Collins Drives Himself, His Team With Passion
So many voices inside Doug Collins’ head, like an army of transistor radios all playing at once. There is the voice of his mother, urging him to succeed, and the voice of his father, stricken with lung cancer, saying, “Doug . . . I don’t want to die.”
There are voices of his two grown children, whom he adores, and voices of players, coaches, friends, philosophers — all these voices, snapping sparks in his brain, making him run, then stopping him in his tracks.
If you wondered why Doug Collins is so frantic on the outside, you should see what’s going on inside.
A RITE OF SPRING RETURNS: PISTONS IN THE PLAYOFFS
We interrupt this hockey season for a message from the Pistons. You remember the Pistons? Basketball team? Play up at the Palace? Once, they were April, May and June in this city. They owned the spring, and everything else had to get in line for crumbs. There were...
Up Close and Personal, Dole is Simply Droll
He entered the ballroom and walked briskly to his seat. The crowd applauded as strobe lights flashed and photographers lifted their cameras that made whirring and clicking sounds. He smiled and sat down, an arm’s length away, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I am sitting next to the next president of the United States.
Panic? These Wings Count On Patience
Patience, patience. If there was one lesson learned from the opening of the most anticipated hockey playoffs in Detroit history — and let’s be honest, you shouldn’t learn more than one thing from the first game, right?
— it was that patience will not only be a worthy companion on this horse ride through the postseason, it may keep you sane.
“When already?” Wings fans seemed to ask, as Detroit went scoreless in the first and second periods Wednesday night, and trailed the eighth-seeded Jets by a 1-0 score as the final frame began. “What are you waiting for?”
BOWMAN UNLOCKS POTENTIALOF WINGS AS OTHERS COULDN’T
Today, on the dawn of the most-anticipated hockey playoffs in modern Detroit history, I come to praise Scotty Bowman, not to bury him. Oh, I know it is not fashionable for media members to say anything nice about Bowman, because he frequently treats us like Kitty...
MEDIA JUST AS GUILTY AS JESSICA’S PARENTS
Jessica Dubroff came into the world underwater, a birth method chosen by her parents. She never ate meat, a decision made by her parents, and she did not watch TV, a decision made by her parents. She did not play with toys and she did not go to school; she was...
This Magical Moment Won’T Be Forgotten,Even By Team That Takes Victory In Stride
For one night, they could let it go. They could allow themselves a flush of satisfaction. The war was not won, but a battle had been claimed, and only the most stoic soldier could come out of Friday night without a smile. So here, at Joe Louis Arena, amidst a shower of octopi, and a deafening chant of
A FULL REBIRTHEVEN SPARKY SEES SOMETHING IS SPROUTING
The old desk was gone. It was a dark wooden thing, with coffee stains, scratches and a drawer that didn’t work. If you pulled that drawer out, it fell in your lap. Never failed. Finally, after many years, Sparky Anderson unscrewed the handle. I guess he got...
In Baseball Now, The Gaprefers To The Generations
It’s Opening Day here in Detroit, and fans are preparing in the traditional way, shoveling snow.
Soon, players will be pulling on their ski masks, and hot dog vendors will stick their hands in boiling water, just to get some feeling back in their fingers. The tarp will be lifted from the field — so the snow plows can come in — and once the salt trucks finish in the parking lot, and the umpire is defrosted, finally, the big moment, when the first batter walks to the plate, turns to the catcher and says, “M-m-m-man, even my bleep is cold.”
And he spits.
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