It was as pointless as shooting rubber bands at a tank. Here came the Purdue Boilermakers, and Michigan tried to -- swish! -- oops never mind, now here they came again, put a hand in their faces -- swish! -- oops, never mind, now came the break, stop it before -- swish! -- oops, we better -- swish! swish!Forget it. If Purdue shoots like this the rest of the way, you can wrap up the Big Ten title in black and gold paper. Right now. You better hurry -- swish! -- up.
Year after year, the NFL combs the country for the best young college football players. And today, draft day, many of those players will huddle around TV sets with their loved ones: mom, dad, sister, brother, agent, lawyer, accountant, personal trainer, PR flack and shoe company representative. Many are called, few are chosen.
Fourth of five excerpts from from "Fab Five: Basketball, Trash Talk, the American Dream" by Free Press sports columnist Mitch Albom. "Fab Five" is published by Warner Books, 359 pages, $21.95.On a cold January night in 1973, Jeanne Rose felt the stirrings of her fourth child. She called her brother Len -- "Hurry up, I'm having the baby" -- to drive her to the hospital. He raced over in his green Fiat, helped her in and slammed on the accelerator. By the time they reached the hospital, Jeanne was deep into contractions."Hang on!" Len urged."I'm trying!" she said.
There was a knock on the door. Dennis Rodman, who was not answering knocks or phones, peeked out the window. He did not recognize the man, or the little boy, or the pickup truck.He cracked the door open."This is from the Pistons," the man said, holding out an envelope. Rodman took it. Inside was a neatly typed notice saying he had been suspended, without pay, effective immediately. After six years of a storybook NBA career, he was off the team. Rodman stared at the paper."Uh, Dennis?" the delivery man said."Huh?"
THE LIVE ALBOM: * You want to know why I hate predictions? As I write this, Buster Douglas is heavyweight champ, Michigan State will play for a title, we might or might not have baseball, and Bob Probert is back on skates.
Wait a minute, teenagers. Not so fast. Come back here with that fashion article printed in this very newspaper just two days ago, the one with the headline "PROM-ising Alternatives" that dealt with new ways to dress for your high school prom without looking traditional, which is to say, a dweeb.Gimme that paper!riiip . . . swiiip . . . shrshhh . . . There now.
ST. ANDREWS, Scotland -- Before I get to my newest favorite athlete and my personal choice to win this year's British Open, a golfer who is allergic to grass, I want to tell you about an exciting new travel experience: sitting on a highway, waiting for a Scottish tow truck! Sounds great, huh? This is how I spent much of my first day here Wednesday, after my rent-a-car broke down somewhere between The Firth of Forth and The Fifth of Schnapps.
I find them in the basement, right were I left them, on a dusty shelf, squeezed together, like cold cuts in a sandwich. Janis Joplin. The Beach Boys. The King and I. Did I always have this many? "Long time, no see," I say.My albums say nothing.Are they mad? It has been a while. Ever since that birthday, seven years ago, when the CD player arrived. It was black and shiny, with cool new gadgets and a little drawer that opened and closed.
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.
