Searching for meaning
Break out the champagne. Crank up the MGMT. Run around the neighborhood naked. The Virginia football team just beat an FBS opponent for the first time in more than a year.
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Break out the champagne. Crank up the MGMT. Run around the neighborhood naked. The Virginia football team just beat an FBS opponent for the first time in more than a year.
Former Virginia swimmer and U.S. national team member Fran Crippen passed away Saturday while competing in the FINA Open Water 10-kilometer World Cup at Fujairah, east of Dubai. The 26-year-old Crippen failed to finish and was found in the water near the race's final buoy two hours later, officials said.
Following the opening kickoff, my North Carolina friend turned to me and made an outrageous prediction.
Atlanta, Ga. - The Virginia football team entered Saturday's game with a chip on its shoulder. That chip became a deep gash when Georgia Tech pasted the Virginia defense with 477 rushing yards and posted a 33-21 win before a scattered homecoming crowd at Bobby Dodd Stadium.
I hardly recognized him at first. Where was the turtleneck or the sweatshirt? But the body language gave him away like an elderly woman at a David Guetta concert. With his hands resting effeminately, palms out, on the back of his hips, there stood Al Groh in all his glory. Yet there was something etched onto the face of the former Virginia coach that rendered him almost unrecognizable - a victory smile.
Everything was going great. Thousands of white-clad fans yelled happily at their beloved Cavaliers, who were zipping from one end of the field to the other with the ease of fleet-footed cheetahs bounding across the African savannah. Players in navy and orange high-fived each other left and right, reveling in their God-given athletic talents on display against a displaced band of Floridian football players. Under the gentle glare of the October sun, the Cavaliers' confidence was sky high.
When the 2009 season came to a close, the dignity of the Virginia football team laid in ruins. Nearly every component of the squad fell short in meeting its preseason goals, a culmination of failures resulting in an abysmal 3-9 campaign. Everyone, that is, but the team's pass defense. The Cavaliers' defensive backfield surrendered just 10 passing touchdowns during 2009 and finished the year ranked fourth in the ACC and 21st in the nation.
It goes without question that Saturday's thorough butt-kicking of Virginia Military Institute was utterly meaningless. A battle with the Keydets prepared the Cavaliers for their grueling ACC schedule about as well as a backyard game of two-hand-touch with the neighbors' kids would have, assuming the neighbors' kids are little and have poor hand-eye coordination. In fact, this game didn't even really count at all. An FBS team can only factor one win against an FCS opponent toward its bowl eligibility, something Virginia already checked off its list with its 34-13 season-opening victory against Richmond.
After the conclusion of his first home game coaching Southern California, Lane Kiffin strode through a deflated locker room, one he later called one of the most miserable he has ever encountered - at least after a win.
The Cavaliers appeared to be walking into a California wildfire Saturday. A sea of red and yellow engulfed the na
Heading into Saturday's game against Richmond, the Cavaliers prepared to face highly touted sophomore Aaron Corp, the Spiders' gunslinger once thought to be the heir apparent to Mark Sanchez at Southern California before he broke his leg. Virginia players held no fear, however, as their pass defense carried credentials of its own. In 2009, then-junior and second-team All-American cornerback Ras-I Dowling, then-sophomore strong safety Rodney McLeod and then-senior cornerback Chris Cook anchored a defensive backfield that allowed just 10 touchdown passes and ranked fourth in the ACC and 23rd in the nation in 2009. Just one problem though.
It's late on a Saturday night, and Mike London sits quietly at home, trying to wake himself from a dream.
What did winning the national championship mean for you? \nIt was an awesome feeling as a senior to go out with my boys. I told Jordan [Evans] my freshman year, 'Look, man, don't worry about [the semifinal loss to UCLA].' And three years later, we were back and we won it. So it was awesome to win it for coach [George] Gelnovatch and everybody ... It was something that I'll never forget. The guys that I competed with will be my friends for life. I still stay in touch with Neil [Barlow] and Jordan, and Tony [Tchani] is in the pros now. I still stay in touch with Greg [Monaco], just to make sure that this year's gonna be a good year for them. It's tough after winning a championship ... Don't become complacent. We know what we did last year was awesome and special, but you just gotta keep it going."
Marc Verica is hoping the third time's a charm.
Senior golfer Amory Davis made some noise in Washington at the 2010 U.S. Amateur Championship Wednesday when he downed 47-year-old Jeff Wilson, the tournament's top seed. Davis defeated Wilson 3 and 1 to advance to Thursday's round of 32, in which he was eliminated from the tournament 3 and 2 by Brad Benjamin.
I think one of the trickiest things a person can do is take a final exam in Spain when he is actually in the United States. Unfortunately, that seems to be the dilemma that will face me next week, given that my nostalgic brain has lately been more and more occupied with memories of life across the pond. Next week's exams concerning the cultural traditions of Spain will be met by thoughts of basketball, Virginia and peanut butter. Indeed, barring further geological disturbances in Iceland, I will be on a plane bound for the good ol' U.S. of A. next Friday.
The beauty and fresh air that spring brings to Charlottesville always seem to make everything worthwhile. This year, though, I will not bear witness to blooming trees or climbing temperatures. And to be honest, I couldn't be happier about it.
On my way home from class the other day, I couldn't help but admire the serenity of the beautiful city around me. With its easy-going people, colorful buildings and plethora of palm trees, could there really be a more tranquil place than Valencia, Spain? As joyful images of blue skies and nude beaches ran through my head, I came upon a group of small children playing in the street. Oh, to be young and innocent, I thought - how wonderful indeed! Then one of the kids pulled a lighter out of his pocket. A 6-year-old with a lighter isn't the most comforting sight, but given the sublime innocence of our world's youth, I figured he must have been poised to light a candle or something. Suddenly, the little angel whipped out a firecracker, lit the end and tossed it at my feet. The deceptively powerful little thing went off like a gunshot right after I scampered away, prompting squeals of delight from all the kid's punk friends. Damn this cruel, lawless town, I thought.
Spanish people don't like French people. That's a fact. For instance, the other night when I asked a Spaniard what he would do if a Frenchman walked into the bar, he immediately put his hands against his neck and began making slashing motions.
It's 4 p.m. on a Thursday in Valencia, and a suffocating typhoon of pressure is mercilessly beating down upon my battered body, swallowing it whole and not spitting it out until my soul has been completely sucked out and chucked into the Mediterranean. I leave for Paris in T-minus one hour, but I must first write this column, lest I suffer the unspeakable punishment administered by the bloodthirsty Life section editors after a late submission (a frown). More than that, though, I have to pee like a racehorse, and my Spanish mother, Charo, is taking a much-needed smoke break in the bathroom.