Recruited by just one college, undrafted, and released three times, Case has overcome every obstacle to become a successful starting quarterback. In 2017, Keenum captured America’s imagination by leading the Minnesota Vikings to a 13-3 record and an NFC North title. His game-winning touchdown in the final seconds of their divisional playoff game against the Saints, the "Minneapolis Miracle," made Case part of NFL history. Keenum shares stories from every stage of his life, starting out as a ball boy for his father’s college team in West Texas, going on to win a state title in high school, and rewriting the NCAA record book at the University of Houston. A devastating knee injury almost derailed his football career, but helped him get closer to the woman who would soon become his wife. Throughout his story, Case will explain how being a Christian helped him navigate the winding path to success. No matter what obstacle has been placed in front of him, Case believes God has a plan for him. That’s why he plays football and that’s why he’s writing this book: To glorify God and to help others who face adversity in their everyday life. “Am I a football player who happens to be a Christian?” Case writes, "No, I’m a Christian who happens to be a football player. That’s my calling. That’s my defining characteristic. Once I realized that, everything else fell into place. I became a better football player and, more importantly, a better person.”

    This was no ordinary streak. Along with their ridiculous mascot and uniforms, which were known as “the Creamsicles,” the Yucks were a national punch line and personnel purgatory. Owned by the miserly and bulbous-nosed Hugh Culverhouse, the team was the end of the line for Heisman Trophy winner and University of Florida hero Steve Spurrier, and a banishment for former Cowboy defensive end Pat Toomay after he wrote a tell-all book about his time on “America’s Team.” Many players on the Bucs had been out of football for years, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to have to introduce themselves in the huddle. They were coached by the ever-quotable college great John McKay. “We can’t win at home and we can’t win on the road,” he said. “What we need is a neutral site.” But the Bucs were a part of something bigger, too. They were a gambit by promoters, journalists, and civic boosters to create a shared identity for a region that didn’t exist—Tampa Bay. Before the Yucks, “the Bay” was a body of water, and even the worst team in memory transformed Florida’s Gulf communities into a single region with a common cause. The Yucks is “a funny, endearing look at how the Bucs lost their way to success, cementing a region through creamsicle unis and John McKay one-liners” (Sports Illustrated).

    Thousands strong, this huge tribe of disaffected youths laid siege to town centrees and soccer grounds across the country and became a byword for violent disorder. Tony O'Neill was there from the beginning and became its most prominent face.Barely in his teens when he set out from the largest council estate in Europe to follow the Red Devils, his ferocity in street combat and his force of personality soon made him a leader. Running trips in his infamous War Wagon, he became so renowned that he was invited to a sit-down meeting with the Government to discuss the hooligan problem.After serving a jail term, O'Neill emerged to lead the 'casuals' of the 1980s against an even tougher generation of opponents: West Ham's ICF, the Chelsea Headhunters, the Leeds Service Crew and the scally armies of Merseyside. Police intelligence files labelled him a 'prime mover' and he became the target of a huge undercover investigation. Red Army General is the most authoritative account ever written of the wild years when terrace terror reached its peak."BRITAIN'S No.1 FOOTBALL THUG" Daily Mirror"BRITAIN'S WORST SOCCER YOB" The Sun

    The producers refused. In Doctor Who, the Twelfth Doctor's costume was inspired by David Bowie. In Game of Thrones, Hodor's real name is Wyllis. Matthew Perry plays Chandler in Friends. He says he can't remember a single thing from the show throughout three seasons. In The Simpsons, Hans Moleman has died at least 15 times. Many mobsters contacted James Gandolfini to tell him his performance was excellent in The Sopranos but warned him not to wear shorts in the show. Millie Bobby Brown was 11 when she was cast as Eleven in Stranger Things. The Tourette Syndrome Association praised the show, South Park, for its accurate portrayal of the Tourette's condition. In Family Guy, Meg's full name is Megatron Griffin.

    December 4, 1978.In an appalling demonstration of the way in which a charismatic leader can bend the minds of his followers with a devilish blend of professed altruism and psychological tyranny, some 900 members of the California-based Peoples Temple died in a self-imposed ritual of mass suicide and murder.The followers of the Rev. Jim Jones, 47, a once respected Indianaborn humanitarian who degenerated into egomania and paranoia, had first ambushed a party of visiting Americans, killing California Congressman Leo Ryan, 53, three newsmen and one defector from their heavily guarded colony at Jones-town. Then, exhorted by their leader, intimidated by armed guards and lulled with sedatives and painkillers, parents and nurses used syringes to squirt a concoction of potassium cyanide and potassium chloride onto the tongues of babies. The adults and older children picked up paper cups and sipped the same deadly poison sweetened by purple Kool-Aid.This story is part of the TIME Classic Coverage Collection from Time Inc. This is a reproduction of a story that appeared in the December 4, 1978 issue of TIME magazine. Time Inc. is one of the world’s most influential media companies – home to 90 iconic brands like People, Sports Illustrated, Time, InStyle, Real Simple, Food & Wine, and Fortune. The Spotlight Stories in this collection aim to provide you with a quick read on a single subject, highlighting our readers’ most popular stories and featuring great reporting from our Time Inc. journalists.

    They were pure ballplayers, sluggers and sweet fielders who played with unbridled joy and breathtaking skill. The national press converged on Crenshaw. So many scouts gravitated to their games that they took up most of the seats in the bleachers. Even the Crenshaw ballfield was a sight to behold -- groomed by the players themselves, picked clean of every pebble, it was the finest diamond in all of inner-city Los Angeles. On the outfield fences, the gates to the outside stayed locked against the danger and distraction of the streets. Baseball, for these boys, was hope itself. They had grown up with the notion that it could somehow set things right -- a vague, unexpressed, but persistent hope that even if life was rigged, baseball might be fair. And for a while it seemed they were right. Incredibly, most of of this team -- even several of the boys who sat on the bench -- were drafted into professional baseball. Two of them, Darryl Strawberry and Chris Brown, would reunite as teammates on a National League All-Star roster. But Michael Sokolove's The Ticket Out is more a story of promise denied than of dreams fulfilled. Because in Sokolove's brilliantly reported poignant and powerful tale, the lives of these gifted athletes intersect with the realities of being poor, urban, and black in America. What happened to these young men is a harsh reminder of the ways inspiration turns to frustration when the bats and balls are stowed and the crowd's applause dies down.

    These documents reveal the clandestine dealings of clubs, players and agents at the highest echelons of international football. And the story they tell is astonishing.From the eye-popping details of player transfers including Neymar Jr, Pogba and Coutinho, to the loopholes and opaque tax structures that ensure maximum earnings for players and agents alike, this is a tale rife with rapacious greed and questionable deals. At the same time, it is the gripping story of a fan who wanted to free football from its corrupt overlords - and now finds himself on the run.

    We also see the infamous loss of his Olympic medals, stripped from him because he had previously played professional baseball, an event that would haunt Thorpe for the rest of his life. We see his struggles with alcoholism and personal misfortune, losing his first child and moving from one failed marriage to the next, coming to distrust many of the hands extended to him. Finally, we learn the details of his vigorous advocacy for Native American rights while he chased a Hollywood career, and the truth behind the supposed reinstatement of his Olympic record in 1982. Here is the story—long overdue and brilliantly told—of a complex, iconoclastic, profoundly talented man whose life encompassed both tragic limitations and truly extraordinary achievements.