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Columns

  • An atypical approach to the Derby

    Here are your typical preparations during Derby Week: Complete your wardrobe for the day, study the listings of horses that are in the newspaper, identify which one Calvin Borel is riding (that would be Revolutionary) or which one Todd Pletcher is training (that would be 25 percent of the projected field), wait until Saturday to see which horse looks nicest in the paddock or has the most emotional storyline, place your wager.

  • SOUDER: Yesterday, when I was young

    I’ve heard it said that you know you are getting older when your former classmates are so gray and wrinkled and bald that they no longer recognize you. Perhaps you can identify.

    I was thinking about things along those lines because next week I will be celebrating my birthday. OK, perhaps “celebrating” is a little strong. More accurately, next week I will be observing my birthday.

  • The Boston Marathon massacre

    If you’ve ever run a marathon, thought about running a marathon or watched someone you love run one, you understand the pain. You see those faces and those strides mere yards from the finish line. You see happiness and even tears struggling past unrelenting physical torment. You sense the adrenalin that is coursing, grasp that the last possible bits of energy are being summoned. Joy is rising and overtaking pain. The finish line is the joy line. The finish is the ecstasy after the agony.

  • The Final 4 – at last – is the best of all

    ATLANTA – Here is what you find during a Final 4: equal parts Mardi Gras, Derby infield and Times Square, mixed with an overture of basketball and warmed slightly by the fervor that only well-funded and sometimes well-oiled fans can generate.

    Here is what you will not find during a Final 4: calm and apathy.

  • The awful fall of Kevin Ware

    INDIANAPOLIS – Kevin Ware lay on the raised hardwood of a basketball court constructed in a football stadium and feeling far more pain, we would bet, than any padded professional ever had endured on a fall Sunday in that building.

    He was prone, his lower right leg dangling and useless, the shocked victim of a turn-your-head moment so awful that his teammates and coaches and even nearby journalists were left with tears, choked back words and even throats full of bile by what they had seen of this fallen basketball player for the University of Louisville.

  • Life’s lessons in basketball loyalty

    Among the many lessons of loyalty parents are required to sear into the souls of their children, right up there with God, country, family, the flag and, oh, apple pie, is what would appear to be the loftiest love of all: loyalty to your team. These are lessons that include recognizing primary colors, memorizing pithy songs, grasping base humor and understanding unfettered usages for gerunds and participles.

  • SOUDER: Oldest degree of ‘madness’ marches on

    Well, sports fans, this is it: March Madness is officially upon us. And, with apologies to Andy Williams, for fans of college basketball, this is truly the “most wonderful time of the year.” Especially for those of us cheering for one of the local red teams (Louisville, Indiana and even Western Kentucky), excitement, hope and anticipation are in the air.

  • This isn’t just the 1st day of spring

    Today to you is the first day of spring, arriving on the calendar if not exactly aligned with the forecast this week of lows perhaps near the teens. Just when the daffodils start to feel welcome, they get smacked with snow, ice and more petal-numbing temperatures. Maybe this is the confernal equinox.

    But I’m not here to talk about the weather, no matter how easily that topic has been known to consume dead air, recourse dragging dinner conversations and fill the blank pages of uninspired typists. But those aren’t me.

  • Pieces of downtown Shelbyville are gobbled up

    At about 5:45 last Wednesday morning, I saw a photograph of the flames.

    They were bright and beautiful in their red, orange and gold deadliness, these flames. They were growing and scary and mesmerizing.

    Joseph Vance, guitarist extraordinaire and downtown resident, awakened by the fearsome smell of smoke, went into the cold March morning and saw downtown Shelbyville on fire.

  • SOUDER: When a cut isn’t a cut, or Chicken Little strikes again

    Perhaps you’ve heard the old joke about the woman who received a call from her bank informing her that she had overdrawn her account. “That’s impossible,” responded the obviously offended woman. “I can’t be overdrawn – I still have checks!”