friend

The Country Music Assn. will put on a two-hour live TV special honoring Dolly Parton, who died last month at the age of 80.

The association said Wednesday that the television tribute — titled “CMA Presents I Will Always Love You: A Celebration of Dolly Parton” — will be recorded live at the Fisher Center for the Performing Arts, on the campus of Belmont University in Nashville.

The tribute will air Oct. 21 at 6 p.m. Pacific on ABC and Disney+, and will stream on Hulu a day later.

In a news release, CMA described the special as a “joyful, emotional celebration” dedicated to Parton, the rhinestone-studded singer whose life began humbly, in a one-room cabin at the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.

Robert Deaton, veteran executive producer of the Country Music Awards and Billboard Music Awards, will fill that role on the Parton project.

“Dolly gave Country Music its heart, and giving some of that heart back to her is an incredible honor,” said Deaton in a news release Wednesday. “My hope is simply that we do right by her story, her music and the people who love her, so that this evening feels like the tribute my friend deserves.”

Sarah Trahern, CMA chief executive, added that the tribute is the association’s “responsibility”: “This special is our way of saying thank you, on behalf of every artist, industry member and fan who found a piece of themselves in her music.”

The tribute is in partnership with Belmont University, which hosted the 2025 world premiere of “Dolly: A True Original Musical,” a biographical production about the “9 to 5” singer that is scheduled for its Broadway debut on Jan. 19, what would have been the Parton’s 81st birthday.

The university also previously launched “Dolly U,” an immersive educational partnership designed to connect students with hands-on opportunities in entertainment, media and creative industries.

Greg Jones, president of Belmont University, welcomed the special with a statement of his own: “It is a privilege to welcome artists, friends and fans from around the world to celebrate her extraordinary life and legacy from this stage in Nashville, honoring a woman whose love for Tennessee was woven into everything she did.”

Both the CMA and Belmont University will make a donation from the proceeds to Parton’s Imagination Library, which was launched by the Dollywood Foundation in 1995 to address childhood literacy by giving millions of children the gift of a free book each month. Disney will also support the program.

News of the television tribute follows an announcement last month by Parton’s estate that revealed plans for Dollyfest, a two-day celebration in Nashville and London next year across two consecutive weekends to honor her legacy.

Additional details for the CMA special, including performers and tickets, will be announced at a later date.

At age 14, Glen Walsh started surfing because of a crush. He was a boogie boarder until the object of his adoration told him, “What are you riding that for? You should be surfing. Get a surfboard.” So, he did. “I was terrible at it, but I kept going. I was super persistent.”

That resilience proved useful. As a gay teenager in Santa Monica, Walsh was often called slurs on the Venice Pier. “You think you’re like a unicorn — a weirdo,” he says. He felt at odds with the local surf community. To Walsh, surfing was “super straight, very hypermasculine, very intimidating.” Yet his love of the ocean — and sure, crush-worthy surfers — kept him returning to the water. “I wanted to be around them, and surf with them,” he says.

When Instagram launched in 2010, Walsh began posting one of his early loves — only this time, it was morning surf conditions. Every morning, before surfers paddled out, the longtime Venice resident described swells, winds and surf conditions to his followers, becoming for some the town’s trusted surf chronicler.

A “Surf Swim” sign greets beachgoers at Venice Beach — a stretch of coast where daily surf reports and grassroots organizing have helped break down traditional surf stereotypes.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

His videos combined informative dispatches with the laid-back vibe of surfer ASMR. “Light offshore wind. Clean, glassy barrels,” he declares softly to the camera as gray waves break behind him. “Lumpy close-out with hollow barrels with low tide, fam.”

At first, the account functioned like a group chat for local surfers. “Friends were asking me how the waves were, and I was texting them. I figured I’d jump on Instagram and start doing it for them,” says Walsh, who has been a Venice resident for 15 years.

What began as a practical update for a handful of friends eventually attracted followers in London, Berlin and Tokyo — people who checked in daily to see whether the surf was firing in Venice Beach. The account has amassed over 10,000 followers, inspiring imitator accounts. “Now it’s just for everybody,” says Walsh. “I built a community around the surf reports. It really blew me away. I didn’t realize that people were so interested.”

His surf reports have made him an unofficial mayor of Venice surf culture, getting recognized at the beach town’s local hangouts like Hinano Cafe and the Cow’s End. “People stop me and tell me they love my surf reports. They don’t even surf, but they see it every day,” says Walsh. “I always tell people I’m very popular between Washington Boulevard, Lincoln Boulevard and Rose Avenue.” His nickname around town is Glenice Venice.

However, the real triumph wasn’t becoming recognizable around Venice — it was finding other queer surfers, something that felt elusive in Walsh’s youth in Southern California. “I had met a lot of other surfers from all over the world and built a queer community of surfers here in L.A.,” says Walsh. “It was pretty awesome.”

Walsh saw an opportunity to use his surf report to not only report on the condition of the ocean — which is especially unpredictable during our current El Niño cycles — but to also create a burgeoning queer space in the Venice surf scene. “I could set up a community-based surf report for everybody, and the fact that I happen to be queer made it a little more unique,” he says. He began to connect with gay surfers, organizing trips with them and building lasting friendships. “It was just a lot of fun, building a little team.”

Later, Walsh became a co-producer and music supervisor of a movie about homophobia in surfing titled “Out in the Line-Up” that premiered at film festivals across the world in cities such as New York, San Francisco and Sydney, Australia. “The movie kind of spoke for itself. It was a worldwide issue — homophobia in surfing.” Since then, Walsh has served on panels about queer people in the surf world. Last June, the film had a 10th anniversary screening in Venice, hosted by the Venice Surfing Assn. “At some point, I brought some diversity to this culture. I put my name on it,” he says.

In recent years, others have joined Walsh’s efforts to create a burgeoning queer surf scene at Venice Beach. In 2020, Shelly Guidera relocated to Venice and noticed that there wasn’t a strong queer presence in surfing. “My friend and I were maybe the only queer people some of these surfers had ever seen,” she says. Shortly after, Guidera started Dream Team Surf, a collective for queer surfers to meet up and build camaraderie.

Its mission is simple. “It’s all of us looking out for each other,” Guidera says. “ Having a team of people makes the experience that much more enriching and safe.”

Surfers ride the waves near the Venice Pier, where Glen Walsh does his daily surf reports.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

Early on, Guidera was inspired by Walsh’s uplifting presence in the Venice surf scene. “This person is respected in the community for what he brings, which is knowledge and insight and fun and flair,” says Guidera. In turn, Walsh has championed Dream Team Surf.

In January 2025, Dream Team Surf hosted a Pride beach party with a banner that read: “Trans bodies belong on the beach.” In some San Diego area beaches, Guidera says, queer representation can still feel like an anomaly. “It’s so funny because it’s like these people have maybe never seen a woman in a bathing suit with hairy legs,” she says. “I’m like, ‘Oh my God, it’s not that deep.’”

Guidera is certified in surf therapy, taking courses through Groundswell Community Project, a surf therapy program that uses surf to promote holistic healing. The mental health benefits of surfing are lifelong, Guidera explains. “Growing up as a swimmer, surfing was a form of play and wellness,” she says. “It eased the brakes on competition and the structure within competitive swimming.”

Group photo of Dream Team Surf, which hosted a Pride beach party.

(Sara Werner)

Even if you don’t shred waves, being in the ocean can promote healing. “To give people access to the ocean that is in and of itself a form of wellness,” she says. “There’s a level of surrender and humility that comes with surfing and that comes with being in nature. … You have to be so present in such a way that makes you a stronger person.”

Like Guidera, Walsh also works as a surf instructor with a similar goal to instill confidence in his students. “I was teaching a lot of people to surf, mostly women who didn’t want a straight man to teach them how to surf because it feels vulnerable enough,” says Walsh. “I try to break down the stereotypes and have a little fun with them and let them become a kid again.”

When done correctly, he argues, surfing can invite expansiveness. “I love seeing people out there. Feel the fear and do it anyway,” says Walsh. “And creating a lifestyle around it — going to different beaches — and meeting friends.”

GEMMA Owen has revealed she’s split from her multi-millionaire boyfriend Red Morgan.

The Love Island star and equestrian, 23, called time on her romance with the property tycoon heir, 22, in June shortly after the death of a close family friend.

Speaking on her latest vlog, she said: “We had some really sad news of a really close family friend. He passed away really suddenly and unexpectedly.

“And within a day or two, Red and I split up, which I’m obviously not going to go into too much detail about either of the things because they’re both personal.”

Gemma, who is the daughter of football legend Michael Owen, insisted she and Red remain good friends but ultimately weren’t on the same page as far as romance was concerned.

“Red and I are on good terms,” said Gemma. “We’re friends. It was a mutual decision and ultimately we just came to a bit of a crossroads and we wanted different things out of the relationship.

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“We didn’t want to waste anyone’s time if we weren’t both sort of aligned with what we want. So yeah, that’s what’s been going on. It’s been, as you can imagine, a pretty hard few weeks, months.”

Following the split, Gemma spent time with family and friends and said she focused on herself.

The Sun revealed Gemma and Red were an item in April last year while they were on a luxury holiday in Dubai.

Red is a talented showjumper having represented Great Britain in the European Championships at youth level.

His dad Steve, 73, featured on the latest Sunday Times rich list with an estimated fortune of £935million.

He founded housebuilding company Redrow and is an ex-chairman of Wolverhampton Wanderers.

Iva Jovic outlasted the fellow young tennis sensation from the Philippines, Alex Eala, in an epic three-hour showdown.

American teen Iva Jovic was moved to tears while talking about her off-court friend and on-court opponent Alex Eala, whom she beat in a three-set thriller to enter the round of 16 at the US Open.

Jovic outlasted the fellow young tennis sensation from the Philippines in an epic three-hour showdown on Saturday to book a meeting with fourth-seeded former champion Coco Gauff.

The 14th-seed Jovic won five of the last six games for a 7-5, 3-6, 7-5 triumph over 17th-seed Eala after three hours and three minutes.

“That felt like a marathon, and I felt like I lost my sanity five times over to win that match,” Jovic said. “But it’s really worth it for this feeling.”

Two of the top rising stars of women’s tennis made their Arthur Ashe Stadium debut a memorable battle that featured 17 service breaks in 33 games.

“That match, definitely the way it finished, deserved that court,” Jovic said.

“It literally took everything to somehow squeeze my way through that.”

When the emerging US tennis star’s win was sealed, her Filipina friend went around the court to congratulate her instead of waiting at the net as players usually do at the end of tennis matches.

When Jovic was asked about Eala’s gesture in her post-match news conference, the American was moved to tears and said it showed her friend’s character.

“It says a lot about her as a person,” Jovic said while wiping away tears. “I’m gonna start crying, but it says a lot about her as a person to be able to do that after that type of match and still come over to hug me and wish me all the best. And even in the locker room behind closed doors … so that just says a lot about her and her character. Yeah, she’s incredible.”

Jovic, 18, and Eala, 21, are friends and sometimes doubles partners, knowing each other’s skills and style well. That helped produce seven service breaks in the first 11 games.

“I’m usually not one that shows that many emotions, but this one really meant a lot to me. It’s everything to have another match here at the US Open,” Jovic said.

That match will be against compatriot Gauff, the 2023 US Open and 2025 French Open champion.

“I’m going to be more than happy to just bring this fight and this energy, and whatever happens I can leave with my head high,” Jovic said.

‘Put on a show’

Jovic broke four times to win the first set but was broken three times by left-hander Eala to drop the second.

“The level was absolutely incredible from both sides,” Jovic said.

“We definitely put on a show, and it literally took everything to get through that … losing my earrings, falling literally flat-out on the floor, cuts on my knees, mental breakdowns,” she said.

Eala admitted: “I had my chances. I’m happy with the match in general. Of course there is disappointment in losing, but trying to see the positive side. It was a really good match. The level was really high.

“I left everything out there. I fought through the ups and downs … What I know for a fact is that I fought, so I’m happy with that.”

A quarterfinalist at this year’s Australian Open, Jovic won her first WTA title last year in Guadalajara at age 17.

She beat Eala at the French Open and Queen’s Club in London earlier this season in their prior meetings, but that was before Eala won her first WTA title at Washington.

“She played an outrageous level tonight. She was serving very good. She was showing a lot more versatility with her returns,” Jovic said of Eala.

“She’s playing some of the best tennis in the world right now, so it’s no doubt it takes a hell of an effort to beat her.”

The truth about the last words uttered by Australia’s famed ‘Crocodile Hunter’ have now been laid bare, two decades after the Wildlife Warrior’s untimely death

A close confidant of legendary eco-warrior Steve Irwin has detailed the Aussie icon’s final moments, just as he realised death was moments away.

September 4 marks the anniversarry of Irwin’s untimely death. The passionate animal lover was known around the world for his infectious approach to conservation, capturing hearts with his zoo, TV show, and adoration for all creatures great, small, and even scaly.

It’s been two decades since Irwin’s shock death, and family and friends have paid tribute to a man considered an icon and animal-loving legend Down Under.

ICYMI: Irwin died while doing what he loved; he was out on Australia’s famed Great Barrier Reef off the coast of Cairns, filming a nature documentary about stingrays when he copped a barb to the heart from the very creature he was there to film.

Cameraman Justin had been filming the crocodile hunter at sea when disaster struck. Speaking on 60 Minutes’ Steve Irwin: A Wild Life, Justin revealed the devastating moment Steve realised he was dying, and his final moments.

Justin told the programme: “We zipped around for 10-15 minutes before we found the stingray. And then, it was like, okay, game on. I mean, we’d only filmed with stingrays a hundred times before. They were awesome to film with. So we both slipped over the side of the rubber ducky and, yeah, started filming this amazing massive — it was massive — bull ray.

“Anyway, we chatted about the final shot, which would be the opening shot, because by now, the stingray was calm. It had buried itself in the sand. I said, ‘We’ll start this thing. I’ll just be close in front of this stingray. I’ll be a couple of metres from it. You go round behind it and swim up behind it.'”

Justin went on: “He swims up, swims over the top of it. It doesn’t move. But as he’s directly over the top of it, of course, it thought he was a tiger shark and started stabbing madly towards him with its tail. The water just boiled. I couldn’t see anything that was going on. Bubbles and thrashing.

“And then, all of a sudden, it stopped. The stingray swam away, the water calmed, so I just panned with the stingray. And as I let it go out of shot, as I panned back to Steve, he came jumping up out of the water, screaming, and the water around him is now full of blood.

“And he screamed out, ‘It’s punctured my lung!’ I threw the camera into one of the rubber duckies, dragged Steve into the boat. His khaki shirt is open, and he’s just got blood pouring out of a gash like that in his chest, right over his heart. But he’s conscious, and he says to me, looks me right in the eye, and he says, ‘I’m dying’.”

Bindi was just eight years old when her father died, and she shared a video of him as he recounted “the most incredible wildlife encounter of my life” – the birth of his daughter. Bindi said: “Twenty years ago, today, the world lost the most passionate and dedicated wildlife conservationist. Our family lost our superhero. My mum lost the love of her life; my brother and I lost the greatest dad.

“Grief never truly leaves us; we walk alongside it every day. Where there is enormous grief, there is even greater love.I always thought that my dad’s legacy is wildlife conservation; it turns out, his legacy is love. For our planet and for each other.”

Bindi added that her five-year-old daughter watches her grandfather’s documentaries every morning and feels “utterly loved by her ‘grandpa crocodile’, despite never meeting him. She went on “My dad left a lasting impact so poignant that it will ripple out for generations to come. I believe with my whole heart that his love will live on forever.

“Dad, I love you with my whole heart. Thank you for being our guardian angel. And most of all, thank you for watching over my daughter now, too. She loves you so much. We all do.”

Robert also shared a snap of him and his father with the caption: “Your legacy is forever.” Terri, also remembered her final few weeks with her husband, saying “grief still walks with me like my shadow”. She said: “With the passing of time I have gained more perspective and understanding. We were together as a family, on our crocodile research expedition, for what was to be our final six weeks together.

“Ours was to be a long and sweet goodbye. Steve spent time with Bindi and Robert building swings and climbing trees. We all slowed down. Time slowed down. I believe that all of us, every one of us, gets to say goodbye.

“We just may not know that we’re saying it. Hold every moment dear with the ones you love. Until we meet again.”

Ten years ago, I went with my older daughter and a group of her classmates to see Gloria Steinem speak. Though they were part of a feminist group recently formed at their all-girls Catholic high school, some were not quite sure who Gloria was, exactly. My daughter knew her mostly as my former “boss”; my first job out of college had been as an editorial assistant at Ms. magazine. That was back in the ‘80s — ancient history.

I was a tiny bit nervous about how the evening would go. Gloria herself was in her 80’s by then; how would she connect with a group of teenagers who had come of age post-post-everything in a social media world of makeup tutorials, fit checks, and so much rage bait?

By being precisely herself, as it turned out. Calm and witty, impassioned and informed, clear-eyed yet hopeful, Gloria enthralled them — and the entire audience — for almost two hours. By the time we left, the girls were ready to follow her anywhere.

“She’s a rock star,” my daughter breathed.

That she was. Gloria Steinem did not invent feminism, not even its second wave, but for many years she was its most recognizable frontwoman. Tall, slender, with (for many years) aviator glasses framed by her signature long, straight hair, she was the Jackie Kennedy of the women’s movement: a physical dismissal of all those childish critics who deride feminists as an army of unlovely and unloved women, devoid of humor and, most likely, surrounded by far too many cats.

Even so, how she looked was beside the point. No feminist I know ever wanted to look like Gloria; we all wanted to be like her. Smart, funny, incisive, generous and, perhaps above all, unflappable.

For an activist organizer, she had a low center of gravity. Her speech was measured, her tone was mellow — even when calling out the most outrageous hypocrisies, the most sinister forms of oppression, she rarely if ever raised it. Though by her own admission she was often furious about many things, her sharpest weapon was always a deadly talent for stating the obvious. “If women could sleep their way to the top, there‘d be a lot more women at the top.” “I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career. ” “A pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.” “This is what 40 [or 50] looks like.”

She believed in shaping the future by being fearlessly frank about the present and the past. For more than seven decades, she helped millions strip away the veils of hierarchy, patriarchy and all the stories spun about gendered expectations to confront the actual experience of women’s lives. “If the shoe doesn’t fit, must we change the foot?”

She never incited anger; she simply pointed out the facts as she saw them and let human nature take its course. “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”

Gloria listened as much as she spoke, and with great attention and democracy. When I worked at Ms., she was always running late, invariably having been pulled into some conversation or other. Her assistant groaned over her calendar; Gloria would say “yes” when asked for help, even if it meant being two places at once.

She often came in for staff meetings to which everyone was invited and, when discussing ideas for future issues, would ask for, and attentively listen to, the opinions of even a lowly editorial assistant like myself. Her interest was sincere, astonishing and made for very long meetings. Wherever she went, it was the same. She needed to know what all manner of women thought about a wide variety of topics. More important, she wanted them to learn the habit of speaking up. In a private meeting or a public forum, to colleagues, politicians, friends, the boss or even a feminist icon, she wanted women to be unafraid of saying what they thought.

When I worked at Ms., and for many years after, people would invariably ask me: “What’s Gloria Steinem like?” and it was, and remains, impossible to describe. She was kind when she didn’t need to be, generous with her attention when no one expected it. She didn’t want laws and social constructs to be fairer, less dangerous, more fulfilling for women as a concept; she wanted it for you, for me, for the lady in the back row.

She gave aura but also advice about where to find discount shoes. She instantly claimed any room she entered and then made sure there were snacks. She believed that the world could change, that with work, we could change it. But she also believed in having fun; otherwise why bother?

On the day Gloria Steinem died at 92, I awoke to a text from one of the friends I made all those years ago at Ms.; soon there were four of us on the thread. I had just arrived in New York to take my youngest daughter back to college, and we had planned to meet one of those friends in Union Square at noon. Instead, we met at Gloria’s brownstone and laid flowers along the fence outside her door. It seemed the least we could do.

My youngest never got to hear Gloria speak and, at 19, she is too young to know who Gloria was, exactly. Which was always the point of all that Gloria did. She didn’t want the future to feel beholden to the past; she just wanted it to be better. And despite the recent setbacks, particularly in reproductive rights, and all the work that still has to be done, it is.

There stood my daughter. Like her sister, she never doubts for one minute that she is a first-class citizen, entitled to equal rights, bodily autonomy, basic respect and a life of her choosing. God help the poor souls who try to tell them different.

“She’s a big part of why you are here,” I tell her. “Of why your life at 19 is so better than mine was, and why mine, at 19, was so much better than hers.”

That’s not just a rock star; that’s a revolutionary.

Almost every day, quarterback and left-handed ace pitcher Joe Bell looks out on the La Cañada High football field and sees faces so familiar he might as well be taken back in time to the days of playing in the sandbox, in the street, in the backyard or at the local park.

It’s so fun as a high school senior to know the person at your side has been your friend and teammate for years. It’s the magic of going to your neighborhood school and being a multi-sport athlete.

There’s his younger brother, Jake, a sophomore middle linebacker and his catcher since birth. There’s Brandon Mohaghegh, a receiver and outfielder; Chase Regan, a running back and second baseman; Ross Piken, a receiver and pitcher; Ethan Wong, a right offensive tackle and designated hitter; and Caythan Kim, a left offensive tackle and.outfielder.

They know each other from Little League days and earlier.

Yes, the group likes to go take batting practice together before football practice, and everyone agrees it’s the coolest thing.

“It’s crazy,” said Bell, who’s 21 of 29 passing for the 2-0 Spartans and was the Rio Hondo League baseball player of the year with an 11-2 record and 1.71 ERA last season. “It’s impressive. We go to the locker room, change our stuff and leave our gear. Playing multiple sports is the best thing you can do as a kid. It’s completely doable to do both. And if you don’t you’re missing out.”

Said football coach David Avramovich: “It’s very common for them playing long toss or being in the cage once or twice a week. They’re walking by with their bats.”

Thanks to Avramovich and baseball coach Nathan Bernstein each being multiple-sports advocates, everyone is on the same page supporting each other. Avramovich sits in the parent section for baseball games; Bernstein stands on the sideline during football games.

“It’s really good for them to take a break,” Avramovich said of his football and baseball players.

The Bells are a family of three siblings with great grades and great parents. Jake has a twin sophomore sister who plays volleyball and softball.

“I need 30 Bells,” Avramovich said. “They’re all awesome.”

Quarterback Joe Bell of La Canada runs for yardage. He’s also a standout left-handed pitcher in baseball.

(Lisa Mattmann)

Joe Bell, with a 4.1 grade-point average, is living the life of someone ready to be a Division I college athlete but comfortable and thriving in his neighborhood setting while going from one sport to the next.

“I’ve always played as many sports as I can,” he said. “I played soccer, pick-up basketball, baseball. I actually credit my success in sports keeping it fun. I go to the park to throw a football with my friends, then go play hoops in some backyard.”

Bell is 6 feet 1, 185 pounds and loves being left-handed.

“It’s pretty nice,” he said. “It’s like being an anomaly. I would go to these football and baseball camps, ‘Is anyone a lefty?’ It was great being in that special group.”

For the first time, his brother, Jake, will be his catcher on varsity.

“Jake’s a Dawg,” Joe said. “It’s like playing catch in the backyard mound we built. I’ve been playing with him since the beginning. I’d say, ‘Jake, do you want to catch a bullpen?’’’

If Jake says no, it will be the first time.

If anyone is not inspired by the Bells and their friends, then you need to think back to the way high school sports used to be with the focus on having fun and winning with your neighborhood friends.

At La Cañada with this group, it’s Back to the Future and a return to the 1980s.

Texts lit up my phone this morning from friends who had wasted most of their lives rooting for the Angels: Arte Moreno finally was selling the team.

“First order of business: it’s the Anacrime Angels,” Nelson Rodriguez cracked before sending a meme of Stringer Bell in “The Wire” wearing an old-school California Angels cap and saying, “I want you to put the word out there that we back up.”

“This news honestly made my year,” texted Anaheim City Councilmember Natalie Rubalcava, who graduated a year ahead of me from Anaheim High and whose daughter works at my wife’s restaurant. “Excited to leave the controversy and negativity behind and look forward to a new era of Anaheim baseball.”

“Shame this didn’t happen when [Shohei] Ohtani was an Angel,” the Mountain shared on a group text thread of childhood friends who call each other by long-standing nicknames — I’m the Consigliere.

“I get invited to the games but hell no,” replied the Butcher, who’s been a fan since the days of Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan in the 1970s.

“I’ll finally go back” to a game in person, my cousin Plas added. “A Trumper [Latino] what could’ve gone wrong …” he wrote, referencing Moreno, before asking if Kurt Suzuki was still manager because “that’s how little I’ve kept up with the team.”

Those are the texts I can print in a family newspaper.

Moreno is selling to Los Angeles Rams owner Stan Kroenke, whose company also owns perennial contenders in the NBA (Denver Nuggets), NHL (Colorado Avalanche) and England’s Premier League (Arsenal). Sources told my colleagues that the price was $4 billion, which would be a baseball record and speaks to the Halos’ untapped potential.

Major League Baseball still needs to approve the deal, but I guarantee that Commissioner Rob Manfred and the 29 other team owners are reacting with the silly swaying dance that Dodgers players do every time they get on base.

“The Moreno Family has been honored to steward the Angels for 23 years,” the soon-to-be-ex-Angels owner said in a statement.

You stewarded nada, Arte: You destroyed.

You started with so much hope and ended up with fans like my friends shooting venom at you like pissed-off cobras. There’s a reason why you’ll leave as one of the most loathed owners in baseball history. Your underperforming reign makes the McCourts of Dodgers infamy seem as amazing and beloved as the O’Malleys.

Not even Shohei Ohtani, at spring training when he played for the Angels in 2023, could change the team’s fortunes under Moreno.

(Morry Gash/Associated Press)

The Tucson native, who made his billions in the billboard industry, bought the Angels from Disney in 2003, the year after they won their sole World Series championship. At a festive press conference, Moreno handed a sombrero to then-skipper Mike Scioscia to wear, then announced that the first order of business was to cut beer prices.

The new owner quickly signed the best players in baseball — slugger Vladimir Guerrero and pitcher Bartolo Colón. Moreno walked Angel Stadium during games to ask fans what they wanted, what they needed, what they dreamed of. That first decade, he made the Angels what they never had been for a prolonged period: winners.

Fans packed the stands — more than 3 million each year from 2003 to 2019, the third-longest streak in baseball. Anaheimers donned Halos jerseys and hats like never before. More incredibly, Moreno was at the cusp of the impossible: convincing a generation of Latino baseball fans in Orange County to side with the Halos instead of the Dodgers.

But there were always signs that something was off.

Moreno renamed the team the Los Angeles Angels two years after he bought them, a ridiculous moniker that made them a national punchline. The renaming also cost Anaheim millions of dollars in legal fees after the city unsuccessfully sued to force Moreno to keep my hometown in the team’s name.

Moreno openly talked about moving the Angels to a city that would build him a new stadium. He also fell into the terrible habit of signing conservative-leaning, past-their-prime ballplayers like Josh Hamilton, Albert Pujols and Anthony Rendon to massive contracts that weighed down the team for years, like one of Angel Stadium’s legendary cinnamon rolls.

Die-hards like my pals trudged on, buoyed by generational talent Mike Trout and the occasional flash-in-the-pan prospect. But even they were turned off by the last three years.

Former Anaheim mayor Harry Sidhu pleaded guilty in 2023 to federal tax evasion charges stemming from accusations that he solicited an illegal $1-million campaign donation for an attempted sale of city-owned Angel Stadium to a Moreno-led company.

That same year, the Halos let Ohtani — who was on his way to a second most valuable player award and already had established himself as one of the most talented baseball players ever — walk away as a free agent while gaining nothing in return.

This season kicked off with Moreno telling the Orange County Register about a survey supposedly revealing that winning wasn’t “a top priority” for Angels fans. The Angels hadn’t made the playoffs in 11 years, hadn’t finished with a winning record since 2015, had landed in last place in their division for the last two years — and that’s what he offered as a speck of hope? No wonder the team is on pace to lose 100 games for the first time in franchise history. No wonder disgusted fans have protested both inside and outside Angel Stadium all summer.

At the only game I went to this year — a sparsely attended afternoon snoozer against the Chicago White Sox — I found the stadium more beat-up than ever: peeling paint, beat-up seats, tinny PA system. For about $25 each, my friends and I bought tickets behind the first-base dugout that would have cost hundreds of dollars at Dodger Stadium.

Billboards along Southern California freeways have broadcast the Angels’ desperate attempts to draw in fans via pathetic promotions. Fireworks every Saturday. A bobblehead giveaway of light-hitting shortstop Zach Neto, who never has made an All-Star team. A “yard sale” that sounds like a giant casting off of crappy memorabilia a week away from the trash can.

Angels fans wave signs and urge owner Arte Moreno to sell the team to an ownership group willing to invest more in winning during a pregame protest at Angel Stadium.

(Joaquin Ruiz / For The Times)

I never cared for the Angels, but I always wanted them to do well. Any success they achieved rubbed off on my hometown, as it did during that magical 2002 run.

I also wanted Moreno, the first Latino to own a major professional sports team, to succeed, so his fellow Trump supporters might know that our kind can excel at the highest echelons of American society, if only we get the chance.

But for the last few years, I cheered each time the Angels lost. I wanted them to tank, to forever seal Moreno’s legacy as a loser. To serve as a warning to all professional sports owners that they can abuse a host city and its fan base for only so long before people revolt by just not caring.

Good luck to Kroenke as he tries to resuscitate a franchise deader than a stump in the Petrified Forest.

Shelley Fabares’ cause of death has been revealed.

Fabares was known best for her television roles , including Christine Armstrong on the ’90s sitcom “Coach,” Francine Webster on the 1970s sitcom “One Day at a Time” and Mary Stone on “The Donna Reed Show,” as well as her Billboard Hot 100 song “Johnny Angel” and appearances opposite Elvis Presley in “Spinout,” “Clambake” and “Girl Happy.”

The actor died Saturday in Los Angeles surrounded by loved ones after battling pneumonia, her family told The Times on Thursday. In the 1990s, Fabares fell ill, but doctors struggled to pin down what the problem was. After years of health problems, she was diagnosed with autoimmune hepatitis. Doctors ultimately discovered severe liver deterioration, and she spent nearly two years on a waiting list for a liver transplant. She received the lifesaving surgery in the fall of 2000.

In 2011, Fabares told PBS Houston that after suffering liver failure and facing death, her outlook on life completely changed. “It really brought home the fragility of life and how fast everything can change and how extraordinarily lucky we are to be alive, and to have this opportunity to be here, and in my case, to get really an entire second chance,” she said during the appearance. “It does make things more precious.”

She said that, after the close call and lengthy recovery, she feared death less.

“To her family and friends, Shelley was a source of love, strength, laughter, and comfort,” Fabares’ husband, “MASH” actor Mike Farrell, said in a statement.

“She was a devoted wife, cherished stepmother, daughter, sister, niece, aunt, family member, and loyal friend whose warmth, generosity, humor, and grace made an enduring difference in the lives of everyone who knew her. She had a remarkable ability to make people feel welcomed, valued, and cared for.

“For millions, Shelley was a beloved actress whose work became part of the fabric of American television and film. … But to those closest to her, her greatest legacy was personal: the love she gave so freely, the friendships she treasured, and the family bonds she held dear.

“We will remember Shelley for her kindness, loyalty, wit, courage, and beautiful spirit. We will miss her deeply — not only as a celebrated performer, but as the loving and extraordinary person she was in our everyday lives.

“We are heartbroken by her loss, yet profoundly grateful for the years we shared with her and for the joy, compassion, and love she brought to so many. We ask that our family’s privacy be respected as we grieve. We take comfort in knowing that Shelley’s work and the memories she created with those who loved her will continue to live on.”

She is survived by her husband and her daughter, Erin.

When you’re a Hollywood icon, everyone in town has a story about you. But with Dolly Parton, so do visitors of a 160-acre Tennessee theme park.

I waited for what felt like my entire life to see Dollywood. As a theme park journalist, it was the absolute summit of my professional bucket list — always close yet somehow out of reach. Pigeon Forge, Tenn., like many regional gems, thrives from its proximity to nearby towns but is a haul and a half to get to from Los Angeles. (Consider it no coincidence that Delta Airlines canceled our flight there on two separate occasions.)

My friends and I wore Dolly and Mickey Mouse T-shirts for the occasion.

(Carlye Wisel)

After a failed attempt in 2025, my crew of friends rallied to at long last make the successful pilgrimage to the country crooner’s compound earlier this spring. Once we checked into our Lincoln Logs rental cabin and reality hit that we’d actually made it — cowboy boots on the ground! — we realized all four of us were unusually clueless about what came next.

As Disney obsessives, my friends and I know theme parks, but had no barometer for what to expect from … a celebrity-themed one. Would it feel worn-down and somewhat sad? Would they smell the coastal elite media bias on us? Was the cinnamon bread actually that good?!

Of course, it was all perfect. Gloriously lush, vast and yet somehow deeply quaint, it was jarringly unexpected in the best of ways.

The 12,000-pound Dollywood Eagle is the mascot for the park’s winged roller-coaster, the Wild Eagle.

(Amy Harris / Invision / AP)

Mornings at Dollywood were spent wandering the now-relocated bald eagle sanctuary and crafting village, afternoons were spent riding black bears, coasters and log flumes. We watched candle-dipping artisans at work with wide eyes, heard the screaming whistle of the authentic steam locomotive train, and perused each room of the Dolly Parton Experience museum with glee. By the second day, one friend was walking arm-in-arm toward the cinnamon bread grist mill with its cashier. There was a palpable kindness that emanated throughout, as though every employee was working in her honor, whether performing in a show alongside her blood relatives or selling bedazzled tank tops.

The glorious cinnamon bread at Dollywood.

(Carlye Wisel)

Standing in front of the Grist Mill, a.k.a., the home of the cinnamon bread.

(Carlye Wisel)

And then there were the rides. As for enduring monuments, Elvis fanatics have Graceland, Beatles obsessives have Abbey Road, but Dolly? Dolly acolytes have a wooden-steel coaster so intense it can pop your boob right out of your bra. (In retrospect, my friend’s incident was a perfectly unintended homage to the busty star.)

With funnel cakes in the shape of her beloved butterfly and fashion exhibits with eye-popping heels and wigs, Dolly Parton’s theme park has history, entertainment, reverence. She was inviting us into her figurative and literal home — the tour bus she resided in for over a decade, with an overzealous guide to boot. In fact, most employees couldn’t wait to talk about Dolly, and neither could we. To be here is to be close to Dolly Parton, but to work here seems almost spiritual.

The Lightning Rod roller coaster is intense.

(Carlye Wisel)

At some point between the blacksmithery heat, second loaf of cinnamon bread and feeling my soul leave my body aboard a haunted coal mine coaster, it hit me that this simply will never happen again. The splintering of mass media, the confluence of a cultural icon whose priorities are so admirable — the zeitgeist will simply never again support someone so pure of heart. Who else could pull off an eponymous theme park without it feeling brazenly self-serving?

After all, Dollywood isn’t just a pile of rides in the Great Smoky Mountains. Rooted in authenticity, service and philanthropy, they’re honoring Appalachian culture by forging iron and blowing glass in their Craftsman’s Valley, while inviting you in to do the same. The Imagination Playhouse, a live musical staging of children’s books, promotes her literacy initiative and its work gifting hundreds of millions of free books. Even the property’s most expensive hotel room is a low-key fundraiser for the Dollywood Foundation. In the era of budget cuts, corporate consolidations and layoffs, it feels like a respite from the fiscally overwhelming sides of America’s other theme parks these days, but that’s always been its objective. Dolly’s original investment in Silver Dollar City, the park’s predecessor, was purely to give back to the community and support jobs in the area.

Dollywood’s Palace Theater has hosted iconic shows through the decades.

(Amy Harris / Invision / AP)

Until her death Tuesday at age 80, Dolly was the closest thing we had to a modern day Walt Disney mixed with Mr. Rogers’ kindness and Miss Piggy’s flair. A true Renaissance woman who pulled herself out of a state of poverty that for many seems unimaginable (until, of course, you overstay your welcome ogling the exhibit of her two-room Tennessee Mountain childhood home, which I obviously have).

Dolly Parton was a living testament to what’s important in life: treating others the way you want to be treated, while also looking hot as hell. How unbelievable it is to have been alive at the same time as such a remarkable woman, and to have a place we can forever visit to celebrate her.

All I can do after the end to such a historic run is to urge you: Don’t wait as long as I did to experience Dollywood’s magic firsthand. Make the pilgrimage. Go there and see it yourself, in her honor.

And maybe, just maybe, wear a more supportive bra on Lightning Rod.

Fans gathered at Dollywood after she died at the age of 80.

(Melissa Sue Gerrits / Getty Images)

Out on a wooden platform extending over San Diego’s Mission Bay, young women sway from side to side, riding an imaginary wave to the beats. Steps away, a man does the “Crank Dat” dance as a young child bounces on his shoulders in gleeful entrancement. Vendors weave through the packed crowd hawking cans of beer, hard seltzer and jalapeño-tequila and cherry vodka Jell-O shots, served in plastic syringes.

“Take a sip of water now,” Soulja Boy tells the crowd after performing his booty-shaking anthem “Donk.” He still has an hour to go.

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Much of the audience looks like clones of the star rapper, dressed in extremely oversized white tees, baggy denim, thick gold chains, tilted snapbacks and white-framed sunglasses with words written across the lenses. As the sun dips below the horizon, a fleet of onlookers on jet skis and boats idle on the water to catch a peek of the vivacious scene.

The concert has all of the energy of a 2000s MTV “Spring Break” or BET Spring Bling special. Except here, parents can bring their kids along for the festivities and check out a penguin exhibit or ride a roller coaster all in the same night.

“Usually I just come here for the rides and watching animals, but the concert is time for the parents to have fun,” says Ricky Roman of San Diego.

It’s all part of SeaWorld San Diego’s Summer Spectacular, an annual concert series that just wrapped up at the park’s Bayside Amphitheater. The lineup was packed with beloved hip-hop and R&B throwback artists like Too $hort, Ginuwine, Ashanti, Warren G and E-40. What began as a way to reintroduce locals and entice newcomers to the 62-year-old marine park, which is known for its shows and programming focusing on aquatic life, has turned into a multigenerational phenomenon and one of the season’s most anticipated events.

Paul Wall co-headlined a July concert with Soulja Boy at SeaWorld San Diego’s summer concert series.

“The people watching is crazy,” says Bootleg Kev, a hip-hop radio personality who hosted the recent Soulja Boy concert, which was co-headlined by Houston rapper Paul Wall.

He describes the vibe of the event. “It’s in the middle of the water, Shamu is like feet away. There’s a lot of parents in here getting twisted. There’s hella babies.” (It should be noted that Summer Spectacular does not feature killer whales or any live animals.)

Though SeaWorld has hosted the event since 2019, it’s taken years to find the right formula and the concert series has only recently taken off.

“There were certain acts that just filled the house and certain ones that didn’t,” says the park’s president, Tyler Carter, adding that early performances swung drastically from hip-hop to Christian rock entertainers. But after hosting a successful show with rappers and teen sensations Bow Wow and Soulja Boy (who’ve performed at SeaWorld multiple times), Carter and his team wondered, “How do we lean into the nostalgia that Southern California millennials love?” he says. The answer was hip-hop, R&B and pop acts from the late 1990s and early aughts.

Their hypothesis was confirmed when footage of a Ying Yang Twins performance went viral in 2025. Executives had found an unexpected pairing that works: Inviting people to the theme park — a place many associate with childhood and simpler times — to experience the music they grew up listening to.

SeaWorld has faced a number of challenges since the 2010s, many stemming from the intense public criticism over its captive orca breeding program, which the company ended in 2016. SeaWorld’s parent company, United Parks & Resorts, has reported a general decline in attendance, revenue and earnings across its parks, most recently in the 2025 fiscal year. Park officials say the concert series, which also takes place at SeaWorld’s Orlando and San Antonio locations, has helped boost ticket sales and brand awareness.

What helps make the event effective is its lower barrier of entry. While tickets to throwback concerts or festivals can easily cost upward of $100 a ticket, SeaWorld’s shows are included with a regular park ticket (starts at $99.99) or an annual pass. Seating is first come, first served, but guests can purchase a reserved spot to guarantee a prime spot. Given that the shows happen every week throughout the summer, many annual pass holders attend each one.

“It’s lowkey a free concert,” says pass holder Juanita Jones, a San Diego resident who was wearing a custom graphic tee with her and Soulja Boy’s faces imprinted on it. She and her friends get a personalized shirt made for every show.

Although SeaWorld has been hosting the summer shows since 2019, they have only recently taken off.

Ricky Roman grew up going to SeaWorld and now takes his two children to the park on a weekly basis. But on this day, which was also his 29th birthday, he decided to leave his kids at home.

“Usually I just come here for the rides and watching animals, but the concert is time for the parents to have fun,” he says.

Jackson flew in from Washington, D.C., with a group of college friends to celebrate a 40th birthday at the show, after seeing several unfiltered videos from the past shows — most notably a clip of a mother twerking on a bleacher seat with a baby strapped to her chest in a carrier during a Ying Yang Twins performance in June.

SeaWorld executives encourage attendees to come early or stay after the concert to check out the many animal exhibits at the marine park.

“We’re millennials and we’ve been seeing this on TikTok. We were like, ‘It’s starting to look like it’s getting out of hand. Let’s go before this gets out of control,’” she says, laughing.

While some people go solely for the concerts, others come early or stay late to explore the park, which stays open roughly two to three hours after the show. Even the headliners check out the marine life, Carter says.

“When the Ying Yang Twins were here, I was riding rollercoasters with them,” he says. “I ended up taking Baby Bash’s kids around during sound check and we rode Shipwreck Rapids three times in a row and were soaking wet, having a blast.”

While the concerts have been mostly welcomed by locals, outside protests still occasionally find their way to the amphitheater. During Ashanti’s July performance, PETA activists sailed a 49-foot yacht displaying a “SeaWorld Kills” banner in protest of animal welfare at the park and Miami rapper Trina received letters regarding her performance last year.

SeaWorld officials, however, encourage critics to check it out for themselves.

“Our animal care team does an incredible job caring for these animals,” says Carter, noting that the park performs “significant amounts of rescues” per year.

Carter and Jackie Plaza, the park’s vice president of marketing, are already planning for next season’s lineup that will be announced in January. In the meantime, SeaWorld fans can check out its other music programming including the Bayside Bands, Brew & BBQ concerts, which feature performances from Uncle Kracker on Aug. 22 and Skillet on Aug. 29.

As attendees make their way out of the venue, excitement lingers through the air. Groups of friends are still singing the words to their favorite Soulja Boy songs and parents are strapping their antsy toddlers into strollers. A lengthy line begins to form in front of the amphitheater where an orca show will happen.

“That was wild,” one guest says.

A friend agrees. “Now, let’s go see some animals.”

Audience members are splashed during an “Orca Encounter” live presentation at SeaWorld San Diego.