I hate to get serious on a Monday morning, but I think some people have got this "Lions Lose Anthony Carter" drama a little mucked up.If you listened to all the theories floating around out there, you'd believe that:A) Lions GM Russ Thomas was shanghaied by Don Shula, who backed out on a deal, or . . . B) The Lions were too cheap, too incompetent, too dunderheaded to make a deal, or . . .
One by one, they took their last at-bats of summer. Darrell Evans said goodby with a fly to right field, and Alan Trammell signed off with a hard line drive to shortstop . . .
INGLEWOOD, Calif. -- No problem, dude.The lights? The cameras? The fast-paced LA action? Was all that supposed to bother the Pistons Tuesday night? Was it supposed to embarrass them, intimidate them, make them play like pretenders in Game 1 of this National Basketball Association final? "Chill, baby," the Pistons seemed to say as they jogged off the Forum court, having stunned the Lakers, 105-93, to draw first blood in this championship series. "What do you think? We never played basketball before?"
Well, if I were Kirk Gibson, I would duck. Certain fans get dangerously upset when he doesn't play great, and this year, overall, Gibson is playing "terrible." That's his word for it anyhow. Terrible. Then again, he has nights like Wednesday, when he hit two home runs, one of them halfway to downtown. On nights like that, certain fans want to jump out of their seats and hug him to death.
LAKELAND, Fla. -- You hang around enough spring training camps, you start to hear the same old sentences:"Man, it's hot.""You play golf yesterday?""Man, it's hot.""You playing golf today?"There are certain sentences, however, you do not hear often. One of them is: "I'm buying." Another is: "Bach has always been my favorite."
BOSTON -- Larry Bird's hair was dripping champagne. Kevin McHale was soaked to his shorts. Bill Walton was grinning underneath an NBA Championship cap and slapping hands with those high enough to reach him. The Celtics had just won their 16th title, the fans outside were mobbing the Boston Garden floor, and finally, finally, it was time for the big moment. Finally, it was time for . . . a beer.A beer?
SAN DIEGO -- He sat in the stands Sunday afternoon, trying hard to choke down his excitement. That wasn't just Doug Williams out there, the first black quarterback in a Super Bowl. That was Eddie Robinson's life story."To see this happen in these late years," says Robinson, 68, Williams' coach at traditionally black Grambling University, and the man most responsible for his being here, "well, I can hardly describe what it means."
INGLEWOOD, Calif. -- They were dancing on the court with nine minutes still left to go. The score was Lakers 85, Celtics 70, time-out was called, and the Laker cheerleaders grabbed fans from the front-row seats and, ho, the heck with Celtic comebacks! They did the victory shimmy right there on the Forum hardwood, fans and showgirls, as the crowd screamed along with the thumping public address system:"WE LOVE L-A! . . . ""WE LOVE IT!"
ROME -- The runners were charging to the tape in the 1,500- meter final, but I can't tell you who was in front. I was watching the guy in last place, the tall, sandy-haired American whose steps were labored and whose face was strained. He was way behind, maybe 60 yards, but I kept waiting for him to charge, to kick, to win. It was stupid. I can't help it.His name is Steve Scott. He is the first athlete I ever interviewed.
TAMPA, Fla. -- Yippee! The Lions won. I vote we end the season right now.Why wait the final two weeks? They could lose the final two weeks. Please, somebody. Put it in ice. Let us finish this desperate journey on a happy note, even if it did come at the expense of the Buccaneers, Florida's answer to the poster child."How does it feel?" someone asked Darryl Rogers, after his Lions knocked off Tampa Bay, 20-10, Sunday to end a four-game losing streak and raise their record to 3-10."It feels," he said, "like a change."
It's taken me the entire NFL season, but I've finally figured out Darryl Rogers. Sort of.Remember when he arrived last spring, fresh from the college ranks, a seemingly laid-back, unassuming, you-respect-me- I'll-respect-you kind of guy?Yeah. Well. I never trust that type. There has to be more. A fire in the belly. A skeleton in the closet. A Jack Daniel's in the desk. Something.
COSTA MESA, Calif. -- The Giants players were all in their designated seats. Only Tony Galbreath's seat was empty. He would not be available today. He had taken the big leap, stepped off the silver screen of the Super Bowl. Like the hero in the "Purple Rose of Cairo," he was walking through real life now.With a movie camera."Oh, man, look at all these people," Galbreath said, eyeing a mob of reporters around teammate Phil McConkey. "This is no good. Excuse me . . . Excuse me . . . "
