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The 2013 Stanley Cup Finals will be remembered for a variety of reasons: it was the first final in twenty years to feature at least three overtime games,  it was the first final since 1979 to feature two of the Original Six franchises and it included perhaps the most improbable Stanley Cup-winning comeback in NHL history, a 17-second burst of offense that began with the Blackhawks pulling their immovable force of a goalie, Corey Crawford, and ended with a rebounded shot from Dave Bolland.

Really, it was an alignment of all the things that make postseason hockey a seemingly different sport from regular season hockey, one which people are more willing to ingest as a result of the excitement and fervor with which each team plays its games. No one leaves anything on the ice during the playoffs, or at least that is what fans are led to believe, and when a team has already played a legendary first-round series, with a legendary game 7, it is hard to continue putting out the effort to defeat team after team in route to a championship.

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I will always remember when I saw Ken Griffey Jr. play in Yankee Stadium. To this day, I have never seen a better athlete in person than The Kid. Even at a young age I knew I was watching something special, just by the way he carried himself on the field. Watching him tracking down deep fly balls to make them look routine, whacking a double down the left field line without a hitch in his swing, and playing the game with a true love that made you want to get out there and join him is something that I will never forget. Someday I will say to my kids, “Ken Griffey Jr. was the best athlete I ever saw in person.”

But what will I tell them about LeBron James?

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Courtesy Warner Bros.

When I moved to New York City for college, there was a list of things that I knew I would need to do to take full advantage of my time here in between classes and, you know, working my way toward being a half-decent, functioning human being in the post-undergraduate world. Along the way, various items have been added, put on hold, scrapped altogether or forgotten. One of the tasks I knew I needed to complete once I decided on staying in the city for the summer after my junior year was to join and play in a recreational city soccer league. After extensive research with the help of some people on the world wide web, I decided upon ZogSports as my league partly for its relatively reasonable entrance fee and also for its association with charities in and around the city (ZogSports requires teams to play in the honor of a charity of their choosing). After unsuccessfully trying to get a few of my friends to join with me, I went for it alone. I paid the bill and began the waiting game, hoping the almighty Zog would not stall too long before alerting me of my teammates.

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People that hate LeBron James piss me off. You want to know why? Because very few of them, nay, NONE of them, have a good reason to hate LeBron James. Reading this, keep in mind I am a LeBron lover. I am partially biased because I do like the guy, but I’m also right. Nobody you know has a good reason to hate LeBron James.

If you ask a random LeBron hater why he hates the greatest basketball player on planet Earth, the same terrible reasons will probably come up. People will call him cocky and arrogant. They will bring up “The Decision” and the choice he made in “The Decision.”

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Now that the basketball season is a wrap, and with hockey soon to follow, only one of the four major North American seasonal sports, Major League Baseball, will be in session. While the great American pastime certainly carries with it a tradition which is engraved in the hearts of millions, the dog days of summer can get repetitive in the nationally-televised sports world, as diving catches and cannonball home runs take sole possession of center stage on ESPN. By the third instance of a 4-6-3 double play in the SportsCenter Top 10, viewers find themselves rolling their eyes with the reluctantly accepting frustration of Lester Freamon in the pawn shop unit.

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These past few weeks I have been scanning the Internet looking for any new scoop or fresh insight. I checked Flipboard; looking at the different perspectives each passing hour. It was allegedly one of the most exciting things the masses would bear witness to in recent years. And sorry, Gregg Popovich, it wasn’t your team’s stunning grasp of fundamental basketball and how they would fare against Miami’s White Hot Heat. It was Kanye West’s new album, Yeezus, and the rumors of a more experimental sound from the master technician of awesomeness.

A CD, a sticker – Yeezus

Like many others, I have wondered for weeks what this effort would bring to the table. Would this change pop music as we know it? What would the landscape of hip-hop be like after seeing his performance of “Black Skinhead” on SNL? Weeks went by and there was no single. No video. No damn album cover. It was a minimalist’s dream that included, of all things, a Corbusier lamp. Yet, Mr. West’s album was fulfilling considering all the empty space Rick Rubin created. But, I missed something in the process.

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Robert Horry, San Antonio Spurs vs. Los Angele...

Robert Horry, 7-time NBA champion and demigod of the crunch time DNA strand.

From a world where perspective blogs from anyone with a computer and a drive to create a WordPress account are a dime a dozen, Tuesdays With Horry has risen. As another voice in an already bombastic journalistic front, we look to provide views and opinions on sports and pop culture ranging from the supreme moral worth of March Madness to the low-brow insidiousness of hot Top 40 singles, and everything in between. We do not necessarily expect to shoot higher than others; rather, our aim is merely in a different direction, to capture the essence of what fans may feel about a given performer, athlete, team or album, and so on.

The name Tuesdays With Horry is, of course, derived from two sources: the first, Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays With Morrie, an examination of the relationship between student and teacher, and the second, seven-time NBA champion Robert Horry, whose exploits in crunch time situations  from the forward positions (and remarkable tendency to be on the right teams at the right times) have solidified him a place in NBA lore as the man with the most rings who did not play on the Boston Celtics with Bill Russell. He’s got more rings than Michael Jordan, for goodness’ sake. The name works on a number of levels, as we look to learn from our predecessors (namely, Run of Play, FreeDarko, The Classical and, most prominently, Grantland) and perhaps build on their success with achievements of our own. Basically, this group of writers does not mind being the sixth man who can consistently hit a clutch 3-pointer.

As the brainchild of a few students, past and present, we expect to open dialogues on a variety of subjects both popular and under-the-radar, and our geographic web is wide enough at present to be able to comfortably gauge the reactions of people in a given moment, the most important of which may help to define our limited time here. At the same time, we hope to engage you, the reader, in a way which invites thoughtful commentary and discussion on the topics at the forefront of popular society, for better or for worse.