Personally Speaking . . . Mcmahon Is What He Has
“You fooled ’em all, Chief. Damn! You fooled ’em all!”
“You fooled ’em all, Chief. Damn! You fooled ’em all!”
NEW ORLEANS — It is all familiar. I have been here before. NFL banners hang from the rafters, and Dixieland music plays all day long. Fans are swarming through the lobby. Someone wants to sell me a T-shirt for $20. I say no, and head for the house phone. I have been here before.
“Can I help you?” the hotel operator says.
“Don Shula’s room, please.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, “we have no Don Shula listed here.”
I am patient. These things happen. Especially on Super Bowl week. I have been here before.
“Please check again,” I say.
I wait.
“Sometimes bad is bad”
— Huey Lewis
Ricky Mahorn is alone, sitting in front of his locker, eating pistachio nuts.
“Do you have a minute?” he is asked.
“Gotta sauna, then leave,” he mumbles.
“Um . . . is that a no?”
“You can take it as a no,” he says, sneering, “or you can take it as a maybe.”
The visitor says he’ll take it as a no, and leaves.
Try to read this column, and try to understand it, because there are young men out there who can do neither. College students. At least that’s what they’re called. They’re really just football and basketball players dressed in school colors.
For four years, they’re squeezed like a tube of toothpaste. And then they’re left on the sink.
Education is an accident. If it happens at all.
We could make it a movie. It might work. Call it “The Natural II: The Kirk Gibson Story.” Redford plays the lead. Or maybe Don Johnson — he’s already got the whiskers. We open with flashbacks. Gibson as a child. Hitting a Wiffle ball. Breaking a window. Kissing a pretty girl. Gibson at college. Smacking home runs. Running with a football. Kissing a pretty girl. Gibson as a Detroit Tiger. Swinging a mean bat. Stealing bases. Leading the club to the 1984 World Series, where — we need slow motion for this — he hits a dramatic home run in the final game and leaps for joy. Music swells.