Ladies, gentlemen, faculty, students -- thank you for inviting me to be your commencement speaker.Boooo!Wait. I haven't said anything yet.Boooo!Yes, I know I was a last-minute replacement. Your Republican governor couldn't come because he's afraid of getting booed. Your Democratic senator couldn't come because he's afraid of getting booed. Your rock star alumnus couldn't come because he once wrote a song for the Dixie Chicks. So they asked me.Boooo!
Ionce played pool with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Really. He invited me to his home in Sun Valley, Idaho, (one of several homes he owns) and I walked in through a massive foyer and came upon a dining room table that had to be, conservatively, a mile and a half long.Arnold sat at the far end, like a dot on the horizon. His wife, Maria Shriver, sat next to him. (I think it was her; I'm a little nearsighted.) Upon seeing me, Arnold, a friendly fellow, waved hello and yelled something. I waited for the echo to reach me, and when it did, these were the words:
Joey Harrington was moving backward, much like his team, after another Dallas Cowboy intercepted another one of his passes. The Cowboy, Mario Edwards, was charging hard and Harrington, near the goal line, dropped to make a tackle. Forget it. Edwards burst through his grasp and was gone. Just like the game.And just like the season.
Now that Annika Sorenstam, the best female golfer in the world, has accepted an invitation to play a PGA Tour event -- against the best male golfers in the world -- a lot of people want to weigh in.Some say, "Good for her." They feel if a woman is good enough to hold her own against the men, why not let her try?Others say, "This is the end of the world. If a woman plays on the men's tour, then men should play on the women's tour -- and then where would we be?"Well. We wouldn't be at Augusta, I can tell you that.
Last week, as I sat before my TV watching Tonya Harding pummel Paula Jones, I was struck with a sudden thought.More.I want Darva Conger next. Linda Tripp after that. Jenny McCarthy should be in the wings, alongside Gennifer Flowers, (Downtown) Julie Brown, Lorena Bobbitt and that witchy woman from "Survivor."
My freshman year at college I lived in a dorm, next to a guy on the basketball team. His last name was Carrington. He was funny. He kept bragging to everyone about how good he was, how the Celtics were going to give him a tryout, but when we went to the games, he didn't even start. He came off the bench.
Scotty Bowman's eyes were moist, his shirt was soaked and his hair was sticky from sprayed champagne. It had been only two hours since he and the Red Wings recaptured the Stanley Cup, but somehow, in that brief time, something had changed. His voice. It was missing its normal edge. It was gentler now, more reasoned, more resigned, like a drill sergeant who had gone from giving orders to soldiers to taking them from his wife."I wanted to tell the team," said the 68-year-old coach, standing in the hallway outside the Wings' locker room. "I wanted to tell them how great they were."
Quietly, like a stagehand moving behind the curtain, Scotty Bowman has ascended to the throne room, sliding gingerly into the marble chair, waiting only for the crown to be placed on his head. He has been in the castle so long, few people even noticed.Bowman will, when this championship is officially handed to Detroit -- quite possibly Thursday night at Joe Louis Arena -- be all alone in hockey history, more Stanley Cups than any coach before him, more NHL finals victories than any coach before him, more everything, pretty much, than any coach before him.
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.
