by Mitch Albom | Mar 30, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
NEW ORLEANS — Did you know Bobby Knight is writing a newspaper column? One of those quickie syndication deals. So now he gets to sit up there in front of a ballroom full of reporters and say with a sneer, “Well, as a fellow sports writer, I think. . . . “
This, I suppose, is better than him punching you in the face. Or screaming until your hair turns white. Or brutally insulting your intelligence while your peers laugh along because if they don’t, they’re afraid he’ll turn on them next. Not that it ever stopped him before.
“Bobby,” a reporter began, “do you–?”
by Mitch Albom | Mar 30, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
NEW ORLEANS — Did you know Bobby Knight is writing a newspaper column? One of those quickie syndication deals. He loves it. Now he gets to sit up there in front of a ballroom full of reporters and say with a sneer, “Well, as a fellow sports writer, I...
by Mitch Albom | Mar 29, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
NEW ORLEANS — Oooh, Freddie. A free throw? How mortal. How sadly mortal. Time running out, Nevada-Las Vegas is losing, about to be sent down the NCAA mountain, and suddenly, the guy switches on, what he throws up is going in — and we’re talking rainbows from space here –so the crowd goes nuts, like a thousand hot crap tables, and look out, UNLV is coming back at Indiana, straight for the jugular.
by Mitch Albom | Mar 29, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
NEW ORLEANS — It doesn’t matter, all the money and the music and the new clothes and the computers. College is still about kids making their parents proud. It always has been.The last time Greg Monroe’s father came to see him play basketball, Greg...
by Mitch Albom | Mar 27, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
NEW ORLEANS — Fifty million viewers. Five hundred reporters. One tragic story. No way you win with odds like that. They’ll come after Rick Pitino like flies to food.Pitino is a sort of hero this week, a handsome, 34-year-old coach in his first visit to...
by Mitch Albom | Mar 24, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
HOUSTON — Because it was Monday and it was cloudy and humid and I was already feeling like a grouch, I figured this would be a perfect time to check in with Bill Laimbeer.
Laimbeer, the Pistons’ center, is, after all, the kind of guy you can count on for a hard time. Drop dead. See if he cares. He plays his big, stiff game of basketball and goes on, right? Argues with referees, infuriates other players, sticks out that jaw and that pokey nose and goes loping along like a giraffe singing, “Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah.”
by Mitch Albom | Mar 23, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
HOUSTON — The Pistons are now like men dancing in wet cement, never sure which pose will harden. It could be glory. For this is a team of talent, of scorers, of depth. But this is also a team that remade itself in the off-season, and for all the wins — 44 already — it is still difficult to figure who’ll do what on any given night.
“That could be good,” muses forward Adrian Dantley, stretching out across his hotel bed, “because the other team can’t prepare too much.”
by Mitch Albom | Mar 22, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
EAST RUTHERFORD, N.J. — Derrick Coleman rose toward the basket, gently, majestically, as if in slow motion, as if walking up a ladder . . . He was walking up a ladder.”I’m next! I’m next!” he yelled with each step, and when he reached the...
by Mitch Albom | Mar 20, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
THE LIVE ALBOM: *Hey. Wait a minute. Dennis Conner goes Down Under, comes back all dark, and gets a parade. I go Down Under, come back all dark, and the office says, “Nice tan, porkhead. You make us sick.” * I’ll erase the tan, OK? I’ll crawl...
by Mitch Albom | Mar 15, 1987 | Detroit Free Press
“This whole thing has been like a movie — ‘The Negotiation of Lance Parrish.’ It’s ridiculous. This is not how I wanted my name in the papers. . . . “
Lance Parrish, after signing with Philadelphia CLEARWATER, Fla. — He pulled the new uniform over his broad shoulders and tugged on the zipper. Up came the pants around his waist, and the red belt went through the loops.
“It fits,” he mumbled.
“Pinstripes,” said an observer. “Nice. You look like an inmate.”
“Yeah?” He smirked at the irony.
