“Happier people live in countries with a generous social safety net, or, more generally, countries whose governments ‘tax and spend’ at higher rates, reflecting the greater range of services and protections offered by the state.”
“Say it ain’t so.” And maybe that reported exchange between a young boy and Chicago White Sox player Shoeless Joe Jackson, among the players accused of conspiring with gamblers to lose the 1919 World Series, ain’t accurate. Evidence suggests, Charles Fountain writes in his new book, The Betrayal: The 1919 World Series and the Birth of Modern Baseball, that a reporter “made it up.”
Liam Neeson asked us to hold our applause as he prepared to recite W.B. Yeats’ poem “Easter 1916” and introduce the Keough-Naughton Institute’s forthcoming documentary about the Irish rebellion.
Reading Go Set a Watchman forces a reconsideration of To Kill a Mockingbird. Not of its literary value but of the qualities that we, like Scout, projected onto Atticus beyond what his actions warranted.
The scale of predicted damage from climate change, with economic fallout estimated to reach hundreds of trillions of dollars, will require an environmental bailout in which human investment must be total.
The Keough-Naughton Institute’s Easter Rising documentary chronicles Ireland’s violent declaration of independence and its global reverberations.
On the day after the Paris terrorist attacks, the Notre Dame campus felt a little subdued for a football Saturday, but in unseasonable warmth and sunshine we generally carried on as usual.
Litigation “stacked up like planes at LaGuardia” threatens to change the relationship between athlete and university that has always defined college sports, but Jack Swarbrick ’76 sounded pretty serene about the whole thing.
One day, while surveying a patch of his family’s ranch along the Milk River, David Aageson felt something. Something holy. Like he was on sacred ground.
A great American road trip takes students where the past is present and the land beckons scientific exploration.
Grant Mudge obviously hadn’t rehearsed his lines.
Before I finished it, I was indiscriminately recommending The Secret Scripture, Sebastian Barry’s entrancing 2008 novel that alternates between a 100-year-old woman’s clandestine reminiscence, hidden beneath the floorboards of her asylum bedroom, and the journal of her facility’s chief psychiatrist.
“Connemara,” Oscar Wilde said, “is a savage beauty.” A wild mountainous protrusion into the Atlantic along the west coast of Ireland, where sheep huddle behind stone walls to escape blowing rain even in summer, the landscape still fits his description.
Last year Guy Consolmagno, S.J., received the Carl Sagan Medal from the American Astronomical Society for outstanding communication of planetary science to the general public. A gray-bearded, amiable presence in front of about 150 people last week at Notre Dame, he hopped easily across cobblestones of conversation: meteorite hunting in Antarctica, multiverses, the warming planet’s rising seas, insights from science fiction, and the confusion of communication between science and religion.
The president of Pixar and Disney Animation Studies explores the questions of leadership and creativity in his book Creativity.
An 80-minute feature version of 1916: The Irish Rebellion will be screened in theaters and at global events, beginning with the March 16 world premiere in Dublin hosted by the Irish government. The U.S. premiere will be March 21 at the Gene Siskel Film Center in Chicago, with screenings to follow in Atlanta and Washington, D.C. Various PBS…
Geoffrey Siwo is ahead of his time — and he’s taking others along with him.
Professional sports have become vast global industries, billion-dollar enterprises and powerful cultural forces. Where does this leave their fans?
Obvious concussions are easy to identify. You don’t have to be a doctor to recognize the symptoms: confusion, memory loss, nausea, balance problems. It’s like watching one of those viral videos of someone staggering through a field sobriety test. You just know. The problem is that athletes who suffer head injuries don’t always show such signs.
Lance Armstrong should be sorry, particularly to the people he slandered to protect his good name and to the millions of credulous true believers who took him at his defiant word. As for the doping, in and of itself? I’m one of the few people on earth who doesn’t think Armstrong needs to apologize for that.
Manti Te’o is the main character in a bedtime story that helps everyone involved with college football sleep at night. He’s a great player, he seems like one of the all-time good guys and he endured traumatic personal losses this season with inspiring grace. But that doesn’t make him a Heisman Trophy candidate.
John Gagliardi left his office door open while he studied game film, an unheard of security breach compared to the paranoid lockdown of most college football programs. It’s true that Gagliardi, the head coach at Division III Saint John’s University for 60 years until his retirement on Monday, operated outside the scope of the sport’s most intense surveillance. Still.
After one of the more recent indignities heaped on the Notre Dame football team — Michigan State’s heart attack inducing fake field goal, I think — a faculty member vented on Facebook: “OK, joke’s over. Could whoever turned us into the Wile E. Coyote of college football these past years, please turn us back into the Road Runner?”
Urban Meyer violated one of the terms of his Ohio State coaching contract on the first day the football team gathered this summer. Not his contract with the university, the six-year deal worth $26-plus million. Meyer breached the agreement he made with his family.
It’s a familiar pattern repeated in similar circumstances far beyond Penn State, far beyond sports. Police, soldiers, priests, politicians—human beings—we all align ourselves with institutions that come to define us. To acknowledge flaws in them feels like a betrayal worse than the original misconduct.
When the Four Horsemen, the seven mules and Knute Rockne’s other farm animals finished grazing, only Elmer Layden hung around the Notre Dame dining hall to bus tables. “He wasn’t asked to help, and he didn’t expect thanks,” wrote Red Smith, who knew because he was the student waiter on duty. “He just was, and is, that kind of gentleman.”
For years Notre Dame women’s basketball players operated in relative obscurity, but they could always play. And once, on the old courts outside Stepan Center, a couple of them offered an impromptu clinic to a skeptical local audience. Skylar Diggins, and all she represents, was not yet a glint in anybody’s eye, but Karen Robinson ’91 and Coquese Washington ’92, ’97J.D. were her equivalent at the time.
When Orlando Woolridge died last month, the collected details of his life and personality illustrated just how little I knew about the man who once inspired my rapt attention — how little we all know about the athletes who pass through our consciousness, then go on with their lives while we size up their replacements.
Wrigley Field’s organist played “My Way” while Chicago Cubs pitcher Kerry Wood walked off the mound for the last time. Wood probably came as close as any professional athlete could to retiring on his own terms, which says a lot about the reluctant endings of most careers.