Ryan Nickel works with scientists who fight crime. He’s a crime-busting scientist himself, an expert in DNA analysis. But there’s a difference. Around the office, Nickel is known as the guy who runs marathons.
“We have a great team, but yeah, they don’t see me as a scientist,” he says. “They see me as a distance runner.”
The label carries an ironic touch. Nickel works for the Sacramento County district attorney’s crime lab, where the goal is to nail people after they go running.
It’s been 10 years since I wrote a book about the Kings. Now I can finally write an update.
The fact that my book survived a decade without becoming stale and outdated makes me happy, but I know the truth. Literary brilliance aside, the book stayed fresh because the Kings did absolutely nothing worth writing about between 2013 and 2022.
They moved into a new arena, played a bunch of games that ended in defeat, traded countless players whose names I can’t remember and fired many coaches. They shut down for the pandemic and skipped their rent payments for a few months. They missed the playoffs.
That was the easy part, the transition from awful to good. Next step is the tough one, good to great.
Kings fans are thrilled with this season’s progress, a hungry audience given a meal of rump steak, starchy potatoes and organic lettuce. Now let’s talk about dessert and remember reaching the NBA playoffs is not a major accomplishment.
My kid got mad at me the other day when I said esports were video games masquerading as athletic competition. He said I didn’t know what I was talking about. He said esports require tremendous coordination, concentration and stamina, and involve lots of money.
Those qualities define modern competitive sports, he said.
My kid’s in graduate school, which means he’s smarter than me. But I was a professional sportswriter for 20 years, and still know a few things. For instance, I know a great way to get sports fans arguing is to suggest their favorite game isn’t really a sport.
Trouble began when Frank Miller, 66, dropped dead from a heart attack while listening to a horse race.
Miller didn’t die at home. He collapsed on the second floor of a bar and cafe called the Equipoise Club at 415 K St., in a room filled with chalkboards, teletype machines, telephones, betting slips, loud speakers and dozens of people. A bookie joint.
Eleven days later, 15 Sacramento police officers rushed into Equipoise, climbed the stairs, blew their whistles and interrupted about 150 racing fans. Eight people were arrested, including the club’s owner, Frank Nisetich, known to family, friends and prosecutors as “Bookie Butch.”
“We’ve got the dope this time,” Police Chief William Hallanan said. “We’ve got them dead to rights with plenty of evidence.”
