I took a drive last week to say good-bye to an old friend. I came off the highway, turned down a familiar street and there she was, right in front of me.She did not look good. She was pale and broken down. Even the work she'd had done a few years ago now had decayed. She was spilling out, peeling, her fabrics were torn, and she looked none too steady on her feet. The summer sky was gray and she seemed to have a cloud affixed permanently over her head - along with cranes, tractors and trucks by her sides.
Like a lot of folks in Detroit, I've known Dave Lewis for a while. And that's the problem. He has been here as a player. He has been here as an assistant coach. And he has been here as head coach. Familiarity breeds contempt.In sports, it breeds the door.So Lewis is out today as the Red Wings' skipper. What should we make of this? Well first, let's admit, just talking about hockey - as if it's actually, you know, a sport that plans on playing sometime soon? - is almost exhilarating, isn't it? I pretty much forgot we had a team.
Her son was dead. He died serving our country.At this point, you're thinking "Iraq." But this young man never wore a helmet. He never carried a gun. His name was Andrew Goodman. A white college student. Forty-one years ago, he went from New York City to Mississippi after hearing the Ku Klux Klan firebombed a church. He tried to help.He was murdered.And yet, here is what Carolyn Goodman told me a few weeks ago when I asked if she regretted her son's devotion to civil rights:
From the day he was drafted, a shaggy haired kid with a soft, nervous voice, he promised to do his best, even though, as he warned a TV interviewer, he sometimes tried to do too much. Who knew that sentence would be an understatement? He did so much for his team and his town that in time it became immeasurable - and impossible to reproduce. Steve Yzerman, the man, will get up today as a retired hockey player and go on with his life.But Steve Yzerman, the idea, is likely gone for good.
C.C., C-ya. One way not to worry about your pitching is to jump all over the other guy's pitching. It sure worked Thursday afternoon, in a game that kicked off the second half of the Tigers' season and gave them a big winning boost as they turn to the heat of the summer.
At first, you said, "It's way too early."Then you said, "He's hitting really well."Then you said, "It's still too early."Then you said, "But he's hitting really well ... "At the risk of jinxing everything, may I point out the obvious? Today is the first day of July. That means April, May and June are over - and so is nearly half of the season.And Magglio Ordonez is still hitting better than anyone in baseball.
On my way out of the mall, I passed a man sitting in the parking lot. His beard was long. His feet were calloused. Anything I can do? I asked."Nah," he said. "I give up."On life? On hope?"On the iPhone."The iPhone?"I'd like to wait in line for it," he lamented. "I really would. I know it's the newest, sleekest, most versatile mobile phone ever. I know it plays music, takes pictures, surfs the Net, plays videos, lets you talk for hours and fits in your pocket. I even heard it teaches your dog to poop on the newspaper. But "But?
It was a graduation. It was June. The ceiling fans spun overhead and the microphone squeaked when a young woman began to speak."Before I came here," she said, "I was a student. "She paused. The crowd listened patiently, some fanning themselves against the heat."I was a student addicted to cocaine and marijuana. And I was an alcoholic. "Many nodded."My attendance decreased. I had no self-esteem. I was just a lost soul. "More nods. A yell of encouragement."Today, I have the tools to lead a successful, productive, sober life. "
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.
