Detroit Free Press

Ten years ago, a woman named Bryl Phillips-Taylor went to Washington to support a ban on assault rifles. Her son, Scott, had been killed with one.Last week, she returned for the same reason. Her son was still dead. The bullets had still come from an assault weapon. But there she was again, pleading the same case.

If Super Bowls carried subtitles, then the line beneath this first Big Game of the Millennium would surely be: "What-Are-These-Guys Doing Here?"You would say it about the Tennessee Titans, a movable franchise with four homes in the past four years. What are they doing here? You would say it about Kurt Warner, the St. Louis quarterback who came out of arena football to be this year's MVP. What is he doing here?

So I'm going to see Tiger and Phil. Playing together. That's like Elvis and Mick sharing the mike. Tiger and Phil? Together? Against Colin and Padraig? And, here's the best part. I'm walking to the job.I have never walked to the job, not in 20-plus years in this business. But the Ryder Cup, at Oakland Hills Country Club, is just up the road from my home. I breathe the healthy bus fumes as I approach the entrance. "Ahhh, like the old country," I think, as I approach the security gate, "walking to work. Isn't it grand? Isn't it--""You can't bring that in," the guard says.

Everybody leaves. Larry Brown knows that. He knows it from the time he was 7 years old and his father didn't come home from work. The old man, it turns out, had died in a hospital from an aneurysm; Larry and his older brother were at the movies. Larry's mother was so distraught, instead of telling him, she sent young Larry away with relatives for nearly a month. He missed the funeral. He missed the grieving. He was told his father was on his job as a traveling salesman. "But I knew," Brown says now.

Imust have missed the memo. Apparently the Lions' season began Sunday and those first three losses were part of the exhibition schedule. Ach! If only they had told us! Think of all the nasty adjectives we'd have saved!Finally, Sunday, against the previously unbeaten Saints, we saw the Detroit team they wrote about in the brochures. The defensive front was supposed to be the strength? It was. The new receivers were supposed to be playmakers? They were. Joey Harrington was supposed to be all that? He was. All that.

CHICAGO -- It was as messy as a bachelor party and as ugly as the hangover, but it counted, it's done, and like the groom-to-be crawling home at sunrise, the Lions wear a small smirk on their faces this morning. The streak is over. The curse is dead. The road is no longer lined with poison bricks. The NFL record they never wanted -- three straight years of road defeats -- is someone else's to break now.

Archie Bunker died. That's what people said. "Archie Bunker died." It didn't matter that the man's real name was Carroll O'Connor, that he was a trained actor, a veteran of Broadway and the European stage. To most Americans, he was, and always will be, the lovable bigot from Queens.Archie Bunker died. But to be honest, while O'Connor passed away Thursday from a heart attack at age 76, character-wise, Archie died some time ago. Not just his show. His concept.