I am starting my own talk show. I figure everyone else has one.My show will be called "Get A Life."It will be not be like Phil or Oprah or Sally or Maury.It will never be confused with Geraldo."Get A Life" will have no guests."Get A Life" will have no male strippers. No lesbian truck drivers. No teacher-student love triangles, or circus performers who worship the devil.There will be no men who want to be women. Or women who want to be men. There will be no porn queens who drive school buses. No Mafia hit men. No nudist cops.
* Detroit 24, Minnesota 20: And I'm gonna keep on picking them until they lose.* Arizona 16, NY Giants 15: I'm not sure what kind of kid Buddy Ryan was, but I bet nobody wanted to sit next to him.
LAKELAND, Fla. -- So there I am standing in my cornfield when this voice comes out of nowhere."If you go there," it whispers, "they will play.""I beg your pardon?" I say."If you go there . . . they will play."I poke my hoe in the ground. I look at my dog. I check to see if I left the transistor radio on. I look at my dog again."If you go there . . ." the voice of baseball repeats, "they will play."I cock my head. "You gotta be kidding me."
LILLEHAMMER, Norway -- Things are getting crazy here in the emergency ward of the Media Hospital."Doctor! Doctor!" a nurse screams. "This man is critical!""What's the problem?" I ask."He was shoved by a reporter and swallowed his camera.""Mmmph . . . rnhmmph . . . smthtzyrt . . . yreez!""What's he saying?""He says whatever you do, save the film. He's got a shot of Tonya Harding sneezing."Before I can react, a man from "Inside Edition" offers me $1,000 for the tape of Tonya sneezing -- $1,500 if I wipe it off first.
Jerry Ball wanted somebody dead. He knew what had happened, he'd seen it a million times, only this time it had happened to him, this nasty football trick, one guy holds you up, the other chops you low, and now it was his knee that was throbbing and his turn to sit on the motorized cart that would drive him off the field and into his street clothes and damn it, he wanted no part of this. Better a crane should lift him through the roof than to ride off like some wounded soldier in front of the enemy with its cheap trick garbage.
AUGUSTA, Ga. -- So here is what the 1991 Masters came down to: final round, final hole, three of the biggest names in golf tied for the lead -- and all three totally disgusted with themselves. Jose-Maria Olazabal was scowling in the sand, his second bunker in two shots. Tom Watson, playing behind, had just watched his drive sail into the pine needles off the 18th fairway. And Ian Woosnam, all 5-feet-4 1/2 inches, had followed Watson with a blast into the crowd, so far left of the fairway, he needed a traffic cop to get him to his ball. Hey, guys? The hole's over here.
I have found the answer to the Lions' problems. He is a pass receiver. And he doubles as a defensive end. That's right. He goes both ways. Just like the old days. Which, unfortunately, was the last time he played. The old days."We didn't wear any darn face masks back then, either," Ed Klewicki says with a snort. "You wanted to shoot your mouth off, you had to back it up."Today, the Lions are a sore spot, an irritation to some, an embarrassment to others. Fans are depressed. Players are disheartened. It has been this way for so long, people figure it was always so.
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.
