There is one less tough guy in the world this morning: We buried Eddie yesterday.Even as I write this, I can still see him, punching me in the arm when I was a kid and saying "Put em up, buddy boy" -- then striking a pose like one of those 1920's boxers. I can still feel his steel-hard muscles when he lifted me in the air, and the sandpaper edge of his whiskers when I kissed his cheek.
BARCELONA, Spain -- They come to stare at Ben Johnson now, as if he were a baby in a stroller, only they look at how much smaller he has grown, instead of how much bigger."His torso's half the size!" someone whispers."Look at the arms. Much less definition.""Thighs are shrunken, too."
LEXINGTON, Ky. -- You find me in the basement, under a long-haired wig, strumming a guitar in front of a video camera."What's up?" you ask."WAYNE'S WORLD! WAYNE'S WORLD!""I beg your pardon?" you say.Come on. I am preparing. We all should be preparing. By "we," I mean people who are over 30, and, therefore, soon to be put out to pasture."What are you talking about?" you say."Michigan," I say glumly.
The porch light is off. His mother says if you turn it on, "It just gives them something to shoot at." Same goes for the lamp in the den, which can be seen from the street. Off. They sit here -- on an old couch, in front of bare walls and a TV set -- in semi-darkness. Hiding in their homes."You'll want to move away from that window," the mother suggests. "How many nights a week do you hear shooting?" She blinks, as if surprised by the question."Every night. They shoot like it's their job or somethin."
In his home state, the land of his birth, they were counting the hatred, one vote at a time. "I've got a few people who will call me tonight," Joe Dumars said. "I'll find out what's going on, maybe even at halftime of the game."Dumars is a professional basketball player, but at this moment, this Saturday morning in his home, life was not about sports, it was about politics and hate in the place where he grew up, the state of Louisiana. A man there was running for governor. A white man. A handsome man. A man who, in college, used to sleep under a Nazi swastika blanket.
First of all, before anyone accuses me of being a party pooper, I want to congratulate the Lions for beating the Atlanta Falcons and proving to the world Sunday that just because you like to beat the crap out of people doesn't mean you always win. I should add that I was in the elevator after the game when one of Atlanta's assistant coaches, Jimmy Carr, started yelling at the Lions' assistant coaches and then some fan gave him lip and by the time we reached the bottom floor this guy Carr was waving his fists and croaking,
* DETROIT 24, SAN FRANCISCO 20: I know they're supposed to lose. I know the 49ers have been to more Super Bowls in their sleep than the Lions have been to in their history. But you know what? One of these days, the Lions are going to knock off San Francisco. And I want to be the one to say, "See? Told you so."* CHICAGO 10, GREEN BAY 0: Trust me on this one.
"Everything we do is insane. It keeps us sane."-- Scott Hastings, philosopherSo where's the popcorn?""Huh?""The popcorn. Don't you know the rules?""Yeah. Any fan sitting in that seat has to buy us popcorn. And beer.""But . . . the game is going on!""We know that.""Wait a minute. . . . You guys eat during a game?""Of course.""When else?""Are you serious?""We're serious.""And we're hungry. Get going."
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.
