JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — Well, after careful analysis, I think we can all agree that the turning point in this game was the opening kickoff. That, or when Desmond Howard put on his uniform.
I don’t want to say Howard took over the Gator Bowl. I don’t want to say he made the Ole Miss Rebels eat his dust. That wouldn’t be fair. They didn’t get close enough to eat his dust.
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — “It’ll come back,” he told himself, staring at the sky. “Just lie here. It’ll come back.” He could not feel his hands or feet. He could not feel his skin against the turf. Through his helmet he heard the dying roar of the crowd, which had suddenly realized the bad news: Chucky Mullins wasn’t getting up. Try the fingers, he thought. Nothing. Try the toes. Nothing. Now the trainers were around him. They were screaming, calling for a stretcher. They pinched his arm. Nothing. “Everybody back!” someone yelled.
Snow covers most of the house now, the front door, the mailbox, the circular driveway. From the outside, it is just another suburban home, a place where children might build a snowman on the front lawn. But there are no children here, no snow man. The doors and windows are shut tight. People whisper and point when they pass. Here is why: Beneath the snow, the word “NIGGER” is written in the grass. Someone took weed killer one night and burned it in giant letters.
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — One good thing Bo Schembechler is accomplishing with this Ernie Harwell fiasco: he is making Gary Moeller’s job a lot easier.
Face it. When Moeller took over at Michigan, his biggest hurdle was not teaching the boys how to block and tackle. It was escaping the Schembechler ghost. Schembechler was worshiped as a football coach. Had he merely retired, then hung around Ann Arbor, his shadow would have dwarfed Moeller for years.
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — If I had a dog — which I do, but I mean if I had a dog with me, right now, down here — I would say to him, “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Or rather, “Toto, we’re not at the Rose Bowl anymore.” That’s assuming his name was Toto, of course. And that he remembered the Rose Bowl. I remember the Rose Bowl. In fact, this morning I remember the Rose Bowl the way I remember my first girlfriend. I miss it desperately. I want it back in my arms.
I hear voices. I open my door. Look who’s on my porch, singing Christmas Carols . . .
* George Foreman: “The Christmas Song” Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Whipped cream hanging from my nose
Pumpkin pies and a burger or two
And milk shakes, fries, and Cheerios,
Everybody knows, a turkey and some Pizza Hut
They enable me to punch
When Holyfield drops, I’ll eat Tootsie Pops,
And wait for Tyson, hey, where’s my lunch?
* Sergei Fedorov: “Winter Wonderland”
Sleigh bells ring, I am scoring
In the room, I am snoring
I never understood the fuss over Madonna, since she is hardly the first woman to try and rip off Marilyn Monroe.
But I have to hand it to her. She has turned the American public into the world’s biggest sap.
First she films an erotic music video. Then MTV refuses to show it. So Madonna goes on ABC’s “Nightline” to protest censorship. As part of the program, the entire video is shown.
And now it sets a record for copies shipped. Fans can’t wait to buy it.
The only newsletter dedicated to updates, exclusive content, and giveaways of Mitch's books!
