Detroit Free Press

ATLANTIC CITY, N.J. -- He would not go down. He would not go down. No matter how many times Evander Holyfield hit him square on the mouth, flush in the stomach, smack on the head, George Foreman would not budge, would not slip, would not buckle. He would not go down. Somewhere in the middle of this heavyweight championship fight, it ceased to become about winning and became all about survival. The crowd was roaring, "George! George! George!" They screamed as he refused to even sit on a stool between rounds.

* Green Bay 20, Lions 13: The Lions are playing for league-wide respect. The Packers are playing to make the playoffs. The second is more desperate. Always go with desperation.* Miami 17, New England 6: Don Strock starts the game at quarterback, gets hurt, Shula calls on Bob Griese, who gets hurt, Shula calls on Earl Morrall, who gets hurt . . .

LOS ANGELES -- The hair! The hair! They are buzzing about his hair, his follicles, his "do", his mop, big brown crown. Does it move? Does it muss in a hurricane? Could he use it as a helmet? Could he melt it with anti-freeze? Does he comb it, or slide underneath it? Can he run his fingers through it, or does he need power tools? The hair! The hair! Jimmy Johnson hears all this talk about his hair, why he wears it in that Glen Campbell, early-1970's, part and dip and swirl back, half-country, half-lounge lizard, spray-until it turns-to- cement style. Such hair!

The van stops and the back door opens. Inside is a feast of garbage. Perfectly good food: coffee, bananas, crackers, frozen pizza, sugar, bread -- food someone was about to throw away."Lemme help you," says a homeless man in a ski cap and tattered shoes. He peers inside the van, like a child sneaking a peek at Christmas presents."Me, too," says an older fellow, unshaven, in a cheap grey sweater. "Right here for ya," says another."Go ahead, we're ready."

There are days when the blood runs down their noses and the mud gets in their helmets and their arms and legs scream: "Rest! We need rest!" -- just as another 300-pounder comes charging in.On days such as this, there can't be anything worse than being an offensive lineman. Unless, maybe, you are Shawn Bouwens.

"I say two prayers when I get up in the morning. First I thank God for letting me wake up. Then I pray that Vlade Divac is on top of his game."

He almost always has a cigarette in his mouth, if not that, a sucking candy, and he walks around the room blowing smoke or making tongue-clucking sounds and listening, always listening, because that is what a good teacher does. Listens. Now and then, he'll interrupt with a correction, or write something down, maybe show you how to play it. He makes it seem simple, and when you get frustrated, he'll blow a cloud of smoke, grin and say, "Relax. It takes two or three weeks to become a jazz musician."