The year was 1968. The nation was rumbling. War. Riots. Free love. And music, always music. Folk rock. Motown. And then there was this song. It began with a churning electric guitar, a locomotive sound that dug straight into your belly. You found yourself reaching for handlebars, gunning your engine. Then a growling voice came through the speakers. "Get your motor runnin' . . . Get out on the highway . . . Looking for adventure . . . in whatever comes our way . . . "
LILLEHAMMER, Norway -- First of all, Michelle, I want you to know that even as I write this, I am wearing sequins. And velvet tights. I have puffed sleeves, a jeweled belt, pancake makeup and a blow-dried, hair-sprayed coif. I look like something out of "Aladdin" on skates. I am making an effort. I am trying.And I am sorry.I can't get with it.
One by one, they walked off the court, surrendering the title like old sheriffs turning in their badges. Joe Dumars dropped on a table and tossed his head back. Isiah Thomas hugged Bill Laimbeer. Dennis Rodman, who looked stunned enough to cry, found Vinnie Johnson and slapped his hands. Then, with a few seconds left on the clock, they exited the Palace floor together, the deposed kings, heading down the tunnel where their wives stood clapping in the echoing silence.Say good-bye to glory.No tears.
NEW ORLEANS -- It was after midnight when the glass slipper finally gave way. One second. One miserable second. They were that far from another amazing victory, that far from sleeping on the doorstep of the Final Four. And then a freshman from New York City let fly a shot that would make any playground proud, and it fell through the nets and the miracle was on its way out.
LOS ANGELES -- The young man was tall and broad-shouldered. While his teammates spoke of touchdowns, he spoke of flying a jet across the skies of Kuwait. Chad Hennings is a Dallas defensive lineman, who, unlike most of the players in Super Bowl XXVII today, served in the military. I found him intelligent. Engaging. Then someone asked about gays."In the military? I'm against it. Absolutely. Nothing against gays, you know, but the idea of living with them? In close quarters? Nuh-uh."
NEW ORLEANS -- When tonight's game is over, and the Michigan kids look anxiously for their parents in the tunnel, the way most college players do, Juwan Howard will be alone for one hurtful moment. He was raised by his grandmother. She died the day he committed to Michigan. So when his teammates share their joy, or seek parental comfort, when they hug their mothers and fathers, Howard will close his eyes and pretend he's hugging his Grandma. "Just because I'm here, and she's there in heaven, doesn't mean we can't do the same thing as these guys."
Maybe now that he's retiring, Bill Laimbeer expects gratitude. A suspended sentence. A shrug, a grin, an "aw, heck, you weren't so bad." Maybe he figures, now that he's hanging 14 long, bumpy years, the spotlight will fall on the good parts of his story -- like his statistics -- and not the bad parts -- like his elbows.Well. He should know better. Not long ago, I asked Laimbeer whether he thought he'd ever make the Hall of Fame. He snorted a laugh, and said, "No."Why not?"Because the powers that be don't want me in there."
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.
