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11 of the Most Dominant Seasons in Sports History

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Here’s a look at 11 of the most dominant statistical seasons in various sports at the pro and college levels.  

1. Babe Ruth, 1921

The Bambino’s 59 home runs were more than eight American and National League teams hit in 1921. He led the league in RBIs (171) and runs (177) while batting .378, walked a league-high 145 times, had 17 steals, and amassed 457 total bases, a single-season record. Ruth’s 1921 season was equally remarkable when measured by his WAR (Wins Above Replacement), a comprehensive statistic that attempts to quantify how many wins a player contributes to his team’s win total over what a fictitious “replacement player” would contribute. The statistic factors in a player’s offense, defense, position, and the year in which he played. In 1921, Ruth’s 13.9 WAR led the league, according to Fangraphs.com, and was the second-highest single-season WAR in history. 

2. Wayne Gretzky, 1981-82

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There’s little question that The Great One had the greatest individual season in NHL history, but one could debate which season was his most dominant. Gretzky, who was 20 at the start of the 1981-82 season, set a new record for goals and points while playing for the Edmonton Oilers. His 92 goals shattered the previous record of 76 set by Phil Esposito during the 1970-71 season, and his 212 points were 65 more than Mike Bossy. Another candidate for Gretzky’s best season is 1984-85. He led the NHL in goals (73) and assists (135) and set a single-season record for plus-minus (+98), a statistic that measures the difference in goals for and goals against while a player is on the ice.

3. Wilt Chamberlain, 1961-62

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Chamberlain’s incredible season with the Philadelphia Warriors is best remembered for the 100-point game he had on March 2, 1962 against the New York Knicks, but his dominance wasn’t limited to a single outing. Chamberlain led the league with 50.4 points and 25.6 rebounds per game. Elgin Baylor was the league’s second-highest scorer that season with 38.3 points per game, but he played in 32 fewer games. Chamberlain’s Player Efficiency Rating (PER), a stat developed by John Hollinger that attempts to summarize a player’s statistical accomplishments in a single number, was 31.6, the second-highest of all time. (Chamberlain’s PER was a record 31.8 the following season.) 

4. Barry Sanders, 1988

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Sanders’ junior season at Oklahoma State was one for the ages. The future Detroit Lions star rushed for 2,628 yards and 39 touchdowns, NCAA records that still stand 25 years later. Sanders, who won the Heisman Trophy that year, averaged an absurd 7.6 yards per carry and eclipsed 300 yards in four games.

5. Lew Alcindor, 1966-67

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In his varsity basketball debut as a sophomore in 1966, Alcindor broke 19 UCLA records. He averaged 29 points per game and, in a game against Washington State in February 1967, scored 61 points on 26 field goals. How dominant was the man who would later change his name to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? After the season, the NCAA banned dunking until 1976. Honorable mention: Pete Maravich’s senior season in 1970, when the LSU guard averaged a ridiculous 44.5 points per game. 

6. Dan Marino, 1984

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Long before the NFL turned into the pass-happy league that it is today, Marino became the first quarterback to eclipse 5000 passing yards in a season. Playing for the Miami Dolphins, he set a single-season record for touchdowns (48) in 1984 while completing 64 percent of his passes and averaging an impressive 9.0 yards per attempt. Tom Brady and Peyton Manning have since broken his touchdown record, but Marino’s season still stands as one of the greatest in sports. 

7. Tiger Woods, 2000

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Woods won nine of the 20 PGA tour events he entered in 2000, including three majors, and set a tour record for lowest scoring average. None of Woods’ performances were more impressive—or dominating—than his 15-stroke victory at the U.S. Open in Pebble Beach, Calif. Woods finished 12 under par, while runners-up Miguel Angel Jimenez and Ernie Els were both three over. Honorable mention: Byron Nelson, who won 18 of 35 PGA tournaments, including 11 in a row in 1945. 

8. Jimmy Connors, 1974

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Connors went 99-4 and won 15 tournaments in 1974, including three Grand Slam titles. Connors would’ve been the favorite to win the French Open as well, but tournament organizers barred him from participating after he signed with World Team Tennis’s Baltimore Banners. 

9. Martina Navratilova, 1983

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Navratilova went 86-1 in 1983 and captured three Grand Slam titles. Her only loss of the year was to Kathy Horvath in the semifinals of the French Open. The following year, Navratilova set a women’s tennis record with 74 consecutive wins.

10. Secretariat, 1973

Secretariat.com

Secretariat won the Triple Crown in dominating fashion, setting records in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes and Belmont Stakes that still stand today. Secretariat won the first two legs of the Triple Crown by 2.5 lengths before taking the Belmont by a record 31 lengths in 2:24. The second-fastest time in Belmont Stakes history is a full two seconds slower. Following Secretariat’s death, an autopsy revealed that his heart was an abnormally large 22 pounds, more than twice the size of a typical thoroughbred. [Note: The original version of this story incorrectly identified Secretariat as the last winner of the Triple Crown. Our apologies to Seattle Slew and Affirmed.]

11. Richard Petty, 1967

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The NASCAR legend won 27 of his 48 starts and finished in the top five in 38 races in 1967. From August to October, Petty won 10 consecutive races, which remains a Sprint Cup Series record. 


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(c) Field Museum, CSZ5974c, photographer Carl Akeley, used with permission.
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Animals
The Time Carl Akeley Killed a Leopard With His Bare Hands
(c) Field Museum, CSZ5974c, photographer Carl Akeley, used with permission.
(c) Field Museum, CSZ5974c, photographer Carl Akeley, used with permission.

Carl Akeley had plenty of close encounters with animals in his long career as a naturalist and taxidermist. There was the time a bull elephant had charged him on Mount Kenya, nearly crushing him; the time he was unarmed and charged by three rhinos who missed him, he said later, only because the animals had such poor vision; and the time the tumbling body of a silverback gorilla he'd just shot almost knocked him off a cliff. This dangerous tradition began on his very first trip to Africa, where, on an otherwise routine hunting trip, the naturalist became the prey.

It was 1896. Following stints at Ward’s Natural Science Establishment and the Milwaukee Public Museum, Akeley, 32, had just been appointed chief taxidermist for Chicago’s Field Museum of Natural History, and he was tasked with gathering new specimens to bolster the 3-year-old museum's fledgling collections. After more than four months of travel and numerous delays, the expedition had reached the plains of Ogaden, a region of Ethiopia, where Akeley hunted for specimens for days without success.

Then, one morning, Akeley managed to shoot a hyena shortly after he left camp. Unfortunately, “one look at his dead carcass was enough to satisfy me that he was not as desirable as I had thought, for his skin was badly diseased,” he later wrote in his autobiography, In Brightest Africa. He shot a warthog, a fine specimen, but what he really wanted was an ostrich—so he left the carcass behind, climbed a termite hill to look for the birds, then took off after a pair he saw in the tall grass.

But the ostriches eluded him at every turn, so he returned to camp and grabbed the necessary tools to cut off the head of his warthog. However, when he and a “pony boy” got to the spot where he’d left the carcass, all that remained was a bloodstain. “A crash in the bushes at one side led me in a hurry in that direction and a little later I saw my pig's head in the mouth of a hyena travelling up the slope of a ridge out of range,” Akeley wrote. “That meant that my warthog specimen was lost, and, having got no ostriches, I felt it was a pretty poor day.”

As the sun began to set, Akeley and the boy turned back to camp. “As we came near to the place where I had shot the diseased hyena in the morning, it occurred to me that perhaps there might be another hyena about the carcass, and feeling a bit ‘sore’ at the tribe for stealing my warthog, I thought I might pay off the score by getting a good specimen of a hyena for the collections,” he wrote. But that carcass was gone, too, with a drag trail in the sand leading into the bush.

Akeley heard a sound, and, irritated, “did a very foolish thing,” firing into the bush without seeing what he was shooting at. He knew, almost immediately, that he'd made a mistake: The answering snarl told him that what he’d fired at was not a hyena at all, but a leopard.

The taxidermist began thinking of all the things he knew about the big cats. A leopard, he wrote,

“... has all the qualities that gave rise to the ‘nine lives’ legend: To kill him you have got to kill him clear to the tip of his tail. Added to that, a leopard, unlike a lion, is vindictive. A wounded leopard will fight to a finish practically every time, no matter how many chances it has to escape. Once aroused, its determination is fixed on fight, and if a leopard ever gets hold, it claws and bites until its victim is in shreds. All this was in my mind, and I began looking about for the best way out of it, for I had no desire to try conclusions with a possibly wounded leopard when it was so late in the day that I could not see the sights of my rifle.”

Akeley beat a hasty retreat. He’d return the next morning, he figured, when he could see better; if he’d wounded the leopard, he could find it again then. But the leopard had other ideas. It pursued him, and Akeley fired again, even though he couldn’t see enough to aim. “I could see where the bullets struck as the sand spurted up beyond the leopard. The first two shots went above her, but the third scored. The leopard stopped and I thought she was killed.”

The leopard had not been killed. Instead, she charged—and Akeley’s magazine was empty. He reloaded the rifle, but as he spun to face the leopard, she leapt on him, knocking it out of his hands. The 80-pound cat landed on him. “Her intention was to sink her teeth into my throat and with this grip and her forepaws hang to me while with her hind claws she dug out my stomach, for this pleasant practice is the way of leopards,” Akeley wrote. “However, happily for me, she missed her aim.” The wounded cat had landed to one side; instead of Akeley’s throat in her mouth, she had his upper right arm, which had the fortuitous effect of keeping her hind legs off his stomach.

It was good luck, but the fight of Akeley’s life had just begun.

Using his left hand, he attempted to loosen the leopard’s hold. “I couldn't do it except little by little,” he wrote. “When I got grip enough on her throat to loosen her hold just a little she would catch my arm again an inch or two lower down. In this way I drew the full length of the arm through her mouth inch by inch.”

He felt no pain, he wrote, “only of the sound of the crushing of tense muscles and the choking, snarling grunts of the beast.” When his arm was nearly free, Akeley fell on the leopard. His right hand was still in her mouth, but his left hand was still on her throat. His knees were on her chest and his elbows in her armpits, “spreading her front legs apart so that the frantic clawing did nothing more than tear my shirt.”

It was a scramble. The leopard tried to twist around and gain the advantage, but couldn’t get purchase on the sand. “For the first time,” Akeley wrote, “I began to think and hope I had a chance to win this curious fight.”

He called for the boy, hoping he’d bring a knife, but received no response. So he held on to the animal and “continued to shove the hand down her throat so hard she could not close her mouth and with the other I gripped her throat in a stranglehold.” He bore down with his full weight on her chest, and felt a rib crack. He did it again—another crack. “I felt her relax, a sort of letting go, although she was still struggling. At the same time I felt myself weakening similarly, and then it became a question as to which would give up first.”

Slowly, her struggle ceased. Akeley had won. He lay there for a long time, keeping the leopard in his death grip. “After what seemed an interminable passage of time I let go and tried to stand, calling to the pony boy that it was finished.” The leopard, he later told Popular Science Monthly, had then shown signs of life; Akeley used the boy’s knife to make sure it was really, truly dead.

Akeley’s arm was shredded, and he was weak—so weak that he couldn’t carry the leopard back to camp. “And then a thought struck me that made me waste no time,” he told Popular Science. “That leopard has been eating the horrible diseased hyena I had killed. Any leopard bite is liable to give one blood poison, but this particular leopard’s mouth must have been exceptionally foul.”

He and the boy must have been quite the sight when they finally made it back to camp. His companions had heard the shots, and figured Akeley had either faced off with a lion or the natives; whatever the scenario, they figured Akeley would prevail or be defeated before they could get to him, so they kept on eating dinner. But when Akeley appeared, with “my clothes ... all ripped, my arm ... chewed into an unpleasant sight, [with] blood and dirt all over me,” he wrote in In Brightest Africa, “my appearance was quite sufficient to arrest attention.”

He demanded all the antiseptics the camp had to offer. After he'd been washed with cold water, “the antiseptic was pumped into every one of the innumerable tooth wounds until my arm was so full of the liquid that an injection in one drove it out of another,” he wrote. “During the process I nearly regretted that the leopard had not won.”

When that was done, Akeley was taken to his tent, and the dead leopard was brought in and laid out next to his cot. Her right hind leg was wounded—which, he surmised, had come from his first shot into the brush, and was what had thrown off her pounce—and she had a flesh wound in the back of her neck where his last shot had hit her, “from the shock of which she had instantly recovered.”

Not long after his close encounter with the leopard, the African expedition was cut short when its leader contracted malaria, and Akeley returned to Chicago. The whole experience, he wrote to a friend later, transported him back to a particular moment at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition, which he’d visited after creating taxidermy mounts for the event. “As I struggled to wrest my arm from the mouth of the leopard I recalled vividly a bronze at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, depicting the struggle between a man and bear, the man’s arm in the mouth of the bear,” he wrote. “I had stood in front of this bronze one afternoon with a doctor friend and we discussed the probable sensations of a man in this predicament, wondering whether or not the man would be sensible to the pain of the chewing and the rending of his flesh by the bear. I was thinking as the leopard tore at me that now I knew exactly what the sensations were, but that unfortunately I would not live to tell my doctor friend.”

In the moment, though, there had been no pain, “just the joy of a good fight,” Akeley wrote, “and I did live to tell my [doctor] friend all about it.”

Additional source: Kingdom Under Glass: A Tale of Obsession, Adventure, and One Man's Quest to Preserve the World's Great Animals

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Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons // Nigel Parry, USA Network
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crime
Meghan Markle Is Related to H.H. Holmes, America’s First Serial Killer, According to New Documentary
Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons // Nigel Parry, USA Network
Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons // Nigel Parry, USA Network

Between staging paparazzi photos and writing open letters to Prince Harry advising him to call off his wedding, Meghan Markle’s family has been keeping the media pretty busy lately. But it turns out that her bloodline's talent for grabbing headlines dates back much further than the announcement that Markle and Prince Harry were getting hitched—and for much more sinister reasons. According to Meet the Markles, a new television documentary produced for England’s Channel Four, the former Suits star has a distant relation to H.H. Holmes, America’s first serial killer.

The claim comes from Holmes’s great-great-grandson, American lawyer Jeff Mudgett, who recently discovered that he and Markle are eighth cousins. If that connection is correct, then it would mean that Markle, too, is related to Holmes.

While finding out that you’re related—however distantly—to a man believed to have murdered 27 people isn’t something you’d probably want to share with Queen Elizabeth II when asking her to pass the Yorkshire pudding over Christmas dinner, what makes the story even more interesting is that Mudgett believes that his great-great-grandpa was also Jack the Ripper!

Mudgett came to this conclusion based on Holmes’s personal diaries, which he inherited. In 2017, American Ripper—an eight-part History Channel series—investigated Mudgett’s belief that Holmes and Jack were indeed one in the same.

When asked about his connection to Markle, and their shared connection to Holmes—and, possibly, Jack the Ripper—Mudgett replied:

“We did a study with the FBI and CIA and Scotland Yard regarding handwriting analysis. It turns out [H. H. Holmes] was Jack the Ripper. This means Meghan is related to Jack the Ripper. I don’t think the Queen knows. I am not proud he is my ancestor. Meghan won’t be either.”

Shortly thereafter he clarified his comments via his personal Facebook page:

In the 130 years since Jack the Ripper terrorized London’s Whitechapel neighborhood, hundreds of names have been put forth as possible suspects, but authorities have never been able to definitively conclude who committed the infamous murders. So if Alice's Adventures in Wonderland author Lewis Carroll could have done it, why not the distant relative of the royal family's newest member?

[h/t: ID CrimeFeed]

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