LAKELAND, Fla. — I walk slowly through the Tiger clubhouse, waving hello, then scratching my head. I have seen these players before. And I have not seem them before. I mean, they look familiar. Sort of. That is what I mean. I think.
“Kirk?” I say, to the player whose uniform back reads GIBSON. “Kirk Gibson? But I thought–“
“Sorry?” says Paul Gibson, turning around.
“Sorry,” I say.
LAKELAND, Fla. — The good news is, Willie Hernandez has rediscovered the strike zone.
The bad news is he was only standing six inches away and it wasn’t a baseball.
It was a bucket of ice water. A large bucket of ice water. He threw it on my head.
I should explain.
I had just arrived at the Tigers’ spring training camp Wednesday from the Winter Olympics in Calgary. I was talking in the clubhouse with pitcher Frank Tanana. And the next thing I know, I am drenched. All over. And Willie is walking away, saying, “Take that, bleeper-bleeper!”
CALGARY, Alberta — A few months ago, Bob Trenary was sitting in a restaurant atop Detroit’s Renaissance Center. He looked out the window and saw, way down at the bottom, an ice rink.
“Let’s try skating,” he said to his wife.
She agreed. Down they went. “You won’t believe this,” Trenary said to the rink attendant, “but my daughter is the national figure skating champion.”
The guy shrugged. Trenary pushed away. After five minutes, his ankles were throbbing. He wobbled to the wall, removed the skates, went back upstairs, and ordered a drink.
CALGARY, Alberta — The moment began to slip away slowly, then quickly, unraveling with every false step of Debi Thomas’s skates. This wasn’t the ending America had dreamed about. This wasn’t Olympic magic. This was Thomas, with no one but herself to overcome, missing one jump, missing another, nearly falling to the ice, tumbling down the glory ladder, past gold, past silver.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to herself, to her coach, to us, as she skated off the ice, the reality of the moment hitting like a brick of ice: the gold medal was hers for the taking. She had given it back.
NAKISKA, Alberta — There were hands around his waist, hands grabbing his neck and two, three, four hands slapping him on the head.
“ALBERTO! ALBERTO!”
He waved. He laughed. He pointed playfully to the No. 1 on his racing bib. There were Italian flags behind him and Italian flags in front of him, and five, six, seven hands slapping him on the head.
“ALBERTO!”
“FANTASTICO, ALBERTO!”
CALGARY, Alberta — There were hands on his shoulders and hands cupped behind his neck and two, three, four hands slapping him lovingly on the head. Bells were ringing. Women were singing.
“ALBERTO! ALBERTO!”
“BELLA, ALBERTO!”
He waved. He laughed. He pointed playfully to the No. 1 on his racing bib. There were Italian flags behind him and Italian flags in front of him, and four, five, six hands slapping him loivingly on the head.
“ALBERTO!”
” FANTASTICO, ALBERTO!”
CALGARY, Alberta — Finally, ladies and gentlemen, we bring you the Olympic 90-meter ski jump, where the burning question remains: Can a man they call “The Flying Finn” be upstaged by a clumsy, bespectacled Brit who once bit off his tongue?
Strange but true. Remember, this is an event where grown men ski off a huge ramp and fly into the wild blue yonder — without a pole, much less a parachute. No wonder the Canadian winds kept postponing this thing: Chinooks are attracted to shnooks.
CALGARY, Alberta — February 22, 1992 — News Item: The 90- meter Olympic ski jump was postponed yet again yesterday due to high winds. ABC-TV, which has remained in Calgary since February 1988, said it was “optimistic” the winds would die soon, so the event could be held and they could all go home.
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