‘Too Much Of A Friend To Die’Kurt Dobronski’S Friends Cherish Their Final Memories
It was hot inside the church. The bride and groom stepped to the altar. This was last weekend, Joe Maiorana’s wedding, and his college pals were serving as ushers. Bill Ryan. Dave Maine. And, of course, Kurt Dobronski, his ex-room mate, his best friend, who had flown in from Phoenix for the occasion.
“It was the first time,” Bill remembers, “that all four of us were together in tuxedos.”
‘TOO MUCH OF A FRIEND TO DIE’KURT DOBRONSKI’S FRIENDS CHERISH THEIR FINAL MOMENTS
Inside the church was hot and crowded. A few people fanned themselves with prayer booklets. The bride and groom stepped to the altar. This was last weekend, Joe Maiorana’s wedding. All his college friends were in the wedding party. Bill Ryan. Dave Maine. And, of...
CALM? REASONABLE? GO TIGERS!!
The hard part now will be staying calm. The hard part now will be sleeping without a bat and ball. The hard part now will be making up excuses as to why you are sitting on the front porch in your pajamas at 5 a.m.”Oh, hi!” you will say as the newspaper boy...
Climbing On A Rainbow, Tigers Show True Colors
That’s it. The other teams can turn in their uniforms. The Tigers are a mortal lock now.
I am not talking about talent. I am not talking about stats. I am not talking about base running, power hitting, relief pitching, ball scuffing, or any such part of the national pastime. I am talking about rainbows.
“Did you see that thing?” someone asked.
“How could you miss it?” someone answered.
WITHOUT ELUSIVE RECORD, LEWIS IS MERELY WINNING
INDIANAPOLIS — Forget about the hairdos and the lip gloss and the “bigger than Michael Jackson” predictions. When Carl Lewis blows his whistle at the top of the long jump runway, people still come out to watch. They come out big.So it was that most...
A Perfect Ending, A Perfect Hero For Pan Am Baseball
INDIANAPOLIS — It was a perfect American moment in need of a perfect American hero. Bottom of the ninth. Two out. Score tied. The crowd on its feet, waving flags, stomping feet, killing its vocal chords in lusty cheer:
“U-S-A! U-S-A!”
Drama? Ho. You’d have to look a long while for a purer drama than this: a humid August afternoon on a minor league field where perhaps the two best amateur baseball teams in the world, one Cuban, one American, had scratched and pounded and finessed each other to a 4-4 deadlock with one out to go before extra innings. Drama? Come on.
Pan Am Duel In The Sun Has Perfect Cast, Ending
INDIANAPOLIS — It was a perfect American moment in need of a perfect American hero. Bottom of the ninth. Two out. Score tied. Crowd on its feet, waving flags, screaming madly:
“U-S-A! U-S-A!”
Drama? Ho. You’d have to look a long while for a purer drama than this: a humid August afternoon on a minor league field where perhaps the two best amateur baseball teams in the world, one Cuban, one American, had scratched and pounded and finessed each other to a 4-4 deadlock with one out to go before extra innings. Drama? Come on.
“NOW BATTING . . . ” boomed the PA voice.
Singing For Your Supper Nfl’S Meat And Potatoes
We are talking about embarrassment. We are talking about nerves. We are talking about the moment of truth in pro football training camp.
We are talking about rookies singing.
“Dinnertime, lunchtime, whenever we feel like making them do it,” says William Gay, the Lions’ defensive captain, who need only bang his glass with a spoon — like an uncle at an Italian wedding — to make a rookie stand up, open wide and say, “Laa!”
“Are they any good?” he is asked.
“Some are good, some are bad,” he says, rubbing his chin slowly. “And some
. . . are real bad.”
Tigers’ 4Th Inning Lasted From Here To Eternity
For a moment there Sunday, I thought all of Tiger Stadium had died and been sent to eternity. The sun would set. The moon would rise. Then it would be winter. Then, the year 2000.
And we would still be in the fourth inning.
How long did that inning last? High school went by quicker. Tiger batter. Tiger batter. Tiger batter. I would like to explain what happened in clear, precise detail. I would like to, but I can’t, because my scorecard looks like a treasure map drawn by a two-year-old. Who can’t draw.
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