It never failed. Week after week. Call after call. “How’s the weather?” Holidays. Birthdays. “How’s the weather?” As I aged into my teens, I associated their question with pity. “How’s the weather?” was clearly something old people asked when they had nothing else to talk about.

Times change.

I am writing this column with 9 inches of snow outside my Michigan window and a temperature gauge that reads minus 1, as one of the worst winter storms in many years is poised to impact the entire country. There are warnings of “catastrophic” ice accumulations in the South, windchills in the minus 40s in the Midwest, heavy snow or ice in at least 34 states, and an affected population of up to 230 million Americans.

One winter storm?

Two-thirds of the country?

In the many decades I have been writing this column, I have covered topics ranging from poverty to sled dogs, from the Olympics to Ozempic. I have never, near as I can recall, devoted an entire column to the weather.

A cold wind is blowing.

Times change.

Watching the weather …

Let’s face it. Weather has morphed from forecast to fear. From almanac to apocalypse. Weather used to tell us what clothes we should wear; now it seems to foretell the end of the world.

What changed? It happened in steps. Up until the mid-20th century, children concerned themselves with only a few weather-related facts:

1) Will it rain (so we can play in the mud)?

2) Will it snow (so we can sled down the hill)?

3) Will school be canceled (please)?

As adults, our concerns shifted slightly:

1) Will it rain (and ruin my clothes and hair)?

2) Will it snow (and make driving a mess)?

3) Will school be canceled (and I have to watch the kids)?

Then came the 1970s and ’80s, when TV news replaced brief weather reports with “meteorologists.” Weather info increased exponentially. The Weather Channel arrived in the 1980s, which gave 24-hour-a-day access to climate nerds. This was followed by seemingly endless radar prediction innovations in the 1990s and 2000s.

Armed with all these new ways to measure, we became more and more engrossed in what was happening in the clouds and sky. Low pressure systems. Humidity. Windchill. Heat index. I remember living in Florida in the 1980s, when weather began consuming four or five minutes of a 20-minute nightly news broadcast. And heaven forbid a hurricane was coming! It was wall-to-wall coverage.

It reminded me of that old Paul Simon lyric, “I get all the news I need on the weather report.”

There was plenty of it.

Winds of change

Not surprisingly, armed with all this data, when the climate change issue moved to the forefront, the American public was greased and ready to be engrossed. And now, winter storms like the one this weekend aren’t just about how much snow we will have to shovel, they’re about the future of the world. Hurricanes, heat waves, massive cold fronts, all bring, along with their rain or beating sun, warnings of how much time we have left on the planet.

There is no, “Boy we had a lot of snow this year.” It’s now, “Boy we had a lot of snow this year — what do you think that means?” 

One big problem, however. Americans are now so inundated with weather information, we don’t know what to believe. For every activist who screams “We’ve never seen climate like this!” there’s a cynic with ancient almanacs that yells, “Sure, we have!’’

For every “alarmist” with a doomed climate model, there’s a “realist” with differing satellite data.

For every protester who insists we change our economies to save ourselves from disaster, there’s an economist who insists that would do more harm than good.

And even though most of the world seems to agree that the globe is warming, many regular folks will pull on their ski masks and winter coats this week and ask, “Then why is it so damn cold?”

I wish I had the answer. Most of us wish we had the answer. All I know is, if I went outside and spit right now, it might freeze before it hit my shoe.

I miss the days when we didn’t have to think about climate this much. And I wonder if my grandparents — when they repeatedly asked me, “How’s the weather?” — knew more than they let on.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates on his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow @mitchalbom on x.com.

It’s one of those moments both parties wish didn’t have to happen. It’s somber. Downbeat. Sometimes tearful.

But never encouraging.

For 22 seconds last weekend, that changed. In a press conference immediately after his team’s tough 27-23 playoff loss to Buffalo, the coach of the Jacksonville Jaguars, Liam Coen, took a question from a native Detroit woman named Lynn Jones, now a white-haired, 64-year-old associate editor of the Jacksonville Free Press.

It wasn’t really a question.

“I just want to tell you, congratulations on your success, young man,” Jones said. “You hold your head up, all right? You guys have had a most magnificent season. You did a great job out there today. You just hold your head up, OK? Ladies and gentlemen, Duval (County), you’re the one. You keep it going. We got another season, OK? Take care and much continued success to you and the entire team.”

As she spoke, Coen mumbled “thank you” and “appreciate it.” Near the end, he even pushed up a smile.

But not everyone was smiling.

A pretty sad state

The exchange went viral after an ESPN reporter posted it and called it “awesome.” And of course, once anything is posted, the world has to weigh in.

While many fans gave a thumbs-up, some reporters decried the moment as unprofessional, including one who wrote, “Uplifting the head coach after a loss is not part of a sports reporter’s job.” Another wrote, “Reporters should be in PR if they want to carry on like this.”

An AP reporter called it “embarrassing for the people who credentialed her” and “a waste of time for those of us actually working.”

These sentiments were met with a barrage of criticism from the other side, including media-haters, media critics, and former athletes like Pat McAfee, who posted: “Love seeing these sports ‘journalists’ getting ABSOLUTELY BURIED for being curmudgeon bums.”

Now, McAfee, a former punter who makes around $17 million a year from ESPN and pays quarterback Aaron Rodgers over $1 million to appear on his show, doesn’t live the life of a typical sports media member.

And, no, that one reporter wasn’t wrong, uplifting losing coaches is generally not part of the media’s job.

On the other hand, if we’ve reached the point where someone being kind to someone else — for 22 seconds — is worth damning them publicly, we’re in a pretty sad state.

‘Like an auntie’

So I reached out to Jones, who, it turns out, grew up by Livernois and Warren, “near the White Castle,” and used to walk to Tiger Stadium as a kid.

“I lived in Detroit until I was 30 years old,” she told me. “Then we went to Jacksonville Beach on a vacation and oh my God, we had the most magnificent time.”

After her father passed away, Jones said, “he left me a check” and she quickly moved to Jacksonville full time. One of her first jobs there was working for the Jaguars, so she has a history with the team. She later went into journalism and now writes and is associate editor for the Jacksonville Free Press, a weekly newspaper and one of several hundred serving Black communities in the United States.

“Now that I think about it, the room did get a little quiet. I know some people feel I should have asked a question. But is there a protocol? I didn’t get a sheet telling me I can’t say congratulations.”

Jones said she knew something was up when moments later she got a nice text from a colleague who said, “You sounded like an auntie.” Then more texts followed. Then her phone blew up.

Next thing she knew, she was doing interviews across the country.

And today, if you go to the Jacksonville Free Press’ website, they are selling T-shirts with her words on it, with the profits, they say, going to scholarships.

Making room for kindness

Since this happened, I’ve been asked many times for my opinion, perhaps because I’ve been in postgame press conferences for more than 40 years.

Well, T-shirts aside, I’d say both sides need to lighten up. What Jones did was kind, empathetic and uplifting, and I refuse to find fault with anything described by those three words.

Was it normal? No. Did it belong in a “media” conference? Probably not.

Then again, the nastiness that marks virtually every White House press conference these days doesn’t belong there either. But we seem to be tolerating it. And if we’re willing to tolerate such ugliness, why not make room for some unusual sweetness?

At the same time, critics like McAfee jumping all over sports reporters is also inappropriate. They don’t, as McAfee suggested, hate sports. Quite the contrary. They likely got into the field because they love sports.

But the people who populate sports today — players, coaches, general managers, owners — frequently hate the media. They insult them. Blow them off. Treat them disrespectfully. Lump them as “you guys.”

And for the most part, the media tolerates it. Silently. Dutifully. Begrudgingly. That’s no fun, either.

So both sides could take a lesson from Jones, who is merrily cruising through all this, knowing that when you’re on the side of kindness and optimism, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of.

“People have been calling me fake media,” she said. “I haven’t even responded to that.”

Nor should she have to. After all, it was a guy named Grantland Rice, who, more than 100 years ago, penned the phrase “Wait until next year.”

He was a sportswriter.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates on his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow @mitchalbom on x.com.

The shelves weren’t empty. There was plenty to choose. What we meant by “nothing to eat” was nothing we wanted to eat.

Which brings us to the American diet.

Last week, the Department of Agriculture released a fresh set of guidelines for what we should and shouldn’t consume. It contained a new “food pyramid,” a relic from the last century in which recommended foods make up the wide part and foods to be minimalized make up the narrow point.

This new pyramid flipped the script from pyramids past. The one from the 1990s recommended grains and starches — including bread, cereal and pasta — as the highest intake, with fats and oils at the bottom.

The 2026 version puts protein, dairy, healthy fats and vegetables at the top, and grains in the basement.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the new Health and Human Services secretary, apparently had major input on this list. He told the media it represented “the most significant reset of federal nutrition policy in history.”

Maybe. But when I read it, it only confirms what I have long believed:

Nothing generates more opinions in this country than what you should eat.

A generational thing

Remember the Woody Allen film “Annie Hall” where he says, “Everything our parents said was good is bad. Sun, milk, red meat … college.”

That’s kind of how it is with food. Every generation has its strong beliefs about what’s good for you, and the next generation says: “You’re nuts.”

(Speaking of nuts, they used to be down there with fish and poultry, but now those two have jumped to the top and nuts are down with bananas and cereal. Go figure.)

Our grandparents used to tell us we should eat red meat every day. A glass of milk before bed was good for you. Potatoes were a vegetable.

Then came all kinds of fad diets. A grapefruit diet. A raw food diet. For a while, everyone was supposed to eat low-fat, high-carb foods. Then everyone was supposed to eat low-carb, high-fat foods.

Ted Nugent swears by eating red meat every day, but only the kind he kills and cleans himself. Other folks eat only vegetables — no meat, no dairy, not even fish. Certain doctors claim moderation of all foods is enough. Others say your gut is your second brain.

The contradictions from place to place and person to person can give you a stomachache. Grains are good; grains are bad. Have yogurt every day; ugh, dairy is terrible for you. Cheese is great, look at the French; cheese is terrible, look at pizza eaters.

Whole milk is awful; oat milk is worse. Chocolate is a no-no; dark chocolate is healthy. Fats make you fat; fats are a key to brain health. Coffee makes you nervous; a cup a day is better than none. An apple a day makes you sick from pectin.  

In the United States, EAT should stand for Every Available Thought.

When junk food wins out

So now we have a new pyramid, and some folks are up in arms about it. They say Kennedy is a crazy man. How can meat and milk be good for you? How can moderation with alcohol be better than a firm limit? How can butter be a “healthy” fat?

And lost in all of this is that the majority of Americans are still like our kid selves by the refrigerator: all these recommendations and nothing we want to eat.

So instead, we go for junk. We shop in the “snacks” aisle. We grab fast food. Why is it that with all this eating advice, all this information, all the science and manufacturing that has gone into “healthy food” research and development, Americans are consuming more processed foods than ever?

Because we want what we want. We ignore the advice. Or maybe we just get too confused by the contradictions.

In which case, one clear conclusion by the new report is dead on target: Stop consuming things like potato chips, pork rinds, processed meats and pop.

Stop with the sugary drinks and doughnuts for breakfast. Knock off the peanut-butter pretzels, the ice cream cones, the fried everything.

If Americans did nothing but that, health would dramatically improve, the cost of medical care would drop, and no one would have to worry about how many avocados we ate every day.

But food is big business, and when you put profit and health in the same ring, health usually gets knocked out.

So we go on arguing, and maybe 100 years from now, we’ll find out that French fries and Cool Whip were actually the best things for our bodies.

Until then, I’m waiting for a pyramid that says: “Never eat any food advertised during a football game.”

It would be so much easier to keep track.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates on his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow @mitchalbom on x.com.

Amon-Ra St. Brown caught a fourth-down pass within spitting distance of the goal line. But he got sandwiched by two Pittsburgh Steelers defenders, and, realizing he was about to go down as the clock expired, scooped the ball to his quarterback Jared Goff, who dove into the end zone for an apparent game-winning touchdown.

The crowd exploded! That play had heart! It had guts! It had magical destiny written all over it!

It also had a penalty: Offensive pass interference on St. Brown.

Which meant the touchdown never happened, and the win never happened – just as the 2025 season Detroit Lions fans were expecting never happened.

Wake up and smell the standings. The Lions are 8-7. They are all but done.

Blue Christmas.

“We had an opportunity to win the game which is ultimately what you want,” said a clearly disappointed coach Dan Campbell after the 29-24 loss to Pittsburgh that all but killed the Lions’ playoff hopes. “But … we’re the ones who put ourselves in the position where we had to try and score on the last play. …

“It was just too little, too late.”

Let’s be blunt.

It’s been too little for too long.

A Lions season waiting to crumble

Look, sooner or later, a house of sticks is going to crumble. For weeks, the Lions have been trying to fortify their playoff hopes with second-stringers, third-stringers and new arrivals. They’ve altered the offense to cover holes for countless injured linemen and tight ends.  They’ve altered the defense to cover weak spots left by the injured Kerby Joseph, Brian Branch and Terrion Arnold. Every time they lost to a top team, the Lions tinkered, tweaked and rallied to beat the next opponent.

But you can only move pieces around so much before talent diminishes and confusion reigns. On Sunday, Dec. 21, in a game they absolutely had to win, the Lions were laying their biggest egg of the season, including a third quarter that saw them run a total of three offensive plays, the last of which was a sack of Goff in the end zone for a safety. Then, finally, well into the fourth quarter, they scrambled back as only they can do.

Down by 12, they drove 68 yards to cut the lead to five on a touchdown pass from Goff to Jahmyr Gibbs, then saw the Steelers miss a field goal to send the Ford Field crowd into a frenzy. They’re still alive! There’s still a chance! Detroit used the rest of the clock to drive 72 yards to get into position for those fateful closing moments.

“What did you make of that last play?” someone asked Campbell. “The penalty? The apparent touchdown?”

“I don’t even want to get into it,” he said, his face reddening, “because it’s not going to change anything. We still lost.”

Exactly. While fans will long remember those crazy final seconds, and the agonizing sight of Aaron Rodgers once again celebrating a bizarre victory at Ford Field, it was everything that came before that play that lost the day.

It was a vanishing rushing game that only produced 15 yards all afternoon, despite facing one of the weaker defenses in the league, and despite having two healthy running backs – Gibbs and David Montgomery – at their disposal.

It was a porous defense that allowed Pittsburgh to score slowly and score quickly – a nearly 10-minute drive for a field goal followed by two two-minute drives for touchdowns, both capped with 45-yard scores by running back Jaylen Warren, explosive dashes that made Detroit’s run defense look second-rate.

Every key third down, it seemed, was converted by Pittsburgh. The Lions defenders, especially their backfield, were often out of sync, out of position, and out of gas.

It was 481 yards allowed. It was 200 yards rushing and two critical fourth downs surrendered. It was no interceptions and only two sacks on the 42-year-old Rodgers, who outsmarted the coverage time and time again, including spotting a linebacker, Alex Anzalone, on a running back, Kenneth Gainwell, with moments left in the first half. Rodgers threw a bomb that Gainwell, despite having been knocked down by Anzalone, somehow caught on his chest.

Gainwell popped to his feet, untouched, and ran in for a tying touchdown with 2 seconds left before halftime.

“Rodgers” Campbell admitted, “is really good at messing with you.”

It was all that – and it was mistakes. Fans might already be forgetting that, before that wild last play, the Lions had the ball down to the 1 with 25 seconds left, before having a St. Brown touchdown nullified by offensive pass interference on Isaac TeSlaa (go back 10 yards) followed by a false-start penalty on Kingsley Eguakun, who was making the first start of his career at center (back another 5 yards.)

So instead of the potential game-winning play from 1 yard away, they had 16 yards to go.

These are all avoidable setbacks, and all part of the reason the Lions lost this game long before that final, desperate spectacle.

“It’s frustrating,” Campbell said, “I mean, look, we just lost two in a row.”

That hasn’t happened in three years.

Blue Christmas.

Biting into a poison apple

In the subdued aftermath of the loss, Goff faced the media and was asked what it felt like to be on the outside of the playoffs looking in.

“We haven’t had that feeling (in a while.) It’s creeping in on us now. We got to find a way. I think it goes back to what Dan’s message was. Are we who we say we are?”

That’s an important sentence. Are we who we say we are? Because this year, the Lions – and, let’s be fair, their fans and most of the media – acted like the team was destined for the playoffs and likely much more. There was talk of a Super Bowl. There was talk of a winning culture finally taking hold, and the Lions becoming a franchise that would not be denied excellence.

But what we think and what the Lions have done has not aligned, for many reasons. Detroit is now just one game over. 500. It’s even possible they finish with a losing record. With the exception of a Week 2 blowout of the Bears, they haven’t yet beaten a team that’s for sure going to the playoffs. They haven’t strung two wins together since early October.

Blame injuries. Blame coaching changes. Blame karma. If you watched Chicago beat Green Bay on Saturday night, you could feel the difference between the franchises this year. The Bears, helmed by Detroit’s former offensive coordinator Ben Johnson, seem kissed by destiny. The Lions seem to have bitten a poison apple.

Yes, we should acknowledge there is still a small chance of a postseason birth, if Detroit wins out and Green Bay loses twice. But believing that will happen is part of the magical thinking that has blinded us to the fact that this team is now down to the studs on defense, doesn’t pressure the quarterback enough, cannot protect or run block the way it used to and keeps games close while losing as often as it wins.

That’s no fun to hear.

The truth often isn’t.

“We’re big boys in this league, man,” Campbell said. “You pull your pants up and you go to work. And you can’t feel sorry for yourself. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. … But we have nobody to blame but ourselves.”

Honest. Admirable. And about as much fun to swallow as rotten eggnog. As the December snow hardens, this is the first time in three years we can say this: The Lions are on a losing streak.

Thanks a lot, Santa.

Blue Christmas.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates on his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow @mitchalbom on x.com.

Beneath its branches were gifts of various sizes, marked with cards to identity their contents. One expensively-wrapped gift read: “Prosperity.” Another flashing one read: “Technology.” There was a huge blue package that simply said “AVATAR.”

But one small box caught my eye. It was open. The wrapping paper had been ripped away. The top was off. Inside, I saw the box was empty, as if its contents had been dumped out.

I picked up a fallen card, torn in half.

It read: “Civility.”

Just then, I heard a small bang. I ran across the room and saw Civility itself trying to open the window.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” Civility said. “I’m out of style. Out of touch. So I’m outta here.”

I watched it try to undo the window latch. Unfortunately, like most nouns, Civility didn’t have hands.

“Ummph,” it grunted. “How does this thing work?”

“I’ll get it,” I said.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Civility smiled. “See? Was that so hard? Saying ‘You’re welcome?’ ”

I thought for a moment. I closed the lock.

“I thought you were going to help me,” Civility said.

“First, can I ask why you’re leaving?”

“May you ask?’

“Yes. May I ask why you’re leaving.”

Civility sighed. Politely. But a sigh just the same.

Times are tough for Civility ― and civility

“Once,” Civility said, “I was the belle of the Christmas ball. It was the time of year when I shone the brightest. People were polite. They were kind and charitable. They went door to door caroling. And even if the carolers were slightly off key, the neighbors always smiled.”

“And today?” I asked.

“Today, they check their Ring cameras, and if it’s not an Amazon delivery, they threaten to call the police. Or they yell “Porch Pirate!”

“Hmm,” I said. “Well, surely people are more civil outside the home?”

“Where?” Civility asked. “The workplace? People are so nasty in the workplace, emails should come with detonation instructions.”

“What about the shopping mall?”

“Have you ever seen two desperate parents when there’s only one Star Wars Lego set left?”

“How about online?”

“Social media?” Civility shook its head as best it could, since nouns don’t have necks. “Have you ever read the reaction when an overweight person posts a photo in Christmas sweater? Santa Claus doesn’t have a naughty list long enough for those responses! It’s so bad that —”

“But you can’t just —” I stopped. “Sorry. I interrupted you.”

“No, please, go right ahead,” Civility said.

“Really?”

“I insist.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“It’s what I do.”

“Right. Anyhow, you can’t just walk out on us. How would we talk to each other? What would America be if it gave up on civil discourse?”

“I’m afraid,” Civility said, “that ship has sailed …”

A heck of a virtue

Civility waved its arm, or whatever passes as an arm on a noun. And the walls turned into a mural of rude, insensitive and downright mean moments from 2025. There was a football game between the University of Colorado and Brigham Young where the Colorado student section yelled slurs against Mormons. There were reality TV shows where the contestants consistently berated each other. And there was an entire wall devoted to the President Donald Trump, yelling “Piggy” at a reporter, berating the Ukrainian president for not being grateful enough and posting that Rob and Michelle Reiner’s murder by their son was somehow due to their “Trump Derangement Syndrome.”

Civility shrugged. “Like I said, I’m out of style.”

With that, Civility slid under the closed window frame and tumbled out into the snow. I ran outside, to find it shivering and gasping for breath.

I gathered it up, took it inside and warmed it by the fire. In time, Civility began to glow.

“Thank you,” it said, leaning back into the couch. “I didn’t realize it was so cold out there. I’ve never tried to run away before.”

“Listen,” I said. “If we promised to try and remember our manners, would you consider getting back in the gift box?”

“I don’t know …”

“You are a gift to this country.”

“Well,” Civility said, “America did used to value me. Heck, even the early civics classes in this country were about me.”

It leaned in. “Sorry about the word ‘heck.’ ”

“No problem,” I said.

Civility sneezed.

“God bless you,” I said.

Civility slowly smiled. It rose from the couch, walked back to the box, and pulled the cover over its head.

“God bless you, too,” it said.

And as I taped up the wrapping paper and replaced the bow, I heard a voice from inside say, “If you don’t mind, could you place me next to Technology? I want to discuss this TikTok thing …”

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates on his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow @mitchalbom on x.com.

And when you consider the talent that once sprinted up and down that court — from Dave Bing to Magic Johnson to Earl Cureton to Jalen Rose — you can feel yourself start to sweat.

This place is called St. Cecilia’s — or to many, the Saint — a legendary part of Detroit’s history, but like too many parts of our city, one that has fallen into disrepair, decay and disregard.

That is about to change.

On Thursday, Dec. 11, during our annual SAY Detroit Radiothon, I was joined on stage by the current mayor of Detroit, Mike Duggan, the former mayor, Dave Bing, and — via telephone — the current Mayor-elect Mary Sheffield (who was on her honeymoon), all of whom came together to help me announce the revitalization of a city landmark.

St. Cecilia’s, its adjacent 25-room school building, and the areas and lots surrounding both, will soon be the site of the new SAY Detroit Play Center at St. Cecilia’s.

The 8-acre campus on the city’s west side will be home to hundreds of afterschool kids from around the city, featuring academic labs, STEM robotics, arts programs, community spaces and, of course, sports, from a brand new football field to a rebirthed basketball facility that will honor the greats who played on that hardwood, while transforming it to a state-of-the-art level.

The Saint is rising.

A beacon of collaboration

“I am so excited,” Sheffield said, when she heard the news. “These are the partnerships that I believe are extremely important. And my husband — I finally can say that — he grew up playing in St. Cecilia’s. It’s very near and dear to the community. … It’s near and dear to my heart.”

This is admittedly an ambitious project, one that may cost, in the end, close to $10 million. As the founder of SAY Detroit, that would make me nervous, had we not done a similar thing over the last decade on the city’s east side, at another abandoned facility called the Lipke Rec Center.

Although not as storied by NBA greats as St. Cecilia’s, Lipke was also once a home to many Detroit kids, who played sports and swam there from the 1950s through the early 2000s.

But like so many rec centers in Detroit, Lipke closed during the bankruptcy years and fell into decay.

Back in 2014, Mayor Duggan asked SAY Detroit if we could somehow find a use for one of those closed facilities. We visited many and finally chose Lipke, even though all the HVAC equipment had been stolen off the roof and the swimming pool was covered in mold.

Ten years later, through the amazing enthusiasm — and elbow grease — of community partners and volunteers, Lipke has been transformed it into a vibrant hive of activity. There’s a football field donated by Matthew Stafford, a baseball field donated by the Detroit Tigers and a large basketball court, rejuvenated by Tom Gores, owner of the Pistons. Stafford and other investors added a 15,000-square-foot education annex a few years ago.

The SAY Detroit Play Center at Lipke now serves 300 kids from all over the city, who are transported from their schools and taken back home when they are finished. Sure, kids can play sports — but only after they complete 90 minutes of study in our digital learning center. They also fan out, in even greater numbers, to a recording studio, an E-Gaming hub, and STEM robotics and arts and dance programs.

Blueprint for success

Our goal for St Cecilia’s is follow the blueprint we used at Lipke. The sizes aren’t the same — there is less acreage the second time, for example, yet a larger school building — but the philosophy will be consistent: involve the community, lean on those who loved and used to use the space, raise funds through partnerships with foundations, companies and individuals, transport kids safely to and from their schools and homes, and hire caring, dedicated people to direct the academics and recreation.

We have already gathered several million dollars toward this project, chiefly from the Wayne and Joan Webber Foundation and an anonymous, but large, donor. Gores also pledged $100,000 toward it at Thursday’s event.

We should note that others have dreamed of reinvigorating this storied place, including Bing, Rose and notably Cureton, the former Piston, who, as a teenager, used to take two busses just to play with the talent at St. Cecilia’s.

On Thursday, at the radiothon, Earl’s widow, Judith Pickop, and their daughter, Sari, sat with us when we made the announcement.

“My dad loved Detroit and I think that reflected in his love for St. Cecilia’s,” Sari said. “The city offered him so much … an opportunity to grow, to learn, and become the person he became.”

That will be the goal of this new facility. To grow. To learn. To become the person you can become.

And to touch history. Detroit history. It was fun to hear Bing recall how, during a holdout from the Pistons in the early 1970s, he kept his game sharp by playing at St. Cecilia’s, and how Sam Washington, the legendary athletic director there, convinced him to get the NBA to donate the fines he was accumulating so he could buy a new scoreboard.

It was fun to hear former Police Chief Ike McKinnon recall how, during the uprising-plagued year of 1967, his officers would get stress reduction and recreation at St. Cecilia’s and how Washington would feed them.

Mayor Duggan noted how our Lipke project had not only revitalized that facility, but sent property values in the area soaring, and uplifted the immediate neighborhood.

We hope to do that twice.

There are ghosts now in the paint-peeling walls. We will not chase them out. Rather, we will give them a home among the sudden high-pitched squeals of children enjoying new facilities, and families knowing their kids have a place to go for hours after school and in the summer, a place where they can improve their grades, their college chances and their jump shots.

The Saint is rising.

If you would like to be a part of this effort, or join us somehow in the rebirth, please contact us at Saydetroit.org.

History never dies. It just sometimes gets ignored. That ends now at St. Cecilia’s. Let’s make it front and center again.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom on x.com.

If you haven’t learned that by now in the new world of college football, learn it today. Schools aren’t above bad behavior. Players aren’t above bad behavior. Coaches aren’t above bad behavior.

The only surprise left is that anyone is surprised at anything, anymore.

The sudden firing on Wednesday, Dec. 10, of Michigan football coach Sherrone Moore — who less than two years ago was being celebrated as the right man at the right time — only proves that what you see and what you get can be two different things in college sports today.

Moore was characterized as a strong-willed, disciplined young leader, who in his introductory press conference said, “I coach hard, but I love harder.”

That once admirable statement will now become a punchline, after Moore was dismissed by U-M for an “inappropriate relationship with a staff member.”

“This conduct constitutes a clear violation of University policy,” athletic director Warde Manuel said in a statement, “and U-M maintains zero tolerance for such behavior.”

With that, the coach who took over in 2024, after Jim Harbaugh shocked fans by jumping to the NFL, departs with a shock of his own.

Or maybe it’s just a shock to folks who still believed that being the leader of a major college team implied responsibility, decorum, self-discipline and role-model behavior.

Silly us.

No one is above anything.

Don’t brag, gloat or judge yet

Now, it must be said that, as of this writing, no one has heard Moore’s side of the story. He was detained by Saline police, and turned over to Pittsfield Township police on Wednesday. Hours after the initial call, Moore was booked in the Washtenaw County Jail.

That looks really bad. You start the day as Michigan football coach and end it in a cell? But Moore’s side will eventually be forthcoming. And I’m guessing it won’t match Michigan’s.

Who you ultimately believe will depend on what you hear. But we all should wait until both sides have clearly stated their cases.

In the interim, the lesson here is simple: Don’t brag and don’t gloat. Because your school could be next.

Let’s be honest: There’s plenty of hidden smirking between our state’s two big universities whenever one or the other gets egg on its face.

Spartan fans clucked when Michigan basketball had its Ed Martin scandals. Wolverine fans rolled their eyes when Mel Tucker sunk in inglorious fashion.

No doubt some Michigan State fans are enjoying this ignoble end to Moore’s tenure. They will point out that Michigan haughtily paints itself as a university above such behavior.

Nonsense. There are no universities above any behavior.

Are MSU fans so quickly forgetting the brutal Larry Nassar saga? Or how Tucker was fired for harassing anti-sexual violence advocate Brenda Tracy?

Are Michigan fans forgetting the Connor Stalions sign-stealing scandal that resulted in nearly $30 million in NCAA fines and show-cause penalties for much of the coaching staff that departed after 2023’s CFP title? Or the lawsuit over sexual abuse by former team doctor Robert Anderson, which resulted in a $490 million settlement?

No one is above anything. No school. No team. No player.

Not anymore.

No surprises anymore

If Moore did what the school announced he was fired for, he would only join a long list of coaches — including, but not limited to Bobby Petrino at Arkansas, Rick Pitino at Louisville, Hugh Freeze at Ole Miss and even Rich Rodriguez (who used to have Moore’s job at U-M) at Arizona — all of whom were accused of sexual misconduct on the job.

Meanwhile, schools such as LSU think nothing of wooing a coach such as Lane Kiffin away from his team before the College Football Playoff field has been announced, and coaches such as Kiffin think nothing of taking the money and bolting, while claiming that God told him, “It’s time to take a new step.”

Let’s leave God out of college football, shall we?

It’s clearly the low country for men, with mostly good behavior but too often bad. It’s a tapestry of the Jerry Sandusky abuse at Penn State, a hazing scandal at Northwestern and accusations of players betting on their own action at Iowa and Iowa State. Heck, just last month, MSU had 14 wins in 2023 and 2024 — under three coaches (though only through the actions of one, Tucker) — vacated for recruiting violations.

Michigan, with Moore sitting in a jail cell Wednesday evening, just scribbled its name back on the list.

This is the sport now. Or should I say the business? So cynical has college football become that people are already whispering that perhaps this was a good thing for Michigan after Moore’s eight losses in two seasons.

Others are murmuring that it’s open season on Michigan’s stars — such as freshman quarterback Bryce Underwood — to be wooed away by other schools and their NIL money.

Lost in all of this is that the first Black head coach in Michigan football history has just gone down in flames, and his wife and three daughters will now be subject to the worst kind of public attention.

That may be his fault. Or maybe not. We still do not know.

What we do know is that none of this should surprise you.

No one is above anything.

The sooner we accept that, the sooner we’ll stop feeling like we just got hit in the face with a maize-and-blue shovel.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom on x.com.

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For two hours.

“Absolutely!” I responded. In my mind I thought, Two hours! They must be expecting 500 people!

I was off by … 500 people.

Nobody came. I sat there all alone. I fidgeted at a table, checking my watch, trying not to look like the loser I felt I was.

Finally, about an hour into this torture, a middle-aged woman entered the store and approached me. I flushed with excitement. Finally, a sale! We made eye contact. We smiled at each other. And then …

“Where are the cookbooks?” she asked.

“I don’t work here,” I answered.

“Oh.”

And off she went.

An evolving tradition

Thirty-seven years later, it’s déjà vu. I’ve been out promoting my latest book, “Twice,” a novel about a man who has the power to do anything in his life over again. And in many ways, I feel that I am playing the lead character, since I am repeating the old pattern, traveling from place to place, chatting with readers, signing my name on the title page.

True, certain elements have changed. People actually show up these days. And I am going across the country instead of across the city — 33 stops on this tour alone. In the old days, they had nice folks called “literary escorts,” who picked you up at the airport and drove you to various radio and TV programs interested in speaking with authors. Today, nearly all those shows are gone. You take Ubers. You do podcasts from a hotel room.

Still, many things remain the same. You travel from town to town. You shake countless hands and exchange pleasantries with people you don’t know, but who feel they know you, because they’re read something you wrote. Some even bring you things — cookies, cards, handwritten notes, books they’ve written, photos from the last time you visited.

It’s a fabulous way to explore America, a window into small towns and big cities, community groups, book clubs, local libraries, churches and synagogues.

It’s also a healthy way to harness your ego. I remember the early days of “Tuesdays with Morrie,” when an FM disc jockey referred to the book as “Tuesdays with Maurice” and opened by saying, “Mitch, the obvious first question is … why Tuesdays?”

I remember a bookstore so small I had to sit with a cat in my lap. And a radio station so small it was in the back of a woman’s house. She broadcast with the window open, and in the middle of our interview, someone outside started mowing the lawn. You couldn’t hear anything but “RRrrrrrRRRRRRR.”

I remember signing books at a Starbucks counter, on a church lawn, in a student union basement, and next to a stack of snow tires in a Costco. There was a shopping mall in the Philippines where thousands of teenagers assembled, and a tiny store in Coldwater, Michigan, where it seemed like the entire population of the town was stuffed inside, because my book “The First Phone Call From Heaven” was set there.

Sadly, a theme of doing book tours for over three decades is disappearance. I signed in so many stores that have long since vanished: Borders, B. Dalton, Waldenbooks, Crown Books, Media Play.

The number of independent bookstores has also shrunk dramatically, victims of impossible competition from large chain stores, box stores like Sam’s Club and Costco, and Amazon.com.

And yet …

The last bastions

There are still places that elicit the old bookstore feel, touch and smell, and the tactile excitement of shelves full of stories.

On this recent “Twice” tour, I visited a lovely shop in Franklin, Indiana, called the Wild Geese Bookshop, which looks like a house on a residential street, complete with a front porch and a bench to sit on.

In Nashville, there was a shop that offered “blind date with a book,” where they wrapped books for sale in plain paper and only hinted what they were about.

And in Cape Cod, in a town deliciously named East Sandwich, there’s a bookstore called Titcomb’s Bookshop that goes back four generations. The woman who now runs it, Rae, has photos of her great-grandmother working in the same shop. That’s tradition. Sturdy, important tradition.

But the best part of these book tours is the people. They sound different in different places. But our personal dynamic remains the same: They read a story; they come to meet the person who created it. I write a story, and I come to meet the people kind enough to have read it.

It’s a beautiful exchange, one that, sadly, is dying out. Few authors do book tours anymore. Publishers can’t afford them. The economics don’t justify it.

Which only makes me appreciate them even more. I am grateful for every handshake, every boisterous collector, every nervous teenager, every shy customer with an old, tattered book they’d like personalized.

Bookstores remain wonderful places, bazaars of life-changing information, soaring fantasies, personal histories, romances, thrillers and delightful photos. I don’t mind returning there “Twice’’ — or even more. After all these years, I remain honored by the invitation.

But I still don’t know where the cookbooks are.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom on x.com.

Here were the Detroit Lions, their fans praying hard, in a game that they had to have, on a series that they had to control. They were clinging to a one-touchdown lead over Dallas with less than three minutes to go. Conventional wisdom says, “Run the ball. Take seconds off the clock. Force the opponent to use a timeout.”

Instead, Jared Goff dropped back on second down and saw his favorite target streaking across the middle: Amon-Ra St. Brown – aka “Saint” – who, as the whole city seemed to know, was a game-time decision with an ankle injury. Don’t ask me which ankle. They were both working fine on that play.

St. Brown grabbed Goff’s perfect pass in full stride and took off running. Thirty-seven yards later, he went down, his feet inbounds and the game suddenly, blissfully, in hand. And for those who before this contest had their shovels ready and a pile of dirt stacked high, the Lions had a message:

Not dead yet.

“St. Brown is what we are,” coach Dan Campbell declared after the Lions outlasted the Cowboys and captured their biggest game of the year so far, 44-30, on Thursday, Dec. 4. “He’s what we are. That guy … Where he goes, we go.”

Where they went was smack back into the playoff picture with an 8-5 record. Had the Lions lost this game, according to the stat geeks, their chances of making the postseason would have been 19%. Instead, they are 55%. That’s the difference between a pile of chips on the blackjack table versus one last chip rolling between your fingers.

And while St. Brown was hardly the only contributor to this outcome, he was the most symbolic. His exit from the Thanksgiving loss to Green Bay ruined many fans’ appetites. The prediction was that he would miss “1-2 weeks.”

Instead, St, Brown came running through the tunnel Thursday night to the loudest ovation of anyone at Ford Field. And the first offensive play of the game was a pass to him cutting across the middle for 7 yards. The crowd roared again.

“Did you think you’d be able to do as much as you did?” someone asked St Brown after he racked up six catches for 92 yards, a terrific days for a healthy receiver.

“Nah,” he said. “I hurt it on Thursday. Friday, I couldn’t walk. I was on crutches. Saturday, I could barely walk. At that point I was like, yeah, I probably can’t play, it hurts too bad.

“Then Sunday came around and I was able to walk, felt a little better. … Then, I think Tuesday came, it felt a lot better.

“Wednesday, I was like, OK, I think I can play.”

Hmm. Maybe we should call him the patron Saint of miraculous recoveries.

Not dead yet.

Problems? What problems?

Now, here is a truism of all big-time sports: Before you can overcome an opponent, you must overcome yourself.

The Lions had a mountain of internal problems going into this game: crippling injuries; inexperienced players; a recent lack of poor execution – no turnovers, bad line play, a quarterback who wasn’t getting enough time – and a dangerous tally of five losses, including their most recent defeat by the Packers a week ago.

Forget how good Dallas had been playing. If Detroit didn’t get out of its own way, this game seemed already decided.

But the franchise that, under Campbell, still hasn’t lost back-to-back games in more than three years, came out Thursday with eraser in hand, ready to wipe away every black mark on the board.

No pass rush? Here was a new, sudden, freight train attack, with linebacker Jack Campbell finishing a bullrush on Dak Prescott to sack him on the lip of the end zone, and Al-Quadin Muhammad chalking up three more sacks on Prescott, including one on Dallas’ next-to-last play.

Bad offensive line play? Here was one total sack allowed on Goff, and David Montgomery following beautiful blocks by Penei Sewell and squirting ahead on a 35-yard scamper to the end zone and Jahmyr Gibbs hitting paydirt when it counted, three touchdown runs (of 1, 10 and 13 yards).

Lagging special teams? Here was Tom Kennedy, subbing for Kalif Raymond, exploding on kickoff returns with the trajectory of a cannonball fired chest-high, averaging 40 yards per return.

Quarterback doubts? Here was Goff (“We told him we were going to put this on him” Campbell said) responding with a steady, intelligent, engineer-like performance, dropping long passes to Jameson Williams and short sharp ones to Gibbs, finishing with 309 yards on 25-for-34 passing with no interceptions.

“It felt like we kind of got back to who we are,” Goff said afterwards. “… I think you could see an uptick in urgency from everybody.”

Not dead yet.

‘He refuses to fail’

Still, for all these contributors, the key stitch in Thursday’s tapestry was St. Brown returning and playing so well. He is broadly admired for his discipline, work ethic, physical strength beyond his size and ferocity in getting everything right. In a year when the Lions seem to lose key players every week – and even a guy they pulled out of retirement, Frank Ragnow, failed his physical – St. Brown not missing a single game after that serious ankle injury felt like divine intervention.

Then again, he is a Saint.

“His toughness and his will power, his desire to compete, to help those guys around him, to do whatever it takes to win, is second to none,” Campbell gushed. “He is rare, man. His mentality. His mindset is just, he refuses to fail. …Nothing is going to dictate where he goes, what he does. … He will dictate to himself what he’s going to do…”

“His teammates feed off of that.”

Good players perform well in big games. Great players inspire others to play better as well. St. Brown inspired that in Thursday’s win.

Now, don’t misunderstand. This was hardly a perfect game. Too many penalties, too many blown coverages, too much sloppy execution – and yes, the Lions benefitted by the third-quarter exit of CeeDee Lamb, the star receiver who’d been chewing up Detroit’s D.J. Reed all night (six catches, 121 yards) until he was ruled out with a concussion.

But for every hurdle the Lions put in front of themselves, a leap followed.  They went from one takeaway in their previous three games, to three takeaways against Dallas. They went from allowing eight sacks in their previous three games, to allowing just one Thursday.

“They don’t get panicked,” Campbell said of his troops. “They don’t make something out of it that it’s not. Don’t make more of it than it needs to be. There’s a reason why you’re not able to win the game and here’s what it is and oh, by the way, is it correctable? Yes, it’s correctable. …

“I think where you get in trouble is if you start panicking and you … start doing more than you need to do. Just do your job and do it the best you can do it.”

Maybe it is that simple. But know this: Given their injuries, their personnel, and their schedule the rest of the way, if the Lions do reach the end of their yellow brick road, it’s going to be like Thursday. Not dominance. Not blowouts. They’ll have to climb, slip, grab on, climb some more.

It’s not easy. But desire will carry you places mere flesh will not. The Lions knows this. They are living it.

Not dead yet. Don’t count them out. After all, 55% is a pretty decent chance. And it’s never wise to bet against a Saint.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom on x.com.

It was 1989, and an earthquake had just hit San Francisco, where I was sitting inside Candlestick Park about to write on a World Series game. The stadium had thundered, the players and fans had frantically evacuated and it was dark. No lights. Despite police warning us to leave, I had stayed, along with several other sportswriters, to get a story filed.

But I couldn’t see.

So I got a match and lit my box lunch on fire. And as the cardboard burned, I read the words off my screen into a pay phone, as my sports editor on the other end took them down.

Just another night on the job — one I have been doing, they tell me, for 40 years now. It doesn’t feel that long. Some of it, like writing about Michigan facing Ohio State for all the marbles, feels like yesterday.

Then again, some of it, like the Lions sniffing a Super Bowl, definitely feels new.

40 years of incredible moments, around the world

Here are a few other things I did for this job: Got chased by bulls in Pamplona. Walked the Great Wall of China. Raced Lance Parrish in a swimming pool. Took John Salley to his first hockey game. Flew in a biplane to cover the Iditarod in Alaska. Watched the lights go out on Tiger Stadium.

I visited Scott Skiles in jail. Sat next to an injured Kirk Gibson on a long flight home. Got into an argument with Bo Schembechler when he came out of a shower, wearing nothing but a towel. Went to sit down in the home of a bereaved Detroit mother who’d lost her son to gun violence and heard her warn me, “Don’t sit there. They shoot through the windows.”

Got a bucket of ice water dumped on my head by Willie Hernández (sadly, one of his more accurate pitches that year). Became a lucky charm driver for Jacques Demers during the Red Wings playoffs. Created a fictional World Series after a baseball strike canceled the real one.

Went to Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7. Went to Honduras after the devastation of Hurricane Mitch (of all the names) in 1998. Went to Haiti after the catastrophic 2010 earthquake.

I’ve written too many columns about rich, selfish athletes, but plenty about truly humble, amazing ones. I’ve written too many stories about drunk drivers taking innocent lives, but plenty about brave people helping to save them.

I’ve written too many columns having to defend Detroit, but plenty about what’s great about it. And I’ve written too many columns about loss — my parents, our little girl, friends, teachers, major influences — but plenty about inspiring people who are still here, shaping our lives for the better.

When I began newspaper writing, there were no cell phones, and our computers took batteries. Yet somehow today, we have earlier deadlines than we did back then.

When I began, nearly 650,000 people got a Free Press newspaper every day. Today, it’s a fraction of that, and the majority read it on a phone, tablet or computer screen.

It’ a shrinking business, harder than it ever was. So why stay?

I guess because, also when I began, I received a letter at the Free Press offices — before I’d ever written my first column — from a married couple. I’m guessing they were older. It welcomed me to Detroit, wished me well, then added — I’m paraphrasing here — “We know you won’t stay in Detroit long, because none of the good ones do. But we hope you enjoy our city while you are here.”

If you wonder why I’m still here after 40 years, the answer is somewhere in that letter.

A job of making connections, in Detroit and beyond

I’ve mentioned what I’ve done for this job. Here’s what this job has done for me.

It has taken me around the world. It has exposed me to the most glorious sports moments, and the most heartbreaking.

It has given me entrée to places people dream about going — champagne-doused locker rooms, Olympic stadiums, championship parades, spring training batting cages.

It’s given me notoriety and it’s taught me humility. It’s brought me face to face with people I will always remember, and some I wish I could forget. It’s honed my writing skills the way a grinding wheel sharpens a blade, and taught me never to get too attached to your sentences, because they might end up trimmed to fit a tire ad.

But mostly, it has provided a megaphone, and a stethoscope, to a city and state that I love, one that I’d never been to before arriving in my mid-20s, yet feels more like a true home than anyplace I have ever been in my life.

The purist joys of this job are not the seats you get in the Super Bowl press box. They are the moments you walk into a local coffee shop and see someone reading your column. Moments someone spots you and yells, “Hey, Mitch, are the Lions gonna do it today?” Moments the family of someone you eulogized takes your hand and says, “Thank you.”

What this job does for me, and what I hope I do for it, is connect us, your voice to my ears, my voice to yours. And no matter how the newspaper business changes, until they shut down the final printing press, that will always be the dynamic.

It is one I remain proud to practice. Forty years, huh? So be it. Just a number. I feel blessed and lucky to do this job. And If they’ll have me, I’ll continue doing it, as long as I can so decently, with compassion, and the occasional wink.

Also, thanks to backlit computers, I no longer have to set my lunches on fire.

So I got that going for me.

Which is nice.

Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates with his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow him @mitchalbom on x.com.