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On Sunday in Monaco, Alpine's Pierre Gasly received pit-lane speed penalties totaling 10 seconds, which demoted him down to P7; on Thursday, Formula 1 reporter Chris Medland reported that Alpine's appeal for a review of those penalties had been deemed admissible. From that point it was obvious shenanigans would abound, no matter the review's result, and here shenanigans have arrived: On Friday the stewards confirmed that the penalties had been incorrectly given, and rescinded them, promoting Gasly back to the podium place, P3, in which he'd finished the race. As a result, Red Bull's Isack Hadjar has been demoted from the podium back into P4. To start from the beginning, the Monaco Grand Prix saw five drivers from four different teams receive penalties for speeding in the pit lane. All five drivers were held to have exceeded the speed limit by 0.1 kph, and Gasly, who received two penalties, also exceeded it by 0.4 kph the second time around. This proved to be one of the most dramatic and pivotal factors in the race. Left unclear was how so many teams wound up making the same error with the pit limiter, to the point where the stewards queried race control after the third penalty. Well, the answer, as provided by the stewards in the Gasly decision, was that Formula One Management, the Official Timekeeping Supplier (sick position) of the formula, just seriously botched it. FOM stated prior to the race that the length of the first timing zone in the pit lane—where every single speeding penalty occurred—was 2,692 cm, accurate to the centimeter, but LIDAR scans found that the actual distance was 2,615 cm, or 77 cm shorter than initially stated. This then led to the 60.1 kph speeding penalty that all the drivers received.

One thing that's always fun at a World Cup is a good old-fashioned clash of styles. With so many different teams, and so many different managers and tactics and players, no two sides play quite alike, and so a central tension of any match becomes the stylistic conflict. Imagine my delight when it took only the second match of this tournament to find what could very well prove the summer's starkest contrast of styles, as South Korea's Real Hooper Shit ran headfirst into the Czechia set piece wall and, somehow some way, came out ahead 2-1, thanks to the power of having better players playing better. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztKvwczBmqk Both of these teams have well-established identities, and given that it was the first match of the tournament for both, there was no reason to veer from the default gameplan just yet. For South Korea, that meant a wide-open 3-4-2-1 formation that gave the side's technical players plenty of space and options with which to work their magic. For Czechia, it meant almost the exact opposite, despite an almost exactly equivalent 3-4-2-1 formation; the Czechs were rigid and compact, aiming to utilize not so much individual brilliance but more the blunt-force instrument of crosses and set pieces.

Knicks mania is in the air, but how does that affect local businesses beyond the obvious cases, like bars packed out on random weeknights? Beer is a constant, but what about print media? To find out, I stopped by Casa Magazines, a well-loved corner store in the West Village where you can procure pretty much anything printed, from the daily tabloids to esoteric small-batch fare. I spoke to content strategist Tammy David and staffer Mirza Ayan Baig about how the New York Knicks' Finals run has changed business at the store. The Knicks had also been in the postseason the previous three years, but it wasn't until they earned a Finals berth that buyer behavior began to drastically change. Customers walked in not seeking out a particular publication, but the team in general. "Sometimes they were like, 'Do you have any New York Knicks?' 'No.' It's like looking for gum or vape—they move on to the next," David said. The Knicks covers of the New York Post and New York Daily News, with their classically brash headlines, were selling out within an hour of the store's 8 a.m. opening, sometimes even within 15 minutes. They were so sought after that ahead of Game 4, David put on social media an instructional video for customers to grasp where in the (very small) store the tabloids are stocked, minimizing confusion. But as popular as the tabloids are, Casa's biggest explosion in sales was a weekly magazine. The cover of the New Yorker's June 1 issue is a Mark Ulriksen illustration of Jalen Brunson, flexing over a lineup of storied Knicks. That was the one.

It's time for the World Cup. We've been previewing each of the top 15 teams by FIFA rankings that made the tournament. Why the top 15? Because that's how many we needed to do in order for the USMNT to make the cut. You can read all of our previews here. As the largest event humanity has ever come up with, it's safe to say that the World Cup is a big deal. In some way or other the tournament connects to literally everything, from politics, to culture, to war, to art, to philosophy, to biology, to economics, and on and on. As such, it can sometimes get overlooked that, on its most fundamental level, the World Cup is just a collection of soccer games. And the simplest explanation of a game of soccer is that the team with the best players usually wins. That is why Spain is the clear favorite. At this World Cup, Spain has the best players.

Well, it had to happen eventually. We'd been putting it off and pushing it back and wallowing earhole-deep in the adrenaline rush of it all, bouncing from Las Vegas to San Antonio to Raleigh to Manhattan in a poker game in which we'd finally reached the rarefied land of the eight-bet, but in our vacant, decrepit, spider-encrusted souls we all knew it would end up here: A normal game, played normally, with normal deeds, normal screeds and a normal result. Hardly seemed worth it in the end. Then again, after 10 full days of increasingly preposterous in-play behaviors and performances by the Golden Knights, Spurs, Hurricanes, and Knicks, something and someone had to give. And Thursday night, in Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Final, that something and someone was the Knights. Carolina slowly but surely chokeslammed Vegas, 4-2, by playing sharp but thrill-free hockey that left nothing for the perpetually dissatisfied. After ceding the first period to Vegas—a first for the slow-starting Knights—the Canes seized the second, also a novel development, then took a two-goal lead and held it. They finally won a second period. Their best players, Andrei Svechnikov and Sebastian Aho, were finally their best players. The better team during the run of play won as they should, in regulation, and comfortably. Not that there weren't moments of "Well, ain't that a hoot?" Erling Haaland, the world's most lethal striker, took an evening away from the Norwegian World Cup camp because he'd heard that American playoff games are drunk. Carolina's newbie goaltender Brandon Bussi burnished his legend as the new-age mini-version of Ken Dryden by coming from nowhere to give the Canes a suddenly clear advantage in net. They gave up three power-play opportunities to the Knights, all because they kept shooting the puck into the crowd. And most ridiculous of all, ABC's P.K. Subban maintained his place as America's human rummage sale, using Cam Newton’s cast-offs to distract us from the fact that his next observation of substance will give him an even two.

The sounds coming out of me were causing the sleeping baby to stir, so I had to remove myself from the premises. But I had just seen the hand of god steal Game 4 in the greatest comeback in NBA Finals history, giving the New York Knicks a 3-1 series lead, and I was in a city full of fellow witnesses making similarly feral sounds. Earlier in the fourth quarter, while the San Antonio Spurs' lead over the Knicks hovered around 15, I laid catatonic on the sofa during a timeout; my wife was threatening to tell my friends that I had almost drifted asleep during my team's Finals run. At that juncture, I was mentally steeling myself for a tied series and trying to look at the bright spots in this loss: Jalen Brunson finally found some freedom, and the dual point guard lineups I'd clamored for allowed Jose Alvarado to shoulder some of the ball-handling. Soon enough I was on all fours, slapping the floor, laughing hysterically. There was movement on the baby monitor. Cans from the fridge, then off into the howling night. I have been watching every game of this series in my own home, sober as OG Anunoby in a franchise-altering moment, too anxious to enter society. My broadcast stream Wednesday night had a tiny delay. Until I turned up the sound on my TV to mask it, the ambient roar of my city kept giving me a sneak preview of future elation—which is fun, like how people might read the Wikipedia entry for a horror movie they’re about to watch. Clawing out of a 29-point hole is basically a horror movie in reverse.

There are many people who are capable of watching dramatic sporting events in crowded bars and enjoying themselves. You may be one of them, and you have almost certainly seen them out there erupting in celebration at big moments, or just chanting "U-P-S" at a UPS truck because they don't know what else to do with themselves. The NBA playoffs are great for these people, and the subset that have given themselves to the New York Knicks have been having a pretty incredible time of it as of late. But this is not the only type of fan that exists, and this week we welcomed a different type of fan onto the podcast—our resident Knicks diehard Giri Nathan, who has watched his lifelong fan dream come to the very edge of realization while sitting on the floor of his apartment, nursing a seltzer and trying not to wake up his baby with OG Anunoby-inspired ululations. The sickos matter, too. We recorded the episode around midday on Wednesday, as is our custom, which means that the events of that evening's implausible Game 4 were not covered. In their place, we have an assessment of what the first three games illustrated about these two fascinating teams, and also of what the series has done to Giri's emotional state. There is a good deal of vibe assessment and basketball analysis, a retrospectively unavoidable amount of Robert Kraft voice, and a consideration of the oafish security theater that surrounded both Game 3's accursed presidential visit and, for reasons that have not been specified, also Game 4. But there's a lot of basketball talk, too, including Giri's prescient Jose Alvarado prophecy, a consideration of the specific officiating problems and broader officiating challenges of these NBA Finals, and how the game is struggling to keep up with the emerging foul-all-the-time-on-every-play exploit.

When I first saw the press release announcing that scientists had harvested yeast from the remains of Ötzi the 5,000-year-old iceman and used it to make a sourdough bread, I admit I was not terribly moved. The announcement smelled like a publicity stunt designed to get Ötzi back in the headlines—as if he does not get enough coverage as is! Ötzi the iceman makes the news more than any other 5,000-year-old person, given each new horrible clinical diagnosis scientists make after analyzing his mummified body with newer and newer technology. Of course, Ötzi not the only person we know from around that time. There is Ginger, the man whose body was naturally preserved in the hot, dry sands of Gebelein in Egypt more than 5,000 years ago. There is the 4,000-year-old Cashel Man, who appears to have been violently sacrificed in a bog. But have you heard of Ginger? Have you heard of the Cashel Man? No. You have only heard of Ötzi. I do not mean this as a slight against the iceman. Rather, I mean to suggest that he makes headlines on his own terms, by which I mean the fact that his body is a Pandora's box of medical maladies. Ötzi has never needed to become bread to go viral. As such, I was prepared to close the tab spreading the good word of Ötzi's yeasts. But then I saw the publicity photo the researchers had chosen to accompany this paper, which was published in Microbiome, a paper that found four cold-adapted yeasts that survived in the sub-zero temperatures of the iceman's tummy. The photo was, to me, even more shocking than the revelation of the yeasts. It was a crisp close-up of the iceman's glossy feet.

If OG Anunoby's miraculous putback of Jalen Brunson's long three is the Hand of God, maybe the play before it was the Brain of Squirrel. It was San Antonio Spurs guard De'Aaron Fox, currently finishing up his ninth year in the NBA, who made a pre-rookie mistake that allowed the New York Knicks the chance to take the 3-1 series lead. With under 20 seconds to go and the Spurs up one, a Brunson drive to the hoop led to a loose ball off the backboard. It was Fox, heroically, who tipped the ball past the last Knicks defender and chased it down in the Spurs' end. Basketball convention dictates that you play it safe and wait to be fouled, to take more time off the clock and go to the line to extend the lead. However, Fox decided that the layup would be more automatic than the free throws, and Anunoby made a play that you can add to the list of legendary NBA Finals blocks. No foul, no points, Knicks ball. "I just thought I'd be able to outrun him," the 28-year-old Fox said after the game. "That’s it."

The World Cup is great for surfacing fun facts. Here's one that might shock your ears as you watch Bosnia-Herzegovina play its first group-stage game on Friday: The team's coach, Sergej Barbarez, is 54 years old and working his first job as a manager. Also, he was most recently a professional poker player. Don't worry, Barbarez does actually know a thing or two about soccer. He played professionally for 14 years, and was no slouch. He spent most of his professional career in the Bundesliga, where he scored 105 goals in 377 appearances. From 2004 to 2006, he was captain of Bosnia-Herzegovina's national team, and acquired his coaching license a few years after retiring in 2008. That's around when he started playing cards professionally. According to Cardplayer.com, between 2010 and 2022 he won $143,628 in 26 games. He doesn't have any recorded tournament wins, but he did make it to two final tables in the World Series of Poker. Throughout his time as a poker player, Barbarez enjoyed something approaching national icon status, and remained an outspoken critic of the Football Association of Bosnia and Herzegovina's governance decisions.  In 2021, Vico Zeljkovic became president of the association and helped throw the team into chaos. Zeljkovic oversaw a rapid succession of managers, three of whom were hired and fired months apart as the team failed to qualify for the 2024 Euros. Fans criticized the FA's leadership, including the 2022 decision to schedule friendlies with Russia right after it had invaded Ukraine and was banned FIFA and UEFA competitions. One of the loudest critics of the FA was Barbarez, so it was something of a shock when he was announced as the national team manager.