LOOK, THERE'S your father, sitting in the rightfield seats, handing you a hot dog and telling you be careful, don't get mustard all over your shirt. And over there, near the third-base line, that was your grandma, holding her little pencil and writing names delicately in her scorecard, "Kaline, RF, Horton, LF, Freehan, C . . ."And out there, in the bleachers, wasn't that your first girlfriend, looking the way she did back then, her hair in a ponytail, her eyes feigning interest as you pointed out the players and proudly quoted their statistics?
The game was in the final minute, the Colorado goalie was pulled, and finally, finally, there really was nothing standing between the team and the dream. Brendan Shanahan raced to the loose puck, took good healthy aim and put that baby in the open basket, unleashing a flood of noise that could be heard all the way to the Rocky Mountains.
This weekend marks the NFL draft, and across the country, phone lines are buzzing. Of course, not every conversation is as fruitful as the next ..."OK, Rocky, gimme the news. What have you found?""Well, boss, scouting ain't as easy as it used to be.""You're already making excuses?""I'm just saying there's good news and bad news with these 'sleeper' picks. Take this quarterback prospect I got out of South Carolina.""What's the good news?""He's a combination of Peyton Manning and Ryan Leaf.""What's the bad news?"
NEW ORLEANS -- He pinches a wad of tobacco into his mouth, looks at the crowd from behind blue sunglasses, then spits carefully over the edge of a paper cup, the brown drool falling as slowly and deliberately as his act, which has always been angry. Jim McMahon coughs and reaches around to scratch the back of his gray T-shirt, and he looks as if he might belch when someone asks him for the umpteenth time to compare this Super Bowl with his other one."They're about the same," he drones in a sort of Southernish accent, " 'cept this time I'm not starting."
WIMBLEDON, England -- As we begin the second week of the world's most famous tennis tournament, let me bring you up to date on what's happened:ENGLAND SCORES!I know. That sounds like soccer. And I said I would talk about tennis. But the fact is . . .OH, YES! A GOOD STRIKE FOR ENGLAND!...even at the tennis, the biggest story is ...ENGLAND ADVANCES TO THE SECOND ROUND!...soccer?
No picket signs. No boycotts. No fans throwing bricks at Joe Louis Arena.And not an empty seat in the house.So much for anger. You couldn't buy a ticket to this Half- Season Opener, you couldn't persuade your best friend to share his, it was rainy and cold and dreary, and still, you had to fight your way through mobs to reach the door.
CHICAGO -- Here's one good reason the Blackhawks do not deserve to win this playoff series. They build this gorgeous new arena, and they don't have any seats for the Red Wings.I'm not kidding. It was a few minutes before Game 3, and I happened to pass Mark Howe, Martin Lapointe and several other scratched Detroit players wandering up in the press box, dressed in suits and ties, their hands in their pockets, like kids waiting for their moms in church."What's doing?" I said."No place for us," Lapointe said, glumly.
Set 'em up. Pull the trigger. Knock 'em down. Start over.It sure feels like ducks in a penny arcade, this business of watching celebrities tumble. Marv Albert is the latest. Finished now. A good sportscaster, a pioneer in many ways, gone, history, see ya. And while I have no doubt, after a week's worth of kinky stories and gasping courtroom revelations, that Albert is, as they say in the sex biz, a freak, I'm still not exactly sure what he's guilty of.
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.