luckily, the NASCAR Racing Experience was prepared for a driver like me, providing not one but two cushions to ensure I could reach the pedals while my spotter, Albert, introduced himself over the radio.

It was green flag time. My heart felt like it was pounding through my ears, overtaking Albert’s final instructions.

Focus. Breathe. Don’t wreck.

My left foot pushing deep onto the clutch with the car already in fourth gear, a van came up behind me and gave me a literal push off pit road. Albert told me when I was up to speed and then to get my foot off the clutch and hit the gas as I merged onto the track headed into Turn 1.

This wasn’t a new stock car by any means — and definitely not the Next Gen one making its debut in the Daytona 500 — but man, it was fast. One instinct I was told not to trust was lifting into the corners, so I didn’t. Or tried not to.

Holy [expletive].

Daytona’s 31-degree banking in the turns hits harder when you’re the driver and not the passenger. And as Albert offered words of encouragement and instructions, I felt like I got the hang of it after just one lap, but it’s monumentally harder than it looks — by a lot. And I wasn’t the only car out there.

It was a wild rush, unique in its own way, even after having flown with the Air Force Thunderbirds and riding along in an IndyCar car at Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

Spotting me from above the track, Albert said I had a good line and to stick with it at 4,000 RPMs. He liked what he was seeing and told me to “keep digging,” so I did that too. Bowman’s advice echoed in my mind, and I wanted a fast lap average, so I pushed deeper into the gas pedal.

I maxed out at 145.79 miles per hour.

(NASCAR Racing Experience)

The speed was thrilling, intoxicating and even addictive once I settled in and felt in control. No wonder drivers are obsessed with speed. Of course, they need a fast car to win races, but I almost instantly understood how easily driving a race car could transform someone into an adrenaline junkie.

I could have kept going for a few more laps, but the next thing I knew, my eight minutes on track were done.

I crossed the start-finish line on the frontstretch, and Albert said it was my “checkered flag” time, signaling it was my last lap and to dip off the track onto the apron for one more time around before hitting pit road.

A sweaty mess, I climbed out of the car and took my helmet off, realizing a newfound respect for the drivers who do this for hours and hundreds of miles with 39 other cars out there inches away from each other. They are undeniably athletes with the strength and endurance required just to keep up.

No wonder they’re so eager to get back behind the wheel time and time again. Now, I am too.

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I can’t stop thinking about Chevrolet’s Super Bowl 56 ‘Sopranos’ ad

Jamie-Lynn Sigler and Robert Iler reprised their “Sopranos” roles for a Chevrolet Super Bowl 56 commercial.

What’s the first TV theme song that pops in your head immediately after hearing HBO’s static noise intro? Regardless of what you’re actually about to watch, I’m guessing you have a song you instantly anticipate.

For me, it’s Woke Up This Morning by Alabama 3, the theme song for The Sopranos. So while I was glued to my TV during Super Bowl LVI on Sunday – like just about every other American sports fan — absolutely nothing captured my attention like Chevrolet’s Sopranos-themed ad for the 2024 Silverado EV, its first all-electric pickup.

I’ll admit I was half-heartedly watching the commercials — I’d seen several of this year’s prior to the big game anyway — but within the literal first second of hearing The Sopranos‘ theme song, Chevy had my full, undivided attention for the 60-second spot.

And then for a few more minutes as I rewatched it a handful of times.

Now, I’m not about to go out and buy a Silverado, electric or otherwise. But I can’t stop thinking about the brilliance and near-perfection of this ad.

It features Jamie-Lynn Sigler reprising her role as Meadow Soprano, as she recreates her father Tony’s famous Manhattan-to-New Jersey commute to the theme song during the show’s opening credits. Except, obviously, she’s in Chevy’s new electric truck.

This version of Meadow has notable Carmela vibes, but they’re subtle. She’s wearing multiple gold rings and a tennis bracelet, and she removes her sunglasses and drives with the attitude of a mob boss.

Of course, she’s channeling Tony, played by the late James Gandolfini. Replacing his cigar with a lollypop, she catches a glimpse of One World Trade Center in her side mirror while traversing the industrial path into New Jersey neighborhoods, zooming past Satriale’s Pork Store.

About the ad, Sigler told PEOPLE:

“Whenever we do anything with Sopranos, your first thought is always Jim,” she says. “He was, particularly, Robert and I’s biggest supporters and biggest fans, so there were many mentions of him.”

“His presence was very much felt throughout it all, of course, because anything we ever do having to do with Sopranos, he is there,” she continues. “And just the thought of that opening sequence with him, it’s so iconic. He always drove that Chevy Suburban everywhere. It’s how we close our eyes and picture Tony Soprano.”

In the spot, Meadow pulls up to an electric charging station, getting out of the car exactly like Tony did in his driveway at the end of the opening credits. Enter Robert Iler, who played Tony’s son, A.J.

On the surface, it’s a nice on-screen moment for two fictional characters and who actors who Sigler says are “still best friends.” But diehard Sopranos fans will recall from the end of the series a lost and struggling A.J. who develops concerns for the environment and is particularly in favor of electric cars.

But as Sigler and Iler reprise their roles from the iconic show, the ad raises questions about what happened to Meadow and A.J. in the final and shocking Sopranos moments at Holsten’s before Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’ abruptly cuts and the screen goes dark. The last we see of them, Meadow is struggling to parallel park outside the restaurant, while A.J. joins Tony and Carmela at a table inside.

The controversial ending is still talked about 15 years later, but is there more to their stories in this ad? Does it mean they survived? And they’re fine? They lived?

Last year, Sopranos creator David Chase revealed to The Hollywood Reporter how he imagined Tony death’s, though he doesn’t go as far as to say it happened right there at Holsten’s — though it’s almost implied. And, as the Detroit Free Press noted, Chase helped with the spot.

But maybe I’m reading too far into the ad. Maybe it’s nothing more than that. Maybe, despite actually liking the show’s ending, my subconscious still hopes for a definitive answer on what exactly happened to Tony, Carmela, Meadow and A.J. after following them so intensely for six seasons.

Maybe, it’s simply another reminder that 23 years after The Sopranos‘ premiere, it’s still as iconic as ever. And we’re still thinking about that ending.

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The NFL’s latest statement on Brian Flores’ lawsuit proves it was never ‘without merit,’ which we always knew

The NFL just confirmed what we knew all along. Brian Flores is right.

It was only a few days ago that the NFL tried to tell us that Brian Flores’ lawsuit against the league was “without merit.” Fast forward to today? It’s changed its tune quite a bit.

Flores levied allegations of racial discrimination in hiring practices of the Giants, Dolphins and Broncos after he received texts from Bill Belichick congratulating him on getting the New York Giants job, despite not being interviewed for it yet.

It turned out those texts were actually meant for Brian Daboll, the Bills’ former offensive coordinator. Flores alleged his interview was essentially a sham, and he was simply being used to check the box for the Rooney Rule, which requires NFL teams to interview, at least, two minority coaches for a head coaching spot.

The suit was filed on February 1. Almost immediately after it went public, the NFL rebutted it through a statement saying Flores’ claims were, again, “without merit” —  along with a statement filled with buzz words organizations use when talking about diversity and inclusion.

On Saturday, though, the league changed its tune. Commissioner Roger Goodell sent a memo to the NFL’s clubs saying the league was retaining “outside experts” to evaluate the NFL’s DEI policies and the integrity of the game in light of Flores’ allegations.

The memo said these things would be “thoroughly and independently” reviewed.

“We have made significant efforts to promote diversity and adopted numerous polices and programs which have produced positive change in many areas, however we must acknowledge that particularly with respect to head coaches the results have been unacceptable. …

“We understand the concerns expressed by Coach Flores and others this week. While the legal process moves forward, we will not wait to reasses and modify our strategies to ensure that they are consistent with our values and longstanding commitment to diversity, equity and inclusion.”

That doesn’t sound like Flores’ claims were made without merit at all. If anything, this statement validates those claims and confirms there’s clearly something that isn’t working in the NFL’s hiring process.

The thing about this is it was never hard to see the NFL had an issue in hiring coaches of color in the first place. We didn’t even need Flores to tell us this. Just doing some simple math would do the trick.

Since the Rooney Rule was adopted in 2003, there have been 127 head coaching jobs to open up, per NBC News.  Only 27 of those head coaching jobs have gone to minorities. In a league where nearly 70 percent of the players are Black, that’s a problem.

We had those numbers before we even began to talk about Flores’ receipts. He was fired as a head coach in Miami after a winning season. He received texts from Bill Belichick confirming that he was interviewing for a job that was already gone. Those things are facts. We can point directly to them and see the problem there.

This just goes to show how ridiculous it was for the NFL to immediately come out and aggressively bat away Flores’ claims. There had been no investigation, no discussion. Not a single look.

But, yet, somehow the league felt comfortable in immediately saying the claims were without merit. The accused parties were immediately defended without thought. Just that fact alone is indicative of a larger problem the NFL seems to have in holding its leaders accountable.

This is the same problem that led to Colin Kaepernick being blackballed from the NFL while half-heartedly trying to embrace his plight by slapping “end racism” on helmets and on fields.

It’s also the same problem currently leading to Washington Commander owner Dan Snyder having any sort of control over the release of an internal investigation the NFL conducted into the organization’s toxic workplace culture.

Nobody is bigger than the shield. Unless, of course, you own the shield. Then you’re never wrong.

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Understanding Meat Loaf through the lens of an 8 year old

Remembering Meat Loaf the way he was introduced to me.

The album cover was scary, exciting, and somehow loud. A motorcycle, adorned with a cow skull in the front and white exhaust or possibly flame behind it, soared through the air. A demon bat screeched in the distance. The rider, a muscled-man with distinct Valkyrie undertones, hangs on for dear life in a pose I wouldn’t understand the undertones behind until much, much later.

It’s Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell, and it’s sitting on the dining room table. My dad is carefully studying the back, just like he has roughly twice a week for as long as I can remember. He is wearing headphones that cover 60 percent of his head. They are connected to a knockoff Japanese stereo through a cord thicker than the one that kept our telephone attached to its receiver.

I am 8 years old and ready to depart to the TV room for Friday night’s TGIF lineup — Family Matters, Full House, Step-by-Step, the works. But first I’ve got to finish chores, which means clearing the dishes from the table. Dad didn’t really drink back then. Didn’t smoke, either. His deliverance came 46 minutes, 25 seconds at a time, beginning with the title track and slipping through operatic anthems, power ballads and the song he’d play all eight-plus minutes of at my sister’s wedding; Paradise by the Dashboard Light.

That’s where he’s landed tonight, having already hummed and bobbed his head through You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth. His voice rose a level to sing the chorus of Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad, betraying the subtle sadness behind a man who was Henny Youngman levels of prolific when it came to dad jokes. But when Paradise came on — those first 11 notes screeching out of Jim Steinman’s glorious, drama-kid brain and through a perfectly scratchy electric guitar — it sent lightning through his body.

His eyes closed. His shoulders shook. Every word of those lyrics, every syllable, tumbled from his lips in perfect sync with the record spinning in the background we couldn’t hear. He sang with the conviction of a born-again sinner on a Sunday morning.

Well I remember every little thing, as if it happened only yesterday,
Parking by the lake and there was not another car in sight…

The whole family knew the song well. Our summer vacations were two-week trips to visit family in Pittsburgh. Each way was a 10-hour drive with a handful of cassettes and a portable tape player rested on the front console armrest. The only one that really got played was a homemade mix barely labeled on a blank Maxell. It had some Bob Seger and Paul Evans and, for some reason, Memory from the musical Cats. It also had Paradise by the Dashboard Light on both the front and back sides.

Now Dad rose up from his seat as the chorus hit, a heavenly tilt upward before assuring the family he was both barely 17 as well as barely dressed. He gained steam as the song did, omitting nothing for me or my sister — who at 10 years older, understood at least slightly better than I did — as he sunk deeper into the world carefully created by Steinman and Loaf.

And now our bodies are oh so close and tight,
It never felt so good, it never felt so right
And we’re glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife

I didn’t get any of that, but somehow, the piece that bothered me the most was the knife. Knives didn’t glow, and if they did it certainly just wouldn’t be one sliver that did it. But a clumsy metaphor was, in fact, the perfect parallel to the clumsy everything going on behind it.

Besides, my dad was already onto the next beat, loudly proclaiming we were about to go all the way tonight. Then he doubled down toward the table, knowing he’d have to buy all the way in and save his breath to perfectly nail the next 52 seconds of breathless Phil Rizzuto play-by-play.

I narrowed my focus as well. Growing up a Red Sox fan in Rhode Island had conditioned me to baseball failure. It was the one part of the song I understood. I just wanted to know if this kid, the one that really makes things happen out there, was going to make it home or not. Every time I’d listen intently as though Ellen Foley wasn’t about to bring in Act III just in the nick of time.

Stop right there! I gotta know right now.

Yep, Dad did the lady parts too.

Do you love me? Will you love me forever?
Do you neeeeeed me? Will you nev-uh leave me?
Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?
Will you take me away, will you make me your wife?
I gotta know right now, before we go any further:
Do you love me? Will you love me forever?

I didn’t realize this at the time, but this would be my sex education. Roughly five years later Dad, vastly underestimating my budding awkwardness and just how attractive the opposite sex would find my JV cross country body, sat me down for the talk. The center of a galaxy of bon mots USA TODAY would ultimately prefer not to have attached to its website was Paradise by the Dashboard Light. “Sex is a commitment, son. No one knows it better than me. No one said it better than Meat Loaf.”

At the table, however, I was watching a one-man ballet. His voice shifted back and forth like a veteran truck driver spinning around a wreck. His hands moved from accusing to pleading with the grace of a surgeon’s scalpel.

Foley’s parts were the actual knife in the song, slicing through five minutes of wallpapered happiness that preceded it. Meat Loaf begged in response. It was teenage trash Shakespeare, fed directly into one man’s brain and processed across 15 years and multiple worn-out copies of Bat out of Hell.

Then, the dam burst.

I couldn’t take it any longer, Lord I was crazed!
And when the feeling came upon me like a tidal wave
I started swearing to my god and on my mother’s grave
That I would love you to the end of time!

Dad hit every note with flooding relief and regret, coasting through the final minute-plus and to the end of the song. Then he’d get sucked back in to the album’s finale, For Crying Out Loud, and sing the full eight minutes, 45 seconds like a dirge. Eyes closed, slumped in a hard-back chair, a light sweat glowing as if he’d just done a quick workout.

Then he’d snap back to us, and inevitably I’d ask:

“Who’s that guy the baseball announcer was talking about?”

“That was Meat Loaf, too,” he’d respond.

“Was he safe at home?”

Then Dad paused, tilted his head, and scrunched his face a bit.

“He was. But he still lost.”

“But it was the bottom of the ninth, tie game!”

“Trust me, son. He lost.”

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Cincinnati absolutely deserved its College Football Playoff spot, despite 21-point loss to Alabama

Sure, Cincinnati lost big to Alabama, but so do a lot of teams in the College Football Playoff.

With a perfect, 13-0 record and a conference championship going into the College Football Playoff, Cincinnati absolutely deserved to be one of the final four title contenders. There’s no doubt about that.

And the No. 4 Bearcats’ first loss of the season — a 27-6 defeat by No. 1 Alabama in Friday’s Cotton Bowl Classic — doesn’t negate their worthiness, especially when you remember the cast of characters and resumes of the other once-playoff hopefuls in a particularly weird college football season.

Regardless of what a team’s schedule looks like, winning 13 consecutive games is undeniably impressive, and the Bearcats’ best victory of the year was against now-No. 5 Notre Dame, the first team on the outside looking in at the playoff. And still, without some help from other conferences around the FBS, Cincinnati might not have made the playoff and become the first Group of Five team to do so.

But it did, and losing to a Nick Saban team with the reigning Heisman Trophy winner and a bunch of future NFLers shouldn’t evoke arguments against Cincinnati being one of the top-4 teams at the end of the regular season.

And to be clear, the Bearcats fared quite a bit better than several other teams that suffered dominating playoff defeats. They’re a talented group that didn’t wither away against the nation’s top-ranked team.

At least they scored points on Alabama, unlike Michigan State against the Crimson Tide in the 2015-16 playoff or Ohio State against Clemson in the 2016-17 season. At least they didn’t lose by 35 or more points, like Oklahoma did to LSU (63-28) in the 2019-20 semifinal, or like Florida State did against Oregon (59-20) in the inaugural 2014-15 playoff.

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In fact, the Bearcats’ defense stayed tough enough to ensure Alabama scored fewer first-half points in this matchup (17) than it did against Georgia (24) in the SEC championship game when everyone previously thought the Bulldogs were clearly the top squad.

By the beginning of the Cotton Bowl’s fourth quarter, Cincinnati was within 11, and until Alabama scored a touchdown with about 14 minutes left, there was still an outside chance for a big-time upset.

Bearcats quarterback Desmond Ridder completed 17 of 32 passes for 144 yards, but he couldn’t escape the Crimson Tide’s pass rush and was sacked six times.

And although Cincinnati didn’t capitalize where it needed to and didn’t play the perfect game usually required to take down the Crimson Tide — and the penalties certainly didn’t help — it clearly put up a memorable, entertaining and competitive fight compared with past playoff matchups.

While they had moments of brilliance on both sides of the ball, they just couldn’t stifle Crimson Tide quarterback Bryce Young enough — despite safety Bryan Cook handing Young just his fifth interception of the season — and they couldn’t slow down running back Brian Robinson Jr., who finished with a season-high 204 rushing yards, averaging 7.8 yards per carry.

Cincinnati lost in a similar manner that Notre Dame, Ohio State, Baylor or really any other team likely would have against the No. 1 seed, had one of them been No. 4 in the playoff instead. It lost to the Crimson Tide in suffocating fashion like so many other worthy playoff opponents have before against the college football juggernaut.

Surely few are surprised Alabama came out on top — 68 percent of bettors had the Crimson Tide covering at -13.5 and 86 percent backed them straight up, per Tipico Sportsbook — which would also likely have been the case for any other opponent.

So again, the 21-point loss to a perennial powerhouse and the defending national champs doesn’t invalidate the fact that the Bearcats earned their playoff spot. If you think it does, hopefully you also think that about all the other previous playoff teams on the wrong end of blowout losses. Hopefully, you think that for reasons other than Cincinnati simply being a G5 team, rather than a Power 5 one.

And hopefully, the Bearcats’ playoff opportunity keeps the door open — rather than shutting it indefinitely — for future talented Group of Five teams with national championship aspirations.

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