For one night, they could let it go. They could allow themselves a flush of satisfaction. The war was not won, but a battle had been claimed, and only the most stoic soldier could come out of Friday night without a smile. So here, at Joe Louis Arena, amidst a shower of octopi, and a deafening chant of
Joe Dumars dragged himself through the tunnel like a man headed for his own execution."Flu," he croaked.He shook his head slowly, as if to add, "Can you believe the timing?" His eyes were glassy. His head was clogged. And that wasn't the really bad part. The bad part was around the corner, on the Palace floor, Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls were waiting.
"The louder he talked of his honor, the faster we counted the spoons." -- EmersonThe people who run the Olympics have been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.Inside are goodies such as free trips, jobs for children, college scholarships and an old favorite, cash.These goodies were offered by cities hoping to host the Olympic Games. Since the Games and all their tourism dollars come only once every two years, you can see how, as the competition swelled, so did the pot.
Each day, the door opens, and the reporters charge inside. They fan across the locker room and surround the biggest stars. Sergei Fedorov gets a big group. Paul Coffey gets a big group. Steve Yzerman gets a big group.Nicklas Lidstrom gets the two guys from Sweden. Day after day. Game after game. They sit by his locker and converse slowly, as if having a cup of coffee. They are there for one reason: to write about Nick. Nick at night. Nick in the morning.Just Nick."What about tonight's game, Nick?" they will ask today.
WASHINGTON -- Scott Mitchell backpedaled into his own end zone, turned, looked and let it go, another pass on his personal roller-coaster, and the closest this one came to its intended target, Johnnie Morton, was his outstretched fingernails. It was impossible to catch -- for Morton. It was, unfortunately, a perfect pass for Darrell Green, who plays for the Washington Redskins. Green had stepped up and whap! The pigskin hit him in the chest. Whoa? What's this?
In the end, he did the smartest thing. And, more importantly, the decent thing -- for both the University of Michigan and any other school involved. Robbing one basketball program to feed your own would never fly, not in the land of "core values" that Tom Goss has rechristened the maize-and-blue."With all the coaches I interviewed, it kept coming back to one question," the U-M athletic director said Friday. " 'What will you tell the players you're leaving behind?' I never got a good answer."
DALLAS -- First, he shoved the Stars' best player, Mike Modano, and knocked him to the ice like a bully flooring a schoolkid. Then he flipped another Dallas star, Pat Verbeek, stripping his helmet as he was sent sprawling. The ref blew the whistle and pointed -- you, mister, I mean you -- and the Detroit Bad Boy snarled and shook his head.And this is our goalie.
Of all the players to be goal-less in the playoffs, he seemed the least likely. Faster than just about anyone he faced, blessed with the moves of an NBA point guard, got an MVP award in his closet, a Nike commercial in his personal film file -- you would think Sergei Fedorov would have put one puck in the net in six games against the Winnipeg Jets.
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.
