Years ago I visited Treetops camp, the site of a majestic baobab tree that stands in the heart of one of the oldest and largest of Zambia's national parks, Kafue National Park. It still holds a special place in my heart. Sitting around a campfire, I learned the legend of the mighty tree, how it had been scorched by the flames of an unrequited love. It takes 10 people with outstretched arms, hands linked end to end, to encircle the trunk of "the tree that eats maidens" - or Kondakamwale.

As was standard for the era, the NBA's Indiana Pacers held a three-day rookie and free agent camp in 1979 before their formal training camp. Featuring recent college players and journeyman pros, the camp was unremarkable except for the historic inclusion of a 5-foot-9 shooting guard from UCLA named Ann Meyers. A 1993 inductee into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, she changed her name to Ann Meyers Drysdale after her 1986 marriage to Los Angeles Dodger pitching great Don Drysdale.

Two days before his sixth straight WBC heavyweight championship defense, this time against Bermane Stiverne, Deontay Wilder sits in the balcony of Manhattan's Edison Ballroom, staring down at - no, through - the throngs of media waiting for him to speak. Moments later, onstage, he'll stare through Stiverne too."Once I hit 15 knockouts in a row, I said, 'We might have something here,'" says Wilder, dishing on his beginnings.

When my son, Zachary, was in third grade, he didn’t have many friends. Zero, to be exact. Part of the reason was that he’s shy and a bit of a loner, but a larger part of it was the fact that the world has changed. Children don’t really go out and play anymore. We keep them inside lest the pervert next door snatches them up or a rogue Rottweiler attacks them, or any other number of the bad things that have befallen children since the dawn of time.

Let's start with real talk: In the English-speaking world, and above all in the U.S., Latin American literature is all too often pigeonholed, expected to fulfill notions of a quaint, exotic, backward region doling out magical stories. This is not Gabriel García Márquez's fault; One Hundred Years of Solitude is a magnificent, ground-shattering novel that deserves every ounce of recognition it receives. But it came out in 1967. Plenty has happened since then.

Maybe this is your nightmare: You return from your job every night to an empty apartment, cold and echoey. After you suddenly die - this is a nightmare, remember, it isn't necessarily going to happen - your cat eats your face. Unless you don't have a cat, in which case the ghost of your apartment's previous inhabitant (and the ghost of his cat) eats your face.

Watching this year's University of Kentucky basketball team has not been easy. Between flashes of greatness and glaring periods of mindlessness, Wildcat fans have been left more puzzled than pleased. Coach John Calipari knows that his young squad - with eight freshmen, no upperclassmen and an average age of 19.43 years - remains an experiment, a combustible concoction waiting to blow.

OZY and JPMorgan Chase & Co. have partnered to bring you an inside look at how entrepreneurs and their good business are helping the communities around them. Enjoy the rest of our special series here.If you had asked me fresh out of law school if I would take 11 years off from my fast-track career, I know what my answer would have been: an unequivocal no. But life has a way of throwing things at you when it's time for a reboot.

My mother used to call it jungle foot rot. I've also heard it called trench foot. I don't know whether it's, in fact, the same thing, but whatever. Rose and Cliff. My grandparents. Both of them had it. I guess from sleeping next to each other. They obviously didn't borrow each other's shoes. I have no idea whether or not they spooned at night, but somehow one's foot pollinated the other's foot and spawned this new member of our family. Then it spread to its twin. Jungle foot rot. My mother called it that.

If the past couple of years are any indication, the media in the United States, and far beyond, is facing a crisis. Now a household term, "fake news" has empowered populists and other dubious forces, while public trust in traditional news outlets has steadily eroded. Half-truths and hostility seem to have overtaken the political conversation.Part of the problem, newsroom leaders believe, is that journalists haven't explained themselves well enough.