The Dream and Valkyries are tied at 2-2 after four absorbing games. Many in America would rather we revisited the national anthem debate

When Tyler Perry leading lady Crystal Renee took center stage at State Farm Arena to sing the national anthem before the Atlanta Dream’s WNBA finals clash with the Golden State Valkyries on Saturday afternoon, a smattering of photographers, game officials and event security took their familiar places around her as the capacity crowd stood for the flag. The teams, as is now customary, spent that time in their locker rooms. As soon as the lights went back up, the teams returned to the floor to resume their shootarounds. Anyone genuinely invested in the finals would have been unfazed by them briefly stepping away – if they remembered it at all after the Valkyries’ 67-62 win tied the series at two games apiece. But for many watching the game, basketball is beside the point.

Seven years ago, Jay-Z declared that the culture had “moved past kneeling” and similar national anthem protests, seemingly sounding the death knell for an era of sports activism that had helped raise awareness of racial disparities as a broader social movement gathered force. The line cemented his partnership with the NFL as the league bowed to political pressure to crack down on anthem protests, with other major US sports eventually following the NFL’s lead. But rightwing media and politicians never got the memo. They’re still making sports a battleground for patriotism, with basketball as the war’s chief casualty.

People under 35 are hunting for no-frills rides they can pay for in cash and fix themselves – defying expectations to take on steep loans

Jack Price joined the marines in fall 2021 knowing he would need a car to get around base and that he couldn’t afford a new one. A joyless, month-long search through dealer classifieds and Facebook Marketplace listings ended when his mother spotted a 2010 Volkswagen Jetta posted on her office listserv by a co-worker moving abroad. With just 60,000 miles (96,560km) on the meter, the car (a manual!) was mechanically sound, and the air conditioning, sunroof and Bluetooth radio worked too. At $6,000, it was a steal. Price paid in cash.

Five years on, the Jetta, which he called the Pewter Pebble, is still carting him from A to B in unassuming style. “I’ve completely driven it into the ground,” says the 30-year-old, who lives in Los Angeles. “All over bases, cross-country a couple times, not really lovingly. I get so much crap from people, but not people my age.”

Our writers give their verdicts on the new season, which tips off Tuesday. Who will claim the title? And which youngster will make the superstar leap?

Seeing all the fruits borne of an incredible summer of player movement. It feels like three years ago that Giannis Antetokounmpo was traded to the Heat, because since then, Jaylen Brown and LeBron James went to the 76ers, and a ton of other deck chairs were reshuffled. This is the most intriguing NBA opening week in eons. Claire de Lune

The once heroic boxer showcases a frankness in this compelling new series but also an unwillingness to take accountability for his darkest moments

Mike Tyson never envisioned old age. And yet here he still is, having outlived his parents, Brooklynites of ill repute who died when he was a teenager, and the Brownsville tough guys who teased him for being scrawny and having a lisp. Here he is after doing hard time for rape in his prime, winning and losing great fortunes and battling addiction to drink, drugs and fame. Here he still is, 60 years old and a grandfather now, mixing it up with Jake Paul in the ring, opening up to manosphere-adjacent podcasters, bobbing into an impromptu White House press briefing – Māori face-tattoo unmistakably in the frame – while on a DC visit to buck up his old pal as his party faces a bleak midterm forecast. “I don’t have to exist,” the champ says in Tyson, the latest four-part vanity project on his turbulent life and times. “Some reason, something allowed me to exist.”

In his heyday, Tyson was a mesmerizing sporting event unto himself – the ruthless knockout machine who struck fear into opponents at first sight, felled them in seconds and looked back on the carnage with cool nonchalance. His darkest episodes – the combustive relationship with actor Robin Givens, the six-year prison sentence for rape, biting off Evander Holyfield’s ear – only deepened the public fascination with him, adding to the lore of boxing’s baddest man. In the winter of his life, Tyson’s self-reflection, so deep it tips into self-parody, is the enthralling spectacle now. And if generations of Black comedians have proved anything, it’s that the appetite for Mike Tyson impersonations is inexhaustible.