Detroit Free Press

THE LIVE ALBOM:* Well, it's nice to be back in the U.S.A. When I left Pete Rose was in deep trouble, Barry Sanders was unsigned, and the Tigers were looking bleak. * And now . . .

CHICAGO -- Well, this was a terrible, embarrassing, second- rate football game. But let me be blunt. The Chicago Bears finished off the Lions Sunday about as quickly as it takes a dog to raise its leg, and with nearly the same respect. On a day fit for tadpoles and the occasional polar bear, they bruised and bullied and stomped all over the silver and blue and left giggling, 24-3 winners.But that wasn't the worst part.

INDIANAPOLIS -- It was a perfect American moment in need of a perfect American hero. Bottom of the ninth. Two out. Score tied. The crowd on its feet, waving flags, stomping feet, killing its vocal chords in lusty cheer: "U-S-A! U-S-A!"Drama? Ho. You'd have to look a long while for a purer drama than this: a humid August afternoon on a minor league field where perhaps the two best amateur baseball teams in the world, one Cuban, one American, had scratched and pounded and finessed each other to a 4-4 deadlock with one out to go before extra innings. Drama? Come on.

He did not look older. He did not look wiser. He looked tired. Which is what you'd expect. "What do you think?" someone asked Chuck Long, just moments after the Lions dropped a heartbreaker, 16-13, to the Chicago Bears.He shook his head. "Now I know what Eric Hipple's been going through all these weeks," he said.Now he knew. First-hand experience. This was supposed to be Chuck Long's night, his debut as starting quarterback. Monday Night Football, the nation watching. And for a few brief moments it was all he could have wanted.

MINNEAPOLIS -- They were pouring champagne on each other's heads, screaming, laughing, celebrating in the usual way for world champions -- when suddenly, in the midst of this clubhouse euphoria somebody screamed: "OUT TO THE FIELD!" And out they charged, en masse, all these alcohol-soaked Minnesota Twins, the most unlikely World Series winners in some time, pushing through the tunnel and slapping hands and camera lights and finally, finally, emerging back to where it all happened, back to the Metrodome field where they had captured Game 7, a title, and the hearts of every Minnesotan an

This said it all: Frank Tanana darting off the mound, scooping up the ball, turning to first baseman Darrell Evans and -- with a lollipop smile already on his face -- flipping it underhand for the final out.One, two, three, leap!Happy ending."Whenever I think of this game from now on," Evans said, champagne soaking his face, after the Tigers had beaten Toronto, 1-0, to capture the American League East, "that's the moment I'm going to see. Frank coming towards me, the ball in his hand, his eyes as big as saucers. . . . Oh, man. Oh man. I'll never forget that."

BOSTON -- I vote we make the logical decision here. I vote we do the only decent thing.I vote we forget Game 1 ever happened."Great series starting tonight," I say, as I sit in the coffee shop across from Boston Garden. "Two great teams, meeting for the Eastern Conference title. Yes, sir. Should be a heck of a series.""What about Game 1?" says a man next to me."Beg your pardon?""Game 1? Tuesday night?""This is Game 1. Tonight. Thursday.""What about Tuesday? What about the Boston Garden? What about that Game 1?""Beg your pardon?"