Detroit Free Press

Usually at this time of year, I engage in a lively debate with fellow columnist Mike Downey, who is a wonderful guy in every way except that he lives and works in Los Angeles, which makes him a ninny.

DALLAS -- The last shot was an air ball by Jalen Rose, which, given the circumstances, was appropriate. The Michigan miracles were gone now, no more time, no more magic, nothing but the weak breeze of a missed jumper. The president of the United States was coming out to high-five the opposing team, and the arena was an Arkansas chorus, roaring for the Wolverines to get off the court. Ray Jackson ducked toward the bench area, trying to exit the fastest way, but a security man stopped him with an epitaph for the Michigan season: You can't go out the way you came in.

Here was my first clue that things had changed down at Tiger Stadium: I heard a vendor recite poetry."Don't be shy, don't walk bytill you try our roast beef on rye. . . . "His name was Rasean Reeves, a 19-year-old from Detroit, he was smiling while he worked -- maybe that was my first clue, come to think of it -- and he was working in something called the Ball Park Deli, which was in something called Tiger Plaza, which is a giant food court on what used to be the players' parking lot. Now Rasean had a new poem."Fill your belly,

Someone once told me Isiah Thomas planned to run for mayor. Why not? He loved power, he had ambition, and at the time -- this was a few years ago -- he probably had the votes. He was, without question, the most popular athlete in Detroit since Gordie Howe. Billy Sims and Mark Fidrych were big stars, but they never delivered championships. Thomas (Hit Man) Hearns made a name for himself, but not a personality.

Think of me as the idolmaker. Think of me as LIFE magazine knocking on the door.I have come for Tim Cheveldae.I am ready to make him a star."So," I say, pulling out my notepad, "pretty soon it'll be fancy limousines and fast women for you, right, kid?""Huh?" he says.I know what's coming. The Stanley Cup playoffs begin Saturday. The Red Wings are a favored team; Cheveldae is a hot goalie.I know what's coming.

Football is a game that takes hours to play but is defined by seconds. A fumble. A slip. A snap decision. You add those moments together and more than any statistic, they tell you who won. Here was Scott Mitchell, on the ledge of such a moment, late in the game, his debut in Detroit, trailing by a touchdown, his knee throbbing from an earlier collision and the new radio speaker in his helmet squawking like some old Russian telephone.Also, it was fourth down.And they were using their last time-out."Let's pass it," one of the coaches said.

Today we will deal with the very important subject of forecasting the weather, which began, of course, in prehistoric days, when groups of cavemen sat in a circle, looking at the sky, until one of them finally stood up and clubbed his wife over the head. Then they all went home.You have to admire that kind of thinking. The caveman knew he had absolutely no control over the weather, so why bother? Modern man is not so smart. Modern man wants Information. Especially Weather Information. How else do we explain the local TV news?

WIMBLEDON -- In a good play, the secondary characters peel away, one at a time, taking their bows, until the star of the show is left alone in the applause. This is how it should be. This is how it was Saturday afternoon, under warm and cloudy skies at Centre Court, Wimbledon. Martina Navratilova shook hands with history, solo at last, and took her bows.