The year he was born, a guy named Johnny Carson started working on “The Tonight Show,” John Glenn went around the Earth in a spacecraft, and the United States discovered Soviet missile bases in Cuba.
Chris Chelios is still skating.
The year he started grade school, a doctor named Christiaan Barnard performed the world’s first heart transplant and an actor named Dustin Hoffman mumbled, “Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me.”
Chris Chelios is still skating.
I’m less concerned about Paris Hilton going to jail than I am about her getting out.
When she gets out, the fawning over her will be even worse, multiplied by the fact that – unlike most moments in her vapid life – there is actually something to talk about. Listen. You can hear it already:
SAN JOSE, Calif. – Mike Babcock sat alone in a windowless space in the bowels of the Sharks’ arena. Because reporters were rushing to file stories, there were mostly empty chairs before him. He spoke about victory, the sense of pride and relief.
But it felt too small, like a presidential candidate talking at a bus stop. So we should take a moment here to appreciate how damn hard it is to do what the Red Wings have just done: reach the conference finals as a favored team.
SAN JOSE, Calif. – As we always say, you can never have enough Swedes on your hockey team. Mikael Samuelsson may not be the first name you think of when rattling off Swedish Wings, but Monday night he was the Nordic Nuke, the Scandinavian Slayer, the Go-To Goteburger. His two goals in less than five minutes continued a streak of Swedish successes that have finally, finally, given the Red Wings two things they desperately wanted:
1) A return to the Western Conference finals for the first time in five years, and
2) A day off.
Swedeness and light.
Josh Hancock is dead. That fact does not change. He was dead the day the accident happened. He was dead the day the Cardinals attended his funeral. He was dead the day they glumly returned to baseball, wearing his number on their sleeves.
And he is dead today, with the toxicology report showing he was drunk by nearly twice the legal limit when his Ford Explorer plowed into a tow truck.
He is dead today with the news that he was talking on his cell phone at the time of the crash – talking to a woman about meeting her at a bar.
This is a story about Scott Skiles and it begins in jail – not because what he did to get in defines him, but because what he did once he got out does.
It was 21 years ago this month that I visited Skiles in Indiana, after his 15 days behind bars in the Marshall County Jail. Fifteen days with food pushed through a slot, with the lights always on, with five other men in his cell, one toilet, one shower, one phone call allowed every other day.
Monday morning after the NFL draft is like Sunday morning after a wild college party. You either had a great time, a lousy time or you wait to learn if you made a fool of yourself.
The Lions will have to wait. It was a strange weekend. The home team took another receiver with its highest pick. A great receiver, we are told, but still another receiver. That’s four in the last five years. And as rare a bird as Calvin Johnson is, his Georgia Tech team last year went 9-5. Guys who catch the ball do not ensure victories.
In the fog of the draft, this much is clear: Everyone thought Calvin Johnson was the best player on the board. The Lions chose the best player on the board.
And you can have the best player on the board – and still lose a lot of games.
The Lions had Barry Sanders for a decade and lost a lot of games. They’ve had Roy Williams – a Pro Bowl receiver – and have lost a lot of games. Now they have another receiver, Calvin Johnson, whose very name seems to cause analysts to salivate. He is big. He is fast. He apparently was born on Krypton.
The roster just got better.
The only newsletter dedicated to updates, exclusive content, and giveaways of Mitch's books!
