by Mitch Albom | Nov 10, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
Go ahead. Make us sick, why don’t you? It’s bad enough to sit in a canvas bubble watching your team go plop. But here was Anthony Carter, back for his annual visit, streaking across the middle of the Silverdome as if everyone else were moving in slow motion, and here comes the ball, right on target, and, bingo, it’s in his hands and he’s off.
Who needs it? It’s hard enough to see the Lions week after week without getting chewed on by the rats of what might have been. But they were there Sunday, every time Carter caught the ball. And wouldn’t you know it? He caught it a lot.
by Mitch Albom | Nov 9, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
We have a problem here.
Someone is sleeping on the job. Someone is leaving the gate unlocked. Someone is allowing the wrong men to become NFL quarterbacks.
Look. To be an NFL quarterback you must possess these things: a strong arm, a quick mind and the ability to date two girls at once.
You must also have the right name.
Turk.
Yes. Turk is a good quarterback name. I’ll take Turk. Or Bronco. Or Biff or Max or Joe. These are good names, all of them.
Gale?
Gale is not a good name.
by Mitch Albom | Nov 9, 1986 | Detroit Free Press, Sports
We landed at the small airport, rented a car, and drove through the darkness. It was late and it was cold. There was a McDonald’s and a Burger King and then there was nothing. “We take this road 30 miles to the traffic light,” I said to Mary...
by Mitch Albom | Nov 3, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
And then, depression set in.
What else was left? The Lions had just been penalized, tripped, whacked, rushed, fooled, intercepted and, finally, beaten in the closing seconds, 24-17, by the Cincinnati Bengals. Three defeats in the last three weeks. Their best hope for the playoffs is now TicketWorld.
How did they lose this? Let me count the flags.
Second quarter, Lions driving deep into Cincinnati territory. Eric Hipple back to pass — and it’s complete, a first down!
What’s that yellow thing?
“PENALTY. ILLEGAL USE OF HANDS.”
by Mitch Albom | Nov 2, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
ANN ARBOR — There are moments when football looks like a good, clean sport, and there are moments when it simply looks like war. The moments can come one right after the other.
John Kolesar, a small but gifted Michigan flanker, was running a pattern in the first quarter of Saturday’s game — running fast, but the pass was long, and he dived for it, landed head first, and slid into the Illinois marching band.
by Mitch Albom | Nov 2, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
Rrrrrrrrrrring.The alarm clock. It can’t be . . . oh, no. It is.It is the midway point of the football season. It is time for the midterm exam my boss always gives me. And I forgot to study. I meant to study. But there was this movie on Channel 50 and I ordered...
by Mitch Albom | Oct 28, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
NEW YORK — No fair! The words screamed inside Oil Can Boyd’s head, pounding off the sides of his skull, even as he pulled his cap over his eyes and tried to disappear. No fair! Forget the team, forget the Big Picture. Man is an animal that, when cornered, thinks first of his own survival. When John McNamara stood at the top of the hotel escalator Sunday night and told Boyd,
“I’m going with Bruce Hurst” — the Can would not start the last game of the World Series — Boyd did only what comes naturally. He began to cry.
by Mitch Albom | Oct 28, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
NEW YORK — There is, as I write this, the sound of rain drumming the pavement of Seventh Avenue. Taxicab headlights move quietly through the city night. The hotel room window is open, late October is blowing in, and I know this. They are out there somewhere, the baseball ghosts, dancing in the water.
by Mitch Albom | Oct 28, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
NEW YORK — The ball rose high over the outfield, farther and farther, and every New York fan swallowed his chewing gum waiting for the ball to reach its destiny. “GET OUT OF HERE YOU SON OF A–“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Forget it. Forget it all,...
by Mitch Albom | Oct 27, 1986 | Detroit Free Press
NEW YORK — What could possibly be left in this World Series? What could possibly equal the bottom of the 10th, the two-out drama, the hitting, the pitching, the rain? The rain? What could be left in this made-for-TV-deal, except . . .
But of course.
