The Eight-Day Week
Many men would crack under the pressure. But Zygmunt (“Zygi”) Wilf, owner of Garden Homes and the Minnesota Vikings, can apparently handle going to bed each night with a $110-million New Jersey court bond hanging over his head. Not that we know for sure. The Wilf family, despite owning one of the biggest homebuilders in the Northeast and the ultimate toy of the superrich, an NFL franchise, keeps its affairs private to a remarkable degree.
Daniel and his daughter Elizabeth Straus, the CEO and Executive VP of senior care company CareOne, are hosting the Valerie Fund’s annual Valentine’s Day Ball in Jersey City. Read More
Rather than sit on the sidelines, Shindigger decided to cash in on those silly, star-studded, booze-soaked functions thrown by corporate sponsors. Read More
Whenever I watch football, I have this vivid image of a 16-year-old boy, lying at just about the 15-yard line, nonsensically asking his father where his cell phone is while paramedics strap his neck down to a stretcher.
Earlier this fall, two squads of pint-size players clashed in the crisp air at a peewee football field in Southbridge, Mass. The boys on one team were much larger than the others, and within six plays, three of the smaller boys had been carried off with head injuries, one with his eyes rolling back in their sockets.
By the end of the game, a 52-0 rout, five boys on the losing team were receiving emergency medical care for concussions.
Is it victory or defeat for Bill Belichick? The New England Patriots coach usually watches his success and failures on the field, but in the case of the limestone townhouse at 609 Sixth Street we really can’t be sure.
On the one hand, Mr. Belichick has made a little money on the sale of the townhouse, netting $2.75 million, according to city records. Not bad considering that he paid $2.2 million for the five-bedroom, three-bath residence back in 2006.
SPORTS AND THE CITY
Howard Cosell—the man largely responsible for making modern sports commentating into what it is today and turning football spectating into a careful, tedious study (all while wearing some of the loudest ties)—damn near ruined the game. At a time when the only truly analytical approach to football was being conducted by mobsters calculating the betting spread, his beat-like commentary did something terrible. Harnessing his brash personality and deliberate way with words—and his unchecked arrogance—the law-degree-totin’ foulmouth changed the very nature of how we understood the action on the field. Much of this handiwork involved his ongoing, televised war of words with “Dandy Don” Meredith in primetime. Gone were the days when football was simply football. A new era was ushered in, and with it came the number-crunching sideline savants who bled the game dry of its blue-collar bravado and replaced it with a pedantic, stat-sick approach. Non-athletes were not only welcomed into the press box as vaunted experts, but came carrying a condescending tone toward the battle-hardened veterans who once lived and breathed the game to the utmost.
JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR
Jerry Jones is known as the composite human caricature whose lifeblood was drawn from Dallas‘ J.R. Ewing, all the characters Jim Varney invented that were too unfunny to use, and those “NEW YORK CITY?!“ salsa commercials. He also happens to own the Dallas Cowboys, the NFL team with the most expensive stadium in the country, which features the biggest TV screen in, like, the universe, because the people who go to Dallas Cowboys games are the kind of people who would rather focus on a high-definition televised event of that which plays out live and directly in front of them instead of watching the actual event. Jerry Jones makes James Dolan look like Fred Rogers’s unshaven cousin from Long Island.
In the span of a few months,
1. New York City’s very own Archbishop Dolan becomes a Vatican-ordained Cardinal Timothy Dolan.
2. New York City’s Jeremy Lin, the biggest breakout of the 2012 NBA season, is deemed The New Tim Tebow.