There was a time when reading the Los Angeles Times sports section was the highlight of my day, and while that is an accurate barometer of the sorry state of my life, I wasn’t the only one. There were legendary writers, namely Jim Murray (he won the fuckin’ Pulitzer Prize for chrissakes) and Scott Ostler and guys like Rick Reilly and Mike Penner and John Hall who wrote daily poetry about the magical nuances of sports and the people, places and intrigue that turn athletics contests into some of life’s most precious memories.