Detroit Free Press

I've seen heavyweight fights that go like this: One guy comes out on fire, he slugs and pounds and gets the crowd all worked up. Pow! Pow! His fists are flying, and his opponent takes every shot, the blood spitting from his face, until he looks like he'll go down any moment -- which only excites the aggressor more. Only the opponent doesn't go down. He stays standing. Blow after blow. And finally, the first guy, exhausted from all this punching with no reward, takes a breath, says, "Hey, what's with this lug?"And pow! The other guy knocks him out.

Once upon a time, when you asked someone for an interview, you didn't plan on calling him names.Then again, once upon a time, we used leeches to cure the common cold.Times have changed. So it didn't surprise me when an NFL quarterback named Jim Everett went on a cable talk show last week, and the host insultingly called him "Chris" -- as in Chris Evert, the female tennis player -- not once, not twice, but three times."I'll bet you don't call me that again," the quarterback warned."I'll bet I do," the host said.He smirked."Chris," he said.

Usually, the stupidity of the masses is fought by the integrity of the few.Now and then, it's the other way around.Take the case of Jill Burstein. She is a security guard at Detroit's Renaissance Center. She sits behind a desk in one of the building's many hallways.The RenCen can be a cold, sterile place. So Jill decided to warm it up a little. At Halloween, she put a pumpkin on her desk. People smiled when they walked past.At Thanksgiving, she put up two paper turkeys and a balloon. People smiled again.

Attention: young people about to graduate college. Put down that beach ball!This is not a typo. I went to graduation ceremonies at George Washington University last weekend, and all during the speech -- made by a prominent government leader -- the students were tossing a beach ball, punching it from section to section, like at a Jimmy Buffet concert. I kept waiting for someone to interrupt the future of global economy by yelling "PLAY MARGARITAVILLE, DUDE!"

"They come and they go, Hobbs; they come and they go."Robert Duvall to Robert Redford in "The Natural"I always loved that line, but I never realized how true it was in sports until last week. While vacationing out West, I went to a jazz concert in a small California nightclub. Not long after I sat down, a man and his wife sat next to me. The man smiled and said, "How you doing, Mitch?"

THE LIVE ALBOM:* Every now and then I have to wonder about our business. On Monday morning, the front-page story of both Detroit newspapers was Brent Musburger getting fired. And of course, for USA Today, this was MAJOR NEWS. Meanwhile, TV reacted with typical perspective. One broadcaster said: "Who'd have thought in one year the Berlin Wall would come down and Brent Musburger would leave CBS?"* Yeah. I can just see those East Germans pouring over the border. "Next, comrades, we free Brent!"

Although I have forgotten many stories from my youth, there is one I will always remember. It concerned my father. There was a snowstorm. A bad one. The car stalled in the middle of nowhere. I was a newborn infant, in need of food, and so my father left my mother and me in the car, and ran through the snow until he found a small tavern. He pleaded with the unreasonable owner, asking for milk. The owner kept saying no. His wife overheard the conversation, came from the back with a carton of milk, and said, "Take it. For your son."My father thanked her, found us, and fed me.