Duke Keith

A place that would bear the scars of racism’s dumb bludgeon became a bouquet of human expression. Next to the Hooters. That's El Paso. No emotional zoning laws.

But numbers don’t change, they just hang around like the one bulb in the copy room that’s been flickering for eight years.

Locomotive FC left it late again, but not too late. You’ll pardon Mark Lowry for hoping this also describes El Paso’s season and not just their last few games.

It looks as if Locomotive FC has gone from being able to refer plenty of work to The Orthodontist to having signed up for Invisalign.

Leaving Las Vegas with more than what you brought is always a good thing.

El Paso Locomotive FC did a very good thing Saturday night.

You come to a Miners game having slipped into your most comfortable jaundiced expectations and suddenly discover no one is wearing those anymore.

RGV's orange jerseys were appropriate –– they were as ubiquitous and frustrating as traffic barrels for the latest multi-year El Paso road project.

Anyone want an apology for some unintended but magical football? Nah. El Paso has been everyone else’s political football for 400 years, from Don Juan de Oñate to another Don.

When PHX's Solomon Asante gracefully swooned like a 19th-century debutante who'd just heard an unbearable secret, it had become ascending Mt. Everest.

Why would anyone choose the whack-a-mole world of coaching? It's like having your soup served in a colander. You might plug some holes. But a clean lap? Never.