Find what four things have in common when they seem unrelated
Each morning, the New York Times places sixteen words before its readers like stones in a path — inviting them to find the hidden order beneath the surface of sports history, language, and shared human legacy. Today's puzzle, the 571st edition of Connections: Sports Edition, draws from baseball's foundational calls, soccer's attacking roles, the rare inheritance of athletic greatness across generations, and the quiet ambiguity of the word 'range.' It is, in its small way, a daily reminder that knowledge is pattern recognition, and that play is one of the oldest forms of learning.
- Sixteen words sit on the board, and the clock of daily ritual is already running — solve it before midnight or wait another full day.
- The purple category weaponizes language itself, hiding a single connecting word behind terms that span basketball courts, golf courses, and military distances.
- Four family names — Alou, Bonds, Fielder, Griffey — carry the weight of fathers and sons who both reached the highest level of the same sport, a thread easy to miss if history isn't your strength.
- Players are allowed only four mistakes before the board locks them out, turning each guess into a small, consequential decision.
- The puzzle resets at midnight, erasing today's grid and replacing it with one designed to be slightly harder, sustaining the cycle of daily challenge and return.
The New York Times has carried its word-game ambitions into sports territory, and each morning a new grid of sixteen words waits for solvers willing to find the hidden threads connecting them. Built in partnership with The Athletic, Connections: Sports Edition follows the same rules as its parent game — group four words by a shared theme, clear the board, and do it with no more than four mistakes. Color signals difficulty: yellow is forgiving, purple is not.
Today's puzzle, number 571, leans heavily on baseball and soccer. The yellow category is the most accessible — BALL, OUT, SAFE, and STRIKE are the calls an umpire makes, the spoken punctuation of every inning. Green moves to soccer, where the player closest to the opponent's goal answers to several names: FORWARD, STRIKER, TARGET MAN, and NO. 9.
The blue category asks for something rarer — knowledge of baseball's family dynasties. ALOU, BONDS, FIELDER, and GRIFFEY are surnames carried by fathers and sons who both reached the major leagues, a lineage that speaks to talent, inheritance, and the particular weight of a famous last name. Purple, the hardest, hides a single word behind four seemingly unrelated terms: 3-POINT, DRIVING, LONG, and MID all precede RANGE, pulling from basketball, golf, and the language of distance itself.
At midnight the board clears, and tomorrow's sixteen words arrive slightly harder than today's — a quiet escalation designed to keep players returning, chasing the small satisfaction of a cleared grid.
The New York Times has extended its daily word-game empire into sports territory, and on this April morning, puzzle solvers are facing a grid of sixteen words that demand knowledge stretching across baseball diamonds, soccer pitches, and the family trees of professional athletes.
Connections: Sports Edition works like its parent game—find the four words that share a hidden thread, remove them, and repeat until the board clears or mistakes pile up to four. The New York Times built this version in partnership with The Athletic, its sports journalism property, and it's available on both web and mobile. The color coding tells you how hard each category will be: yellow is gentlest, then green, then blue, and purple sits at the top of the difficulty pyramid. Rearrange the board whenever you need to. Share your results when you're done.
Today's puzzle leans on baseball and soccer primarily, with a detour into family legacy. The yellow category—the easiest—asks what an umpire calls out during a game. The words are BALL, OUT, SAFE, and STRIKE. These are the fundamental utterances that shape every inning, the calls that end plays and send runners home or back to the dugout. A green category pivots to soccer, where an attacking player goes by several names depending on formation and league: FORWARD, STRIKER, TARGET MAN, and the numerical designation NO. 9. These are the players tasked with finishing chances, the ones who live closest to the opponent's goal line.
The blue category reaches into baseball history and asks you to know your family names. ALOU, BONDS, FIELDER, and GRIFFEY are all surnames shared by fathers and sons who both made it to the major leagues—a rare achievement that speaks to genetics, coaching, and the particular kind of pressure that comes with following a parent into the same profession. The purple category, the hardest, plays with language. The words are 3-POINT, DRIVING, LONG, and MID, and they all precede the word RANGE. A three-point range is basketball. A driving range is where golfers practice. Long range and mid-range describe distances in shooting sports or military contexts.
The puzzle resets tomorrow at midnight, and a new set of sixteen words will take its place. The difficulty compounds over time—each day's puzzle is meant to be slightly trickier than the last, a gentle escalation designed to keep regular players engaged and challenged. For those who solve it, there's the small satisfaction of clearing the board and sharing the result. For those who don't, there's always tomorrow.
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does the Times keep making these word games? Aren't they just Wordle variations?
Wordle was the proof of concept—that a simple, daily puzzle could become a genuine habit for millions. Connections is different because it's about lateral thinking, not deduction. You're not narrowing down letters; you're finding what four things have in common when they seem unrelated.
And the sports version—is that just a cash grab, or does it serve a real audience?
The Athletic is a subscription property now owned by the Times. This game keeps sports fans engaged in the ecosystem. It's not cynical; it's smart product design. A soccer fan might not care about Wordle, but they'll play this.
The categories today seem straightforward. Is that typical?
No. Today is relatively accessible. The yellow and green are obvious if you know sports. But the purple category—the one about range—that's where it gets tricky. You need to think across sports, not just within one.
What happens if you get all four mistakes?
The game ends. You see the solution, and you're done until tomorrow. There's no second chance, no extra lives. That constraint is what makes it tense.
Do people actually share their results?
Yes. Like Wordle, you can post an emoji grid that shows your performance without spoiling the answer. It becomes a small social ritual—proof you solved it, without giving away the puzzle.