JACKSONVILLE, Fla. -- "It'll come back," he told himself, staring at the sky. "Just lie here. It'll come back." He could not feel his hands or feet. He could not feel his skin against the turf. Through his helmet he heard the dying roar of the crowd, which had suddenly realized the bad news: Chucky Mullins wasn't getting up. Try the fingers, he thought. Nothing. Try the toes. Nothing. Now the trainers were around him. They were screaming, calling for a stretcher. They pinched his arm. Nothing. "Everybody back!" someone yelled.
Nelson Mandela's recent visit may have reminded Americans of the things we take for granted, but it also suggested something we sorely miss: great speakers.Mandela came to Detroit Thursday and, with his thick South African accent, ignited a group of autoworkers by declaring "I am your flesh and blood. I am your comrade." Later, before a packed house at Tiger Stadium, he recited the words to, of all things, a Marvin Gaye song -- and again set the crowd on fire. "Brother . . . brother . . . there's far too many of you dying. . . ."
He entered the room with his heart already broken, yet he forced a smile; he greeted the reporters, told them thanks for coming. A gentleman does not forget his manners, no matter how much dirt is thrown at him. This has always been the quality that separates Ernie Harwell from the dim bulbs in baseball. And so he squeezed his lip when it began to quiver Wednesday morning, and he squinted into the lights of this, his first and only news conference in 72 years on this planet.
SAN FRANCISCO -- There was an enormous fire burning across the bay Sunday, which sent black smoke billowing over the stadium. I figure someone took the Lions' "new" reputation and struck a match to it.
I open my door, and what do I see? Some late Christmas carolers from the sports world . . . Wayne Fontes, singing "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" God rest ye Barry Sanders, man, and please don't stub a toe, You know my future's on your back so keep those shoulders low Watch your knees, oh pretty please, keep running in fifth gear when you do, then my future is so clear Three more years! Tell Dave Krieg please to bundle up his ears.
Good morning, New York, and how are we feeling toda --Ooh, sorry. Are we talking too loud? Bad headache, huh? Here. Try some of these aspirin. It was a nasty fall you took last night. All the way from the clouds to the pits. Lie back, and we'll try to explain what happened.
News Item:The first of several presidential debates will be tonight in St. Louis. George Bush, Bill Clinton and Ross Perot are promising to concentrate on the issues. . . . MODERATOR: Welcome to the presidential debates. Gentlemen, please introduce yourselves.CLINTON: Hello, George. BUSH: Hello, Comrade.PEROT: Be nice, boys, or I'll fire ya.MODERATOR: Ahem. Now then. Let's begin with a question on the economy. Gentlemen, what is wrong with the U.S. economy and what will you do about it if elected president?
If you were driving around Tuesday night listening to the Red Wings game on radio -- and as it turns out, that could be the last hockey game of the year -- you might have heard a segment between periods called "Spotlight on Amateur Hockey." It's an odd little program in which announcer Budd Lynch, with his deep, resonant voice, talks to kids about their hockey, in this case a 13-year-old:"So . . . I see you play defenseman.""Yeah.""Do you enjoy that position?""Uh-huh.""How's your coach?'"He's good."
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.
