“Sports are the only entertainment where, no matter how many times you go back, you never know the ending.”
Neil Simon
Athletes are a special kind of hero—the kind that somehow feel both larger-than-life and like regular visitors in your living room every weekend. As a kid, they were my superheroes, leaping tall buildings in a single bound (or, at the very least, making a three-pointer look effortless). And as an adult, they’ve become my weekend companions—the ones I cheer for, yell at, and occasionally whisper to through the TV, as if my advice will somehow improve their performance.
These are the athletes who shaped my childhood dreams and continue to make my weekends just a little more exciting. Whether they were hitting home runs, sinking impossible shots, or just being ridiculously cool, they earned their place in my personal hall of fame.
So, without further ado, here’s my lineup of my favorite athletes of all time—the ones who’ve made me believe in the power of a well-timed clutch play and the magic of sports.
Andre Agassi
Growing up playing tennis, I was surrounded by the legends of the sport. My dad and I would watch them all—Boris Becker, Steffi Graf, Stefan Edberg, Monica Seles, Pete Sampras, Gabriela Sabatini, Ivan Lendl. There was no shortage of personalities.
But Agassi? He stood out in every way. He wasn’t just flash, though there was plenty of that with the wild hair and neon outfits. He was substance, too. Agassi was electricity personified.
On the court, he brought a rebellious energy that made tennis feel like something more than a game—it was a performance, a statement. But as much as he was a showman, he was also a fighter, someone who evolved over time, shedding the image to reveal a player of pure grit and heart. Watching him was never boring—he made tennis thrilling, unpredictable, and unforgettable. Agassi wasn’t just part of the tennis landscape; he was the lightning bolt that electrified it.
Andre Dawson
“The Hawk”—it wasn’t just a nickname, it was a way of life. Andre Dawson played baseball like a bird of prey, sharp-eyed, focused, ready to swoop in and take out an unsuspecting fastball at a moment’s notice.
Growing up, summers were defined by watching the Cubs on WGN, and Dawson was the reason I’d sit glued to the screen. There was a reverence to his at-bats, like the universe paused to see if this would be the moment he’d launch another ball into the stratosphere.
One summer, in what can only be described as peak fandom (or mild insanity), I recorded every single one of his at-bats on VHS. Every. Single. One. And while other kids might’ve been outside playing, I was fast-forwarding through Cubs games to capture every Hawk swing. Absurd? Maybe. But if anyone was worth the tape, it was Dawson.
He wasn’t just a player—he was a legend in pinstripes.
Dirk Nowitzki
Watching Dirk Nowitzki play basketball was like watching a giraffe master ballet—unexpected, graceful, and utterly mesmerizing. When I first moved to Dallas, it was right in the midst of Dirk’s rise to stardom, and I fell in love with that team, but especially with Dirk. His awkward fadeaway jumper somehow became the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen on a basketball court. To this day, I still shout “Diiiiirk” every time I toss a piece of paper into the trash, as if channeling his effortless magic will make me hit the shot.
In 2006, my wife and I went to the World Cup in Germany, and every single time people found out we were from Dallas, their eyes lit up. “The home of Dirk Nowistki! Better than Shaq!” It didn’t matter who they were or where they were from—Dirk was their hero. And who could blame them? He was the ultimate underdog, proving that a lanky, awkward guy from Germany could dominate the NBA and do it with nothing but class and a goofy grin.
Demarcus Beasley
Demarcus Beasley was the guy who never stopped running, even when everyone else had given up. He played with a kind of infectious joy that made you believe he was having the time of his life every time he stepped onto the field. He’d do whatever was asked of him, no complaints—just pure hustle and heart.
That joy seemed to fuel his career, giving him an almost unbelievable longevity, especially in a sport that doesn’t often give players a long shelf life. Watching him dart up and down the field, with that fearless energy, made soccer feel thrilling.
Beasley was one of those players I couldn’t help but root for, not just because of his undeniable talent, but because he seemed to love the game more than anyone else. I miss watching him play, because he brought something special every time—like a spark that lit up the pitch.
Kobe Bryant
Watching Kobe Bryant was like witnessing a magician perform a trick you never quite believed possible. The ball-handling, the impossible shots, the sheer will to win—it was all there, wrapped up in that classic “Mamba Mentality.”
As a kid, we all wanted to be like Mike, but as an adult, I realized Kobe was something different. He wasn’t just playing basketball; he was waging a personal war against mediocrity, and we all got to watch the battle unfold. The thing is, you didn’t have to be a Lakers fan to be in awe of Kobe—you just had to love greatness.
When Kobe passed away, it was heartbreaking. The world seemed to stop for a moment, and the outpouring of love and respect that followed was something truly profound. It was like everyone, whether they cheered for him or against him, came together to celebrate what he meant to the game, to his family, and to the millions of people he inspired.
His legacy isn’t just about championships—it’s about the relentless pursuit of being the best, on and off the court.
Landon Donovan
If there’s one athlete who holds a permanent place in my heart, it’s Landon Donovan. He’s not just my favorite soccer player—he’s my number one, all-time favorite athlete, period. I’ve followed his career from when he was just a teenager with a world of potential through to his retirement, and he never let me down.
His goal against Algeria in the 2010 World Cup is, without question, the single greatest and most special moment I’ve ever experienced as a sports fan. It wasn’t just a goal—it was a moment of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind of thing that reminds you why you love sports in the first place.
Landon wasn’t just a player—he was complicated, in the best way. Open about his mental health challenges, he never shied away from prioritizing his family and personal life, even when it meant making decisions that didn’t align with what fans or pundits expected. Some never forgave him for not fully committing his career to Europe, thinking he underachieved by staying stateside. But for me, that only made him more admirable.
He wasn’t interested in playing by the rules of fame or ambition; he was doing what was right for him, for his well-being. That kind of honesty, that unwillingness to bend under the pressure of others, made me cheer for him even harder. And honestly, it’s a big part of why I still miss watching him play.
Landon was more than just a great player—he was human in a way that made me root for him even more. And while his career may be over, the impact he had, both on and off the field, still lingers. I’ll always be a fan.
Lewis Hamilton
My preoccupation with Lewis Hamilton is a recent development, courtesy of my late-in-life discovery of F1 racing. But once I started watching, it was game over—I was hooked.
Lewis isn’t just a driver—he’s a symphony in motion, weaving through chicanes like it’s his own personal ballet. Watching him navigate a race at 200 miles per hour with the kind of calm most people reserve for picking out a cereal is nothing short of mesmerizing. With 7 (and let’s be real, it should be 8) world championships under his belt, Hamilton has more than earned his place as a racing legend.
But it’s not just his mastery on the track that makes him great. He’s a trailblazer for people of color in a sport that wasn’t exactly built with diversity in mind. And off the track, he’s constantly using his platform to advocate for issues that matter—social justice, the environment, equality. He’s not just winning races; he’s changing the game, and doing it all with a quiet swagger that makes you root for him even harder.
Lewis is the whole package, and I’m officially on the bandwagon.
Magic Johnson
No athlete adorned my walls more than Magic. Growing up, I was a die-hard fan of the Showtime Lakers, and Magic was the heart of it all. Watching him play was like watching joy in its purest form, as if happiness itself could dribble.
He didn’t just pass the ball; he orchestrated it, sending it no-look to a teammate like he had eyes in the back of his head. It was more art than basketball.
When Magic retired, it felt like a piece of my basketball soul was ripped away—like he was one of my horcruxes (a perfectHarry Potter reference, you’re welcome). In my house, it wasn’t just a day of mourning; it was the kind of sadness you only get when you realize something truly wonderful has come to an end. I missed him immediately, and honestly, I still do.
Magic wasn’t just the first athlete I ever saw as larger than life—he was the first to make me realize that sports could be more than winning and losing. He played with a kind of joy that made you smile just watching him. It was as if every layup, every assist, every ridiculous no-look pass came with a wink and a nod that said, “Isn’t this fun?” And it was. It really was.
He’ll always be the player who made me fall in love with the game.
