Talk Is Cheap — So Are Talk Shows
I am starting my own talk show. I figure everyone else has one.
My show will be called “Get A Life.”
It will be not be like Phil or Oprah or Sally or Maury.
It will never be confused with Geraldo.
“Get A Life” will have no guests.
“Get A Life” will have no male strippers. No lesbian truck drivers. No teacher-student love triangles, or circus performers who worship the devil.
There will be no men who want to be women. Or women who want to be men. There will be no porn queens who drive school buses. No Mafia hit men. No nudist cops.
ONLY DUMARS’ SKILLS ARE SPEAKING VOLUMES
Shut up and play. You used to hear that in basketball. Today, everything is noise, from bragging to headlines to recitations from “White Men Can’t Jump.” Except with Joe Dumars. He still abides by the old credo: Shut up and play. On the soap opera...
Red Wings Go Away Mad – But Not Even
I’ve seen heavyweight fights go like this: One guy comes out on fire and gets the crowd all worked up. Pow! Pow! His fists are flying, and his opponent takes every shot, the blood spitting from his face, until he looks like he’ll go down any moment — which only excites the aggressor more. Only the opponent doesn’t go down. He stays standing. Blow after blow. And finally, the first guy, exhausted from all this punching with no reward, takes a breath, says,
“Hey, what’s with this lug?”
And pow! The other guy knocks him out.
Wings Did All They Could – Except Win
I’ve seen heavyweight fights that go like this: One guy comes out on fire, he slugs and pounds and gets the crowd all worked up. Pow! Pow! His fists are flying, and his opponent takes every shot, the blood spitting from his face, until he looks like he’ll go down any moment — which only excites the aggressor more. Only the opponent doesn’t go down. He stays standing. Blow after blow. And finally, the first guy, exhausted from all this punching with no reward, takes a breath, says, “Hey, what’s with this lug?”
And pow! The other guy knocks him out.
Life In The Fast Lane? Not With This Chevy
Think of me as the idolmaker. Think of me as LIFE magazine knocking on the door.
I have come for Tim Cheveldae.
I am ready to make him a star.
“So,” I say, pulling out my notepad, “pretty soon it’ll be fancy limousines and fast women for you, right, kid?”
“Huh?” he says.
I know what’s coming. The Stanley Cup playoffs begin Saturday. The Red Wings are a favored team; Cheveldae is a hot goalie.
I know what’s coming.
FOR A WORTHY CAUSE, LET’S ALL ROAST FONTES
What I am about to do I do only once a year, so please indulge me. I am asking for your help.When I was young, I wanted piano lessons. I never got them. An uncle had sent an old piano to our house, and we put it in the basement, and I wandered down and banged away. My...
Fame Is Fleeting With Terminator Calling The Tune
NEW YORK — Andy Warhol said everyone gets his 15 minutes, and I guess I just had mine.
Actually, it was only five minutes. With Arnold Schwarzenegger. And one minute with Dyan Cannon. And seven seconds with Donald Trump, who really needs a new haircut. I mean, his hair just kind of creeps up his forehead, like a raccoon climbing a tree. I wanted to say, “Donald. Here’s five bucks. Go down to the barber shop, ask for Al. . .”
But I digress.
DEVIL’S NIGHTYOUNG U-M’S LOSS IN FINAL WON’T BE END OF THE STORY
MINNEAPOLIS — As the seconds ticked away on their fabulous lives as freshmen, the expressions were suddenly different. The eyes were dazed. The mouths hung open. Chris Webber watched Duke’s Antonio Lang slam down an uncontested dunk; Webber turned up court...
Hey, You Zombies, The Game Just Isn’T What It Used To Be
I see by the melting snow and the euphoric look on John Lowe’s face that it is once again spring and therefore time for Opening Day. But before the baseball zombies attack my house like creatures from “Night of the Living Dead,” banging on my windows with their fantasy league stat books and chanting, “Come ouuuut. Come ouuuut. Choose a pennant winner . . . or . . . DIE!” let me say this:
John. Zombies. The rest of you.
I have bad news:
Baseball ain’t the same.
And it is no longer King.
Stay Connected
The only newsletter dedicated to updates, exclusive content, and giveaways of Mitch's books!