bmitch6> It's Game 2 of the Stanley Cup finals, and here's what Tomas Holmstrom will be doing tonight: Slam, shove, bang, poke, prod, smash, fall, get up, fall, get up, poke, jab, punch, shoot, elbow, glove, down, get up, down, get up, stick, fall, jab, fall, kick, push, stick, bash, whack, jam, down, get up.And if you think that's bad, you should see him try to get out of bed Friday morning.
IGREW an inch in college. That's not much. But it's still a change. It shows I wasn't a finished product when I arrived on campus -- not physically and certainly not emotionally.I remember that inch every year at this time, when newspapers -- including this one -- print the national "rankings" of college football recruiting classes.From top to bottom they are listed, celebrated, analyzed and re-analyzed. Who signed whom? Which school got the hottest studs? Who did the best shopping at the teenage supermarket?
WHAT WOULD you do for one more day on the job? Would you suffer ungodly pain? Go under a surgeon's knife? Take a needle in your private parts? Live on a training machine? Would you sweat, gasp, howl, yowl, lift weights, do ultrasound, stretch your muscles for so many hours, they seemed ready to slide off the bone?Would you do all this without break, endure an everyday hell for nearly two years, with no promise, no assurance, not even a ray of light at the end of the tunnel, only the belief that maybe, if the gods were so inclined, you could someday get to work one more day?
In the end, they were counting down the seconds to the next game. Six. Five. Four. Mehmet Okur, with nothing else to do, threw the ball at the basket.It swished.It was that kind of night.
He made me so mad ...I wanted to break his neck!How many times have you felt that, thought it or even said it when dealing with an airline person? Once? Twice? Countless times?But you would never DO it, right?Well, someone did. Two years ago, at Newark International Airport. A man named John Davis, a steel plant supervisor, got so upset with a gate agent that he actually broke his neck.
No, he said. He would not go onstage. He would stand near it. He would stand in front of it. But he would not go up on it. Superstition. No stages.And Dominik Hasek would not budge.So the reporters in the Joe Louis Arena news conference had to leave their seats and swarm to encircle him at ground level. Half of them ended up on the very stage that Hasek refused to ascend, poking cameras over his back and tape recorders over his head. It was a hot, uncomfortable crush. Silly, really. But the message was clear:He'd gotten this far doing it his way.
Ever since the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, there have been whispers about reinstituting the draft. In some ways, that's a moot point.We've all been drafted already.We're in the Army now. We stand on guard for attack. We worry about white powder. We worry about the air that we breathe. We think the enemy may strike at anytime. We are alert. We are debriefed. We are given orders from our leaders.Isn't that how soldiers behave?
For years, I have been trying to get my mother into computers."You can e-mail me," I say."I can call you on the phone," she says."You can send pictures," I say."I can visit you in person," she says.Once again, as with pretty much everything in life, mother is proving to know best.
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.
