The problem with the proposed system is that compensation would most likely have to be reported as income for the athletes on either the W-2 or Form 1099 as misc. income.
Before all else, my tennis fandom can be described as fiercely nationalistic. But as Chanhong noted last week, long gone are the days when American men were serious contenders at major tournaments.
The U.S. Open, the last of the four tennis grand slams, continues this week in New York, New York, one of the most recognizable places in America. American tennis players, on the other hand, aren’t so recognizable.
Student-athletes can sometimes seem like entirely different beings: incredibly fit and often-intimidating creatures roaming Grounds in official ACC sweatpants, identifiable by the names and numbers attached to their backpacks. Here’s something crazy, though: they’re humans just like the rest of us – except they’re humans who also happen to perform nearly superhuman feats. Our peers in the Athletics Department balance the same academic pressures as everyone else – then they go out and win for the glory of dear Virginia.
Following his Liverpool side’s 3-2 triumph over fellow league title challenger Manchester City, Steven Gerrard’s eyes began to leak. Gerrard lost control of his emotions at a juncture when the threat of losing out on the league crown remained quite prevalent. If you know anything about Gerrard’s story, however, you’ll forgive the man a moment of emotion.
Way back in 2010, as a wee first-year, I joined Hydra, UVa’s women’s team. You could say I drank the proverbial Kool-Aid, and lots of it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re looking at the Hungry Huskies. This is what happens when you ban us!” When Shabazz Napier barked those words at the world after his Connecticut team won the men’s basketball national championship against Kentucky Monday night, he triggered a deluge of reactions. More than that, he reminded everyone of the polemic debate engulfing the NCAA.
Over 59 games at UVa, fan favorite Teven Jones averaged 1.7 points. The meager stat lines hardly do justice to his impact off the court.
Opening Day is not a national holiday yet – keep at it, Ozzie, I’m with you – but it sure felt like one for baseball fans. Monday alone was full of storylines that, over the course of 162 games, will only get better – or at least, more interesting.
I will argue until I’m blue in the face with Super Bowl supporters, World Series apologists and BCS nutjobs alike that March Madness is the best show we put on all year. But what people tend to forget is that the frequency of upsets is exactly what makes it so.
Four minutes remained in a lopsided game. After recording his second block of the game and prolonging a night that rendered Memphis an ant underneath a giant Virginia defensive magnifying glass, Mike Tobey gathered the ball at the top of the 3-point arc with oodles of time remaining on the shot clock and his defender hanging back in the lane.
On Monday, Virginia alumnus Ian Cohen wrote a story for Grantland entitled “In Praise of Virginia: The Mediocre, Miraculous No. 1 Seed.” With respect to Mr. Cohen, I disliked the article.
On Sunday, the Virginia Cavaliers and the hated Duke Blue Devils were locked in a battle for the ages, and I was reduced to a rabid, shaking wreck on the couch. And for what?
By some combination of luck, good timing, inspired athletic performances, and help from the UVA Shots system, I’ve managed to rush something — the court, the field — each of my four years here.
Spring is almost here. We are caught in limbo between down jackets and sweatshirts, heading to the gym or running outdoors, and of course, between winter and spring sports. But this is hardly a bad thing.
February 28, 2013. Virginia has just ousted No. 3 Duke, 73-68, but something other than the game’s outcome is grinding Blue Devils coach Mike Krzyzewski’s gears.
Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. The candy section at Kroger has taken a turn for the heart-shaped; the cheesy jewelry ads are out in full force, and the less festive of us just want to fast forward through the whole ordeal. But this year, that’s not an option. Valentine’s Day and the week leading up to it coincide with events much bigger than chocolate hearts.
Littlefinger. Perhaps unfairly, I consider the cunning manipulator from the “Game of Thrones” series a proxy to David Stern.
It’s Monday night. A handful of people are milling about the Main Street Arena lobby. Some head to the bar, while others congregate around the ice. Two men carefully prep the ice and line up equipment along the edges of the rink. Finally, once the ice is deemed ready, everyone wearing snow boots, boat shoes and sneakers steps onto the ice for the big event: curling.
For those of you who may have said, “Great play. Bad interview,” and then moved on from the whole Richard Sherman spectacle, I empathize.
