A veteran Hollywood screenwriter couldn’t have come up with a better narrative arc: Seeking redemption, 59-year-old reenrolls at university he was once asked to leave, tries out for football team, makes it, becomes one of oldest-ever players in NCAA history. Or at least that’s how the hero wants it to be told. The full story may not be quite so neat and tidy, but … aw, hell, roll cameras anyway!
March 1, 2008 | by John Spong | Feature
On November 5, 181,500 people crowded into a former cow pasture north of Fort Worth to watch 43 race cars drive really, really fast for five hundred miles. That day, the Texas Motor Speedway would be, measured by population, one of the largest cities in the state. Welcome to NASCAR, Texas.
February 1, 2007 | by Michael Hall | Feature
It was a year of aggrieved actors, banned boobs, Cuban commodes, DeLay denial, errant Elmo, frisky floaters, grouchy governors, hung hoopsters, immigration insensitivity, job-seeking judges, klobbered Karl, Longhorn lushes, miffed musicians, nude no-no’s, ousted Osteens, peeved passers, quarreling queens, riled Rangers, subpar sheriffs, tiny “terrorists,” unseemly URLs, vice presidential violence, wiseacre W., x-asperated x-wives, youthful yakkers, and zoo zeal.
January 1, 2007 | Feature
As he readies himself for this summer’s Tour de France, the two-time winner is battling allegations in Europe and elsewhere that he uses performance-enhancing drugs. He insists he is clean. But proving that is turning out to be one of his toughest challenges yet. He doesn’t use performance-enhancing drugs, he insists, no matter what his critics in the European press and elsewhere say. And yet the accusations keep coming. How much scrutiny can the two-time Tour de France winner stand? A lot—which is a good thing, since he’s heading back up that hill again.
July 1, 2001 | by Michael Hall | Sports
Frankie Mitchell and Janet Evans want to be together, but their families are feuding. It’s a story as old as Shakespeare—older, in fact, because they’re Gypsies, the children of two prominent Dallas clans, and ancient superstitions guide every aspect of their lives. Even love.
June 1, 1997 | by Skip Hollandsworth | Longreads
It was a year of absent anchors, Bush broccoliphobia, contraband clocks, dastardly Dakotas, egad! Elections, foolhardy fig leaves, governor’s grackles, Hussein harmonizing, incoherent Incaviglia, jury junkets, KO kisses, licentious license plates, misunderstood mummies, naughty notebooks, oil-spill oratory, pretentious pyres, quintessential quadraceps, reverential Sakowitz, telephone telepathy, unwise uppercuts, viper volunteers, wildcatting whoopers, x-pired x-Aggies, yucky yards, zealous Zerubbabel.
January 1, 1991 | Feature
A year of anguished Arabs, bigshot bankrupts, crazy cookbooks, despoiled dinosaurs, exhibitionist editors, foiled fugitives, greens-eating graduates, half-cocked hashish, in flagrante inmates, jolly jailers, kinky kilocycles, late lobsters, moistened mayors, and northbound Nicaraguans.
January 1, 1987 | Feature
The 1986 Bum Steer Awards A year of altered antlers, bunkum bars, cloddish coaches, defoliant diets, enervated elephants, filched flamingos, gunshot guitarists, haywire holidays, intoxicants’ incentives, jejune judges, kissing K-9’s, lousy lobster, and misdirected Michener.
February 1, 1986 | Feature
On September 10, Charles Dean Hood will receive a lethal injection. Perhaps. Four times before, the convicted murderer has had a date with the executioner only to have the criminal justice system grant him a reprieve—most recently (and most famously), twice in the space of a few hours on the night of June 17. Here, in missives to senior editor Michael Hall, he describes what it’s been like to live on death row—and to have your life spared when you thought the end had come.
September 1, 2008 | Feature