My parents were in Australia last week when the world went crazy. They called my home upon hearing the awful news that four planes had been hijacked by terrorists, and two had been crashed into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon and one in a field in Pennsylvania.When I returned their call, the Australian hotel receptionist said they were out. He asked whether there was a message."Yes," I said, "tell them Mitch, their son, is fine, and all the people we know in New York are OK."
Listen, nobody admires Joe Dumars more than I do, but he still works for someone. That someone is Bill Davidson. Bill Davidson owns the Pistons. And Bill Davidson was never -- repeat, never -- going to give Jerry Stackhouse $100 million or anything close to it.So trading Stackhouse was a done deal a long time ago, really as soon as Davidson's wallet was zipped, long before Wednesday, when Stack was actually dealt to the Washington Wizards. It wasn't Dumars' being creative or risky. It was Dumars following orders.
In the days after Jayson Blair resigned in shame from the New York Times, everyone tried to reach him. Television, radio, newspapers, magazines, old friends, colleagues. He spoke to almost no one.But he did call one person -- an agent named David Vigliano about a book and movie deal. Those deals are now in motion. And that's all you need to know about Jayson Blair.
Hat's off. If you thought he was the devil, then give the devil his due. The Angels may have popped the champagne, but the biggest winner of this all-California World Series was, it turns out, on the losing team. A month ago, Barry Bonds was a giant with a question mark. Now he is a giant exclamation point.
LAS VEGAS -- I have found the future. I am walking through it, carrying a plastic shopping bag.I am at the Consumers Electronics Show, the first major trade show of the millennium. It is "cutting edge." It is "hot, hot, hot." It is every cell phone, computer chip, video, stereo and Internet device you can imagine.I am lost."What is that?" I ask the person with a name tag that reads "Personal Relations/Consultant."
MITCH ALBOMLife, as you get older, is less about what you learn than what you remember. Same goes for hockey. Especially playoff hockey. This is not training camp or some summer skate, where you work on your new moves. Playoffs are when you rely on instinct. Success depends on what kicks in.
One of the nice things to come out of Sept. 11 was a breakup in America's love affair with celebrities.For a few reasonable weeks, in the aftermath of the World Trade Center rubble, the idea of who some movie star was dating seemed beyond silly.It seemed insulting.
Thanks to the new millennium, we have had to update everything from computers to stationery. Now, with Valentine's Day upon us, I suppose we have to update romance, too.Particularly the love song.Let's face it. Many of the classic love songs of the 20th Century came from the '30s, '40s and '50s. People like Cole Porter, Duke Ellington, the Gershwins. We haven't had a new romantic classic in a long time, unless you count "Love Stinks."
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.