It was as if he'd traded his halo for an eye patch and a pair of brass knuckles. Was that Isiah Thomas? Sweet Isiah Thomas? Detroit's precious chunk of the big rock candy mountain? That Isiah Thomas? Running down court and waving a fist and pushing his chest into Atlanta opponents and hollering "YOU CAN'T WIN! YOU'RE IN MY HOUSE NOW!""Tell him, Isiah!" screamed a fan."Show him who's boss!" added another.
HONOLULU -- Don't tell me. Jim Harbaugh came into Michigan's locker room at halftime Saturday, the Wolverines tied with the unranked Hawaii Rainbows, 3-3, and he said, "Don't worry. I guarantee we will be lying on the beach tomorrow."Well, something like that.It took just six minutes in Aloha Stadium for Michigan to realize they play football for real out here. Harbaugh was sacked rudely on U-M's first possession, a should-have-been touchdown drive turned into a field goal, and the vacation was over and the game was on.
We arrive in the Big Apple with a whimper, not a bang. We get off the bus with bags heavy on our shoulders. We slink down the ramp and into the stadium and we try -- we try very hard -- to put on our game face."ROAAARRRRR!" we want to say."Meow," it comes out.We are the Detroit Tigers. We have come to win the American League East. At least we think that's why we're here. We have come to fulfill our destiny. At least we thought it was our destiny. That was before the ice packs and the bandages. That was before we lost 13 of 16 games.
MEMO TO: OFFICE STAFFFROM: HAWAIIAN CORRESPONDENTSDear Everybody,Well, we just landed in Hawaii, and I must tell you, it's not all it's cracked up to be.And I'm not just saying that.For one thing, it's cold. I mean, it's really cold. Like I'm-still-wearing-my-winter-coat cold. Grass skirts? Ha! The people in this airport dress in scarves and gloves. And I'm not just saying that.Where's the non-stop sunshine, you ask? That's what I ask. Do you know what I see when I look out the pane-glass windows? I see gray skies. Gray skies. Can you imagine?
(Mitch Albom's column did not appear in one edition Wednesday because of a computer problem. It is reprinted today in response to inquiries from readers.)I didn't write this story on Opening Day, the day it happened. I wanted to think about it for a while. When somebody sticks a gun in your stomach, you do a lot of thinking.
NEWPORT BEACH, Calif. -- He is walking past the hotel patio and the crowd is swelling -- first two reporters, then four, then the TV stations. Is it Stallone? Is it Elvis? "Bo," says the PR man, "these gentlemen are from ESPN. They want to follow you around today.""Um-hmm," says the husky, balding coach, without breaking stride. "Well, all right, men. But I'm late for a team meeting.""That's OK," blurts the cameraman, "we'll just follow you and shoot. We don't need to interrupt.""Um-hmm."
They handed him the red and white jersey, and he pulled it over his head. "Welcome," they said, "to the Detroit Red Wings." Jimmy Carson grinned and posed for cameras. Next to him, general manager Jimmy Devellano was beaming. On the other side, coach Jacques Demers flashed a huge smile, the kind of smile you get when a police officer tells you, "It's all a misunderstanding, sir. You're free to go."
THE LIVE ALBOM:* Well, it's nice to be back in the U.S.A. When I left Pete Rose was in deep trouble, Barry Sanders was unsigned, and the Tigers were looking bleak. * And now . . .
CHICAGO -- Well, this was a terrible, embarrassing, second- rate football game. But let me be blunt. The Chicago Bears finished off the Lions Sunday about as quickly as it takes a dog to raise its leg, and with nearly the same respect. On a day fit for tadpoles and the occasional polar bear, they bruised and bullied and stomped all over the silver and blue and left giggling, 24-3 winners.But that wasn't the worst part.
INDIANAPOLIS -- It was a perfect American moment in need of a perfect American hero. Bottom of the ninth. Two out. Score tied. The crowd on its feet, waving flags, stomping feet, killing its vocal chords in lusty cheer: "U-S-A! U-S-A!"Drama? Ho. You'd have to look a long while for a purer drama than this: a humid August afternoon on a minor league field where perhaps the two best amateur baseball teams in the world, one Cuban, one American, had scratched and pounded and finessed each other to a 4-4 deadlock with one out to go before extra innings. Drama? Come on.
He did not look older. He did not look wiser. He looked tired. Which is what you'd expect. "What do you think?" someone asked Chuck Long, just moments after the Lions dropped a heartbreaker, 16-13, to the Chicago Bears.He shook his head. "Now I know what Eric Hipple's been going through all these weeks," he said.Now he knew. First-hand experience. This was supposed to be Chuck Long's night, his debut as starting quarterback. Monday Night Football, the nation watching. And for a few brief moments it was all he could have wanted.
MINNEAPOLIS -- They were pouring champagne on each other's heads, screaming, laughing, celebrating in the usual way for world champions -- when suddenly, in the midst of this clubhouse euphoria somebody screamed: "OUT TO THE FIELD!" And out they charged, en masse, all these alcohol-soaked Minnesota Twins, the most unlikely World Series winners in some time, pushing through the tunnel and slapping hands and camera lights and finally, finally, emerging back to where it all happened, back to the Metrodome field where they had captured Game 7, a title, and the hearts of every Minnesotan an
