RICKAROO - The New Mexico Sports Place

  Tonight’s (Dec. 9) men’s basketball game at the Pit between the New Mexico Lobos and the Denver Pioneers brings back some old-time memories — in particular from the 1959-60 season.  At the time, Denver and UNM were rivals in the old Skyline Conference. The Pioneers were pretty good. The Lobos ... weren’t. On Jan. 30, 1960, the teams played in Denver. Marring the Pioneers’ 107-79 victory was a nasty fight between DU star Jim Peay and UNM rebounder extraordinaire (but a horrible shooter) Tom King with seven minutes left in the game.  According to an Associated Press story, Peay was about to shoot a free throw when King charged him and punched him in the mouth. Peay retaliated; both men would need stitches. Today, King, and perhaps Peay as well for retaliating, would have faced suspensions. Not in 1960. King was assessed a technical foul, but the story doesn’t indicate he was ejected. Peay was done for the night, but he’d already done his damage: 35 points.  Neither player missed a game

  I come here in support of the NFL’s crackdown on taunting, and if you don’t like it, consider the ball spiked at your feet. Yeah, that’s right. Man, I was really hoping this issue had been dealt with. After eight taunting penalties were called in Week 2 of the 2021 season, only eight more were assessed in Weeks 3 through 7. My takeaway at the time was that coaches and players had gotten the message.  And my question to all the fans was to have been this: was the fun really taken out of the game for lack of those antics? Did anyone really miss them, or was the game itself enough for you?  Alas, in Weeks 8 and 9, nine taunting penalties were called — most controversially referee Tony Corrente’s flagging of Chicago linebacker Cassius Marsh in Monday’s Bears-Steelers game.  Just like that, the No Fun League critics were at it again.  Corrente should be fined/suspended/fired/tarred and feathered, they howled. And the NFL’s emphasis on taunting is a joke/tragedy/abomination/disgrace t

Finally, this morning, I finished viewing all eight hours of Ken Burns’ Muhammad Ali documentary. Verdict: I found myself wishing for eight hours more. Burns, as he long since has demonstrated, is a master of the form. I really have no bones to pick; I believe Burns presented and illustrated this most remarkable human being for who he was, warts and all.  I was curious, though, about a couple of things. Laila Ali was totally absent other than one mention of her name. As the only Ali offspring who followed him into the ring, I found that omission strange. Laila’s social media accounts offer no explanation. There appears to have been no falling out between the two; in May, with Stephen A. Smith, she talked about how fond memories of her father drive her to excel and make a difference. Her absence from the documentary in no way harms it, but I just wonder.  I also wonder how and why Burns & Co. hit upon Michael Bentt as their, for lack of a better term, “boxing guy.” Bentt had only 13

  In the aftermath of the death of 18-year-old Mexican boxer Jeanette Zacarias Zapata after a fight in Montreal against Canadian Marie Pier Houle, the criticism that’s been leveled at the promoter who made the fight and the commission that approved it is neither unfair nor misplaced. And yet ... you know what we say about hindsight. Had that same matchup been made here in New Mexico, and had I been aware of it as a reporter, I probably wouldn’t have batted an eye. I’m not aware that anyone did so in this instance. Maybe I’ve been involved in boxing for too long, or perhaps with one eye closed. And maybe I’m not alone. Certainly, Zacarias Zapata’s death was both tragic and preventable.  “Better commission could have prevented this from happening in Canada ...” wrote Albuquerque’s Andy Rivera, a boxing writer and a former amateur boxer, on Facebook. “If commissions would truly look at records and quit letting local promoted fighter A have a huge advantage over fighter B things like th

  “My first wife was very immature. At night when I’d be taking a bath, she’d come in and sink all my boats.” — Woody Allen During my 73 years, there is no one in the entertainment world whose work I’ve more admired than that of Woody Allen. Well, unless it was Bill Cosby.  Sure can pick my entertainment idols, can’t I? I chose not to watch the HBO documentary “Allen vs. Farrow,” knowing that what Allen is accused off — sexually molesting his young adopted daughter, Dylan — would neither be proved nor disproved by the viewing. Ms. Farrow and her mother, actress Mia Farrow, will always say it happened. Allen, barring the possibility of a deathbed confession, will always say it did not.  What I’m writing about, then, is the discomfort I feel in my admiration for Allen as a comedian, actor and above all a film maker — and where to place that amidst my uneasiness with him as a human being. And, of course, there’s the question of whether I, or anyone, should view the work — whatever

 My first Cloris Leachman experience occurred on Christmas Eve, 1962. This wonderful actress, who died this week at age 94, appeared on an episode of the TV series “Stoney Burke.” Leachman played a character named Eunice Stocker, the cousin of a character played by Bruce Dern — a regular on the series that helped launch the careers of Dern, Warren Oates and series star Jack Lord.  Eunice was a tomboyish, not terribly pretty woman who aspired to be a rodeo trick rider but whose lack of glamour was holding her back. Lord’s Stoney, a top-notch saddle bronc rider and a close friend of Dern’s character E.J. Stocker, helped Eunice achieve the necessary makeover. Problem was, Eunice had a massive crush on Stoney that, even after the makeover, was not requited. It seems Stoney only had eyes for pretty trick rider Francie Adams — or, as Eunice scornfully called her, “Fancy pantsy Francie.” How do I remember all this, more than 58 years later? The internet certainly helped. Still, having done no