What do we imagine various NFL stars have been up to this offseason?
With the NFL lockout now in its third month, it's obvious we're all beginning to have weird football withdrawals. People are so desperate for football talk, Vinny Cerrato co-hosts a radio show in Baltimore. We're gnawing for scraps, people. If this lasts another two months, I'm pretty sure I'm going to start to feel like Ewan McGregor's character in Trainspotting, when he locks himself in his room and tries to kick his addiction to heroin.
Some of my thirst for the NFL is just general curiosity. I'm curious to know what the players have been up to in all these months they've been scattered about the country, forced to live a life lacking structure for the first time in many years. I suppose I could scour 1,500 Twitter accounts and piece together a quilted narrative of the NFLPA's Endless Summer, but that seems like a lot of work. Plus, it's way more fun to speculate. So here's what I assume various NFL players have been up to while the two sides try to figure out a way to divide a $9 billion pie.
Joe Flacco -- Spends hours each day at a crosswalk near his house, waiting for an opening in traffic large enough so he can pull the trigger and cross the street, where Anquan Boldin is waiting with diminishing patience. It probably doesn't help matters that Cam Cameron keeps calling Flacco on his Bluetooth every two minutes to blame the bad traffic on Jim Zorn.
Mark Sanchez -- Days are filled by throwing Frisbee passes to his golden retriever that are either way too high or way too low for the canine to catch cleanly. Nights are spent drunk-dialing Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and the entire cast of The Secret Life Of The American Teenager.
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I want to see LeBron James win an NBA championship someday. 

Take Barbara Jo Rubin, who finally bolted through the glass ceiling in February, 1969 with a victory at Charles Town (W.Va.). Before that, however, Rubin had struck out in a bid to race at Tropical Park (Fla.). There, she said, male jockeys turned on her after welcoming her into the fold.
Jennifer Rowland Small, a Marylander who began riding in 1971, heard her share of taunts and sexist barbs.


He arrived at Colts camp with the face of a high school freshman and the savvy of a seasoned pro. Never mind that Rick Volk looked like Opie Taylor and got carded in bars until he turned 30. He started every game at safety as a Baltimore rookie in 1967 and played in the first of three Pro Bowls, en route to a stellar 12-year NFL career.
Think of Baltimore sports in its glory days and two pictures come to mind.
He’ll be 51 next week, but the gift that Randy McMillan wants most, no one else can bestow.
"Yeah, they were lean times," Washington, 56, said of his hitch in Baltimore (1978-80). "But I never thought I had limits. I could get in and out of places that other guys couldn’t dream of.

So what does Dutton do now?
Bert Jones backpedaled, ducked the rush and threw. Fifty yards away, Roger Carr gathered in the football and, having outrun two defenders, streaked into the end zone for a 68-yard touchdown.
He was the most prolific placekicker in Baltimore Colts history, a rugged miner’s son with coal-black hair, a snarly look and a square-toed shoe that booted 107 field goals for the team in its heyday.


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