There are days when the blood runs down their noses and the mud gets in their helmets and their arms and legs scream: "Rest! We need rest!" -- just as another 300-pounder comes charging in.On days such as this, there can't be anything worse than being an offensive lineman. Unless, maybe, you are Shawn Bouwens.
He almost always has a cigarette in his mouth, if not that, a sucking candy, and he walks around the room blowing smoke or making tongue-clucking sounds and listening, always listening, because that is what a good teacher does. Listens. Now and then, he'll interrupt with a correction, or write something down, maybe show you how to play it. He makes it seem simple, and when you get frustrated, he'll blow a cloud of smoke, grin and say, "Relax. It takes two or three weeks to become a jazz musician."
I can hear it now: "The ship is sinking! First Ernie, then Bill Lajoie! Look out, Tigers! The water is rising! It's all Bo's fault! Man the lifeboats!"Come on.This town has had enough flash floods over baseball lately, don't you think? The best thing we can do with this Lajoie story is to learn a lesson from the Harwell story, and not turn it into anything more than what it is: and right now, it is a man who has decided to call it quits after squeezing every drop of himself into baseball.That's all.
Maybe he wasn't "a giant in the industry" but he was big, physically big, a furry guy with a mop of hair, thick beard, cotton shirts, old shoes. When he waddled down the hall you had no choice but to say hello, and to say hello to Dorian Paster was to start a conversation that could go for hours. "He never stops talking!" some people moaned.What did they expect? He was a disc jockey.I would call him sometimes late at night at WLLZ, to leave a message for the morning shift producer."Where are you?" he would ask."Houston," I'd say.
This time, there was no magic. No Isiah either. This time the Portland Trail Blazers proved that what counts is not how you start but how you finish, and this is how they finished: on top.
Oakland Calif. --They had already stolen Oakland's crown, Oakland's reputation, and Oakland's thunder. Now the Cincinnati Reds were taking Oakland's stadium. One by one they came bursting from the dugout like enemy soldiers storming the castle, to the raucous applause of about 300 Cincinnati boosters -- the only fans left in the Coliseum. It was like a private party late Saturday night. Simply Reds. And soon, the field was a small ocean of Reds jackets, Reds hats, Reds T- shirts.Red October."Ri-jo! Ri-jo!""Sa-bo! Sa-bo!""MARGE!"
ALBERTVILLE, France -- Before I explain why Christopher Bowman is about as real as an Easter egg -- and nearly as fragile -- let me confess something to you, Michelle:I'm a man.And being a man, I will never appreciate figure skating the way women do. Sorry. It's in the genes. Like hair loss. We're just different.WHAT WOMEN WISH: That for one magic moment, they could be like those figure skaters, gliding over the ice as the crowd calls their names.WHAT MEN WISH: That there was a sequel to "Animal House."
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.
