Detroit Free Press

CHICAGO -- As a Detroiter I must admit that watching Michael Jordan's last-second jumper spin out of the basket into the hand of an LA Laker, and catching Jordan's frown which seemed to say, "Miss? I don't miss. How could I miss?" and hearing the Chicago crowd fall deathly silent as the Lakers jogged off the court with a Game 1 victory, and seeing the Bulls droop their shoulders and slink away, as if to say "Lose? We don't lose.

Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, son! Come sit on Santa's lap. What's your name?""Jack.""Jack what?""Jack Morris.""Ho, ho, ho! There's a famous baseball pitcher named Jack Morris.""I know, I'm him.""I'll be darned! Say, you're a little heavy.""That's my wallet.""Oh. Well, Jack. Have you been a good boy?""Good? I've been great. Didn't you watch the World Series, old man?""Well, I . . .""I was MVP. The big cheese in Minnesota. I just got a new contract. Over $5 million a year.""How nice. They appreciate you."

Well, now. That was a first. The Pistons gave a news conference and forgot to bring the news.Instead, most of the Detroit press corps sat there, in a banquet room, and listened to Isiah Thomas say how "this is one of the happiest days of my life" -- and then not tell us why.Oh, he did say he'll be a Piston for the rest of his career. But once the Knicks deal fell apart, did anyone doubt that? He did say he'll be a Piston "for the rest of my life."In what capacity, Isiah?"That's between me and Mr. Davidson."What kind of authority will you have?

OK. You're at a cocktail party. You're standing on the table. You're waving your arms, howling like a moose, you've got the whole room listening to you. . . . And you blank out. You were about to tell them why the Pistons will win their third straight NBA championship, starting with Game 1 of the playoffs tonight at the Palace. You were about to tell them why the other NBA teams are not that good, why the Pistons have nothing to fear, now that Earl Strom has retired.

Twenty . . . The clock matched Chris Webber's age when he pulled down the rebound. But as the seconds ticked away, he seemed to grow younger with them. Nineteen . . . His first thoughts were of victory, how his whole life had been geared to this moment. We will win, he told himself, cradling the ball against his chest. We will make a basket and we will win!Eighteen . . .

TAMPA, Fla. -- When the coffee turned cold and the fruit plates were empty, the announcement came that the morning interviews were over. All around the huge ballroom, the Buffalo Bills headed for the exits. James Lofton stayed where he was, sitting at a table, surrounded by reporters. He answered more questions -- about his age, about his years in Green Bay. Soon the room was half-empty, and the kitchen staff was collecting plates and clanging silverware. Lofton stayed, answering more questions -- about being cut by the

Gatorade is out. Worms are in.It's true. As you read this, athletes are pouring milk on their worms.Or spreading worms on toast. Bagels and worms? With tomato?Whatever. It's just a matter of time before we're all into the slimy little buggers, after the news this week in sports:Worms make you run faster.

Now the hard question: Who's responsible?Some former players have finally admitted what has been whispered in sports circles for some time: Michigan State football players, at least in the 1987 season, maybe longer, routinely used steroids to bulk up.