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A Day With ESPN Classic

Journalist Jimmy Cannon once said, “A sports fan is one that boos a TV set.”

For years, I not only booed the tube, I flipped it the bird. I brought “fan” back to the Latin fanaticus; the sort of extremist Tim Parks called a “weekend Taliban,” a fundamentalist in “an undying community” of like-minded couch potatoes, masochists, and lunatics.

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Pod People

SIT AT A NESPRESSO BAR, and an employee in a sleek black uniform will eventually ask, “First time here?” This sort of question always feels loaded to me, as if I walked into a swinger’s club and my experience was immediately being gauged.

In this case, the question is part of the show, a cue for the staff’s well-rehearsed spiel.

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12 Hours in the Montreal Casino

The night I was born, my father rushed home for a hockey game. He had money on the Boston Bruins. “What a bad night,” he likes to say, cursing goaltender Gerry Cheevers.

Despite this potentially inauspicious start, I’ve never been afraid to gamble. I don’t, however, like casinos: polka-vested dealers, germ-laden chips and large crowds always killed the appeal. Lately, though, I’ve been hearing a lot about them. Cities like Toronto and Miami have been debating their pros and cons.

Is legalized gambling a negative societal influence or a harmless boost to a city’s finances? I had no idea where I stood and was curious.

To inform my stance, I spent a day at the Montreal casino.

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Forth Wanderers – Slop

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Earplugs Unplugged

Practically deaf, my grandfather never lets you forget it. “I can’t hear a freaking thing,” he goes around yelling, “so don’t bother talking.” If these constant reminders have taught me anything, it’s that partial deafness poses unique challenges. There is, after all, no wheelchair, Seeing Eye dog or cane to alert others of your problem. As a result people are liable to think you’re stupid, and get irritated really quickly. “When I was young,” says comedian Kathy Buckley, “I was put in a school for retarded kids for two years before they realized I actually had hearing loss.”

Watching my grandfather go through this has been tough, even if I know it isn’t such a loss for someone who regards socializing like time spent in the stocks. In fact, I often hear a hint of relief when he says, “You’re flapping your lips for nothing big talker, I can’t hear you.”

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Walter Martin – Down by the Singing Sea

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New Orleans for the Holidays

I have a thing for “dying” cities.

If a struggling town has abandoned buildings and the crumbling, cracking facades of faded glory, I’m interested. I just like the idea of a place whose existence upsets people. “Save Venice?” My father-in-law likes to ask rhetorically. “What about save me the fucking heartache?”

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Confessions of a Sexsomniac

I am a sleep fucker, and like everything else I’m self-conscious about, I first heard about my disorder from my girlfriend.

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