MOSCOW -- So there I was, racing through downtown Moscow in an illegal car, with a frantic U.S. wrestler in the backseat, and a frantic Russian translator in the front, and visions of a quick death dancing in my head.But let's back up a minute. . . . As some of you know, I do a morning sports radio bit on WLLZ (98.7-FM). And on Monday, I had this idea. Why not get Andre Metzger -- a Grand Rapids native, and one of America's best amateur wrestlers -- to talk live from Moscow?
PALOS VERDES, Calif. -- I am walking past the cliffs that drop into the Pacific Ocean. I am walking past the Corvettes and the BMWs and a dark blue Mercedes. I am walking past the tennis courts and the long turquoise pool.I am visiting Bill Laimbeer's old high school.High school?"Do people really go to class here?" I ask Laimbeer's former coach, John Mihaljevich, 52, who greets me dressed in a red windbreaker, sunglasses, shorts and a deep tan. "Do they actually study, you know, math and science and all that?""Oh, yeah," he says. "All that."
MINNEAPOLIS -- Somewhere, Jack Morris was grinning. Somewhere, Doyle Alexender popped a beer and nodded sympathetically. Somewhere, Mike Henneman, Frank Tanana, Willie Hernandez -- all the Tigers, probably -- gave a sigh and a look that could be summed up with four words: "Have fun, St. Louis."Have fun. Your turn. What took place in the fourth inning of Saturday night's deafening World Series opener may have been historic, a surprise, a bomb, but it was a painfully familiar explosion to Detroiters. Seven runs? Did the Twins really score seven runs in one inning?
He was last in line for introductions, not by choice, but because the Red Wings knew that when the announcer called his name, you wouldn't be able to hear anyone else's."NO. 29 GILBERT DELORME . . . " boomed the voice, working its way down the list."NO. 34 JEFF SHARPLES. . . . "
OAKLAND, Calif. -- The fun begins when he steps off the bag. His spikes in the sand make no sound, and yet you swear you can hear each new footstep, like horseshoes on concrete. One step. Two steps. He's three steps off and leaning now. . . . Surely the pitchers hear this. Surely the catchers hear it, too, like a pulse, like a telltale heart. Rickey Henderson makes everybody nervous.
The first time I ever saw Walt Terrell, he was sitting in front of his locker, holding a beer. He looked very content, and I did not disturb him.The second time I saw Walt Terrell, he was in the same position. I did not disturb him.The next 92 times I saw Walt Terrell he was in the same position -- except sometimes the beer was a cigaret or a chicken wing -- until finally, I came tobelieve that if the clubhouse suddenly exploded into a huge ball of fire, Walt Terrell would lean over and go, "Hey. Did you hear something?"
Well, it's Christmas Day, and no doubt many families are hunkering down around the fire, singing a few Christmas songs. Which is nice. Then again, you wonder how those songs might come out if a few familiar faces had their way . . . WHITE CHRISTMAS (as sung by Sparky Anderson)I'm dreaming of a right . . . handerJust like the ones I used to know,One who swings for fencesThat kind of gent is,What I, need much more than snow, oh ho,I'm dreaming of a right . . . handerTo put those lefties in their place,
MIAMI -- It was a call to glory for all of them, as loud as a siren, as unmistakable as their signature. Fourth quarter. Trailing by three. The Super Bowl, the championship of the world on the line.Wake up, men.You're on.
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.
