SYDNEY, Australia — Eight years ago, when NBA players arrived at the Barcelona Olympics, it was Moses at the Red Sea. Everything stopped. Everyone stared. The first game of Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson and the rest of the Dream Team was an E-ticket ride, dignitaries, high rollers, impossible to get a seat.
SYDNEY, Australia — Once upon an Olympics, you came to the party broke and anonymous. You arrived as an amateur, without fanfare, a small suitcase in hand, a flag on your lapel.
You gave the best performance your body could deliver, you burst across a tape, touched the wall in a swimming pool, netted a winning shot — and suddenly, you were an Olympic champion. Your world was never the same.
SYDNEY, Australia — And with that, we end these 2000 Olympic Games! They were spectacular, weren’t they? See you in 2004!
Uh, Mitch. Why are you upside down? Funny. I was going to ask you the same thing. Maybe it’s being Down Under, where today is yesterday, yesterday is tomorrow, up is down, and how about that Olivia Newton-John?
She sings in the opening ceremonies.
She sang.
What are you talking about?
She sang in the opening ceremonies. Those were two weeks ago, mate.
Two weeks ago?
NEW ORLEANS — Here’s what hasn’t changed with the Lions in the millennium: The starting quarterback is still hurt. The backup quarterback is still rocky, and Stoney. The most reliable defensive player is Stephen Boyd. The most reliable offensive player is Jason Hanson. Yellow flags still fly when the Lions can least afford them.
Oh, and they won.
Well. You gotta change something.
It was the first kickoff of the first exhibition game. Matt Russell came charging down the field, planted a leg and felt a pop in his right knee.
He was done for the year.
Just like that? Just like that. He went through surgery. He went through rehab. He lifted weights for hours a day and stood on the Detroit Lions’ sidelines, holding a clipboard, while his friends played the game.
EVERYBODY’S talking about where everybody’s going. This one’s going here. This one’s going there. Grant Hill’s going to Orlando. Jamal Mashburn’s going to Charlotte. Eddie Jones is going to Miami.
And Chucky Atkins is coming to Detroit. Oh, maybe that doesn’t make the same headlines as those other guys. Atkins doesn’t care. He is happy. No, he’s thrilled. Because his story is less about where he’s going than where he has been.
Let’s talk tanks. Let’s talk guns. Let’s talk military presence. Let’s talk buildings with bullet holes. Fans throwing bricks.
Afriend of mine has no children. She hears about it all the time.
“Why not?” they ask.
“How could you not want them?”
“Is there something wrong between you and your husband?”
Another friend has three children. She also hears about it all the time.
“Don’t you want a career?” they ask.
“Are you really taking those kids into that restaurant?”
Once upon a time, having children was a given. Those who didn’t couldn’t. They were to be pitied.
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