MIAMI -- He will wake up Sunday morning, yawn, stretch, walk to the bathroom and pull open the shower curtain. The camera light will blind him."We're live with Ickey Woods!" the TV reporter will bellow from under the faucet. "Dance for us, Ickey! Whatdya say? Just a few steps?"He will dash out of the room and lock the door. He will join his teammates for breakfast in the lobby. He will grab some silverware, and lift the top off the tray of eggs.
There was a time, back in college, when I laced up boxing gloves and tried to prove myself in a ring. I was not very talented; I did more ducking than hitting. But one night, while sparring with my coach, I tagged him, unsuspecting, and he straightened up and blinked. At that moment, I felt a surge of naked power, almost primitive, as if my blood had thickened and I was bloated with muscle. It was a manly thing I had done. I felt manly. And then he pounded the hell out of me.
ST. LOUIS -- It is not my place to tell two successful World Series managers how to act. But I will do it anyhow. Every time I see writers walk away from Tom Kelly of the Minnesota Twins or Whitey Herzog of the St. Louis Cardinals, they look as if someone just stuffed a liverwurst sandwich under their nose.
WIMBLEDON, England -- What you remembered most were the laughs. In the middle of the Wimbledon semifinal. Chris Evert would hit a great shot, a winner, and Martina Navratilova would shake her head and laugh. Martina would scoop a volley out of the grass for an amazing point and Chris would drop her racket. And laugh. They were not loud. They were not even often. But they were there. Quiet, gentle, familiar. Laughs."Wasn't that a little strange?" someone asked Evert afterward."For such an intense match? To smile and even laugh at certain moments?"
BOSTON -- In the end, they simply showed too much courage to lose. It's that simple. The gods of fate who have been stealing these heartbreaking games from Detroit and handing them to Boston must have watched this one Wednesday night and finally said: "Enough. Even we can't be this cruel."
INGLEWOOD, Calif. -- So this is what it comes down to for the Detroit Pistons: 48 minutes to live or die. They are skin and bone now, a cornered animal, a team without its captain that is relying on prayers, guts and the power within.One game. The world championship."Are you hoping for a miracle?" someone asked Isiah Thomas, their star, as he sat beside his crutches during a press conference Monday."Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I am."
This is the third of five excerpts from "Bo," by Michigan football coach Bo Schembechler and Free Press columnist Mitch Albom. Today's excerpt deals with Bo's favorite players.I knew he was special the first time I saw him. We were working on deep fly routes."Are you watching this kid?" I whispered to Gary Moeller."Yeah," he said, "he's so fast, he's coming back for the ball!"
There are hot dogs and caps and pennants all around me. On the bed is a notebook full of box scores. Over here are the batting averages, and here are the lefty-right tendencies, and Sparky Anderson's predictions, I left them around here somewhere. . . . "Ahem," says a distant voice.Ahem?"Football," it says.Football? Yeah, sure. That's a good one. It's World Series time. Where did I put those pitching charts? Dwight Gooden's book. Keith Hernandez's book. Darryl Strawberry's book. Does he have a book? Every Met has a book, doesn't he? I think --
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.
