TO: Mike Royko
FROM: An admirer
Dear Mr. Royko:
Over the years, I have received many letters from readers. Quite a few begin this way. “I’ve never written to a columnist before . . .”
Tell you the truth, Mr. Royko, neither have I. It took your death to get me to write you now.
This might sound strange to Michigan fans who think this newspaper is out to “get” the basketball program, but I’m glad Robert Traylor decided to stay in school, so that one day he can prove all these charges false.
ST. LOUIS — It was the perfect portrait to end this series. Brendan Shanahan scoring over a fallen Grant Fuhr, raising his fists as the red light went on. For so much of this first round, the pose was something opposite, Fuhr upright and strong, stonewalling the Red Wings, sending them away, their heads down, their pockets empty.
Night after night, if you watch the NHL playoffs, you’ll notice a pattern. It’s Joe Sakic making a lightning-quick goal for Colorado. It’s Wayne Gretzky scoring three in one game for the Rangers. It’s Pittsburgh’s Mario Lemiuex breaking away to put it in the net and keep his Penguins from elimination. It’s big players doing big things, stepping up to grab the ring of greatness that separates them from the pack.
It is everything the Wings have been missing.
Until Friday night.
For the last few summers, you might have seen someone who looked like Joe Dumars playing in local tennis tournaments. He never registered under his own name — he often used “Joe Dee” as a pseudonym — but it was he all right. Joe Dumars. Captain of the Pistons. NBA All-Star. He wasn’t the best one out there. Sometimes he got beat in the first round.
But there he was, swinging away.
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