Detroit Free Press

The moments come out of nowhere, like no-look passes that hit them in the head. Maybe James Voskuil is running drills in practice and suddenly -- boink! -- he can't help it, he's thinking "Oh, man, I have that paper due tomorrow . . .""Voskuil! Rebound!" Or maybe Rob Pelinka is sitting in a business school lecture and suddenly -- boink! -- he can't help it, he's thinking about that three-point shot he could have made last night against Indiana, if he just put a little more arch on the . . . "Mr. Pelinka? You with us?"

And now -- after two straight days of TV football -- random thoughts from my brain:"Like a rock . . . Mike Ditka, thanks for joining us . . . It's one tough motor oil! . . . They'll start from their 20 . . . Mike Ditka, thanks for joining us" . . . "four-wide, three front, two-deep, one back" . . . I was 18, didn't have a care . . . Mike Ditka, thanks for joining us . . . they have to respect the run . . . they have to respect the pass . . . Like a rock . . . they have to respect the special teams . . . Have you driven a Fooorrd . . . "TOUCHDOWN!" . . . lately?"

SEATTLE -- Finally, when they were close enough to smell the gumbo, the years seemed to melt off them, the pressure, the spotlight, the endless questions that had put wrinkles on their confidence, dripping off now, as they grew lighter, lighter, until Jalen Rose slapped the ball away -- a steal!

The crazy thing about football is that it can take you to places you never dreamed of. One minute you're dancing in the end zone; the next, you're surrounded by doctors asking whether you have any feeling in your legs.There were two touchdowns scored within two minutes of Sunday's game at the Silverdome. Both were pass plays. Both were worth six points to the Lions. Both involved guys named Mike.The similarity ends there. For Mike Farr, it was a play he'd been waiting for his whole life, the beginning, he hopes, of great things to come.

DATELINE UNKNOWN -- This is how it began. They put their hands on a bat, one at a time, rising up the neck, a black hand, a white hand, a young man's hand, an aging second baseman's calloused fingers, up, up, until there was room for just one more. All eyes turned to, of all people, Michael Jordan, who smiled, because it was his turn. He grabbed that handle like a climber grabbing a mountaintop."We're the home team," he declared."National League bats first," Ryne Sandberg said.

If you wanted help with your love life, would you ask an ex-homeless person who had once been a drug user and, in between, spent time in transcendental meditation, celibacy, and a marriage that collapsed after two years?Of course you would. At least, many of us are. Check out the book sales for "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus." People are gobbling it up in a frenzied rush, hoping to solve their relationship woes.This, by the way, is a very American thing to do. When in doubt, buy a book.

It takes more than being rich, arrogant and egotistical to turn off New York City. You have to be a loser as well. Only when George Steinbrenner sank to this sin did the Big Apple really turn to the hangmen and say: "Get him!"This, despite the fact that for many years, Steinbrenner was almost a necessary evil in his town. Having lived there, I can tell you, most New York sports fans need someone to hate, they almost enjoy it. Goes with the territory, like Mace.

He never mentioned money. He never gushed about some new car he was going to buy, or some new mansion with a hundred rooms. He made no joke about how "the ladies in Detroit better watch out," as one top draft choice had done years before him. He didn't preen or mug. He wore no earring. He didn't boast, "There's a new sheriff in town!"You want to know the first thing Grant Hill did as a Piston? He listened to a question. And before he answered, he noticed the crowd in the back, and asked, politely, "Could you all hear that?"