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.
You do not write the script. All athletes learn this eventually. You can affect the script. You can star in the script. You may die at the end of the script. But you cannot write it. Too many things happen.
The only problem with a perfect world is so few of us want to give up anything to have one.In a perfect world, black students would be admitted to the University of Michigan under the same standards as whites. I think everyone agrees on that.And in a perfect world, white students would not have to give up their spots.And there's the rub, the yin and yang of a lawsuit filed last week by Jennifer Gratz and Patrick Hamacher.
ST. LOUIS -- He threw it like a man who believed things can fly -- balls, dreams, even underdog teams. Mateen Cleaves, a one-time quarterback, cranked his arm and heaved the ball almost the length of the floor. It soared over the heads of all those celebrated Kentucky players, who raced desperately to reach it before Cleaves' teammate, Andre Hutson.
Looking out the window, the first thing Jerry Seinfeld noticed was a little man running down the tarmac."De plane! De plane!" the little man yelled."Hey," Kramer said, "isn't that Tattoo from 'Fantasy Island?' ""Yeah, the midget!" said George.He looked at Jerry and smiled."Not that there's anything wrong with that!" they said in unison.They stopped and listened. Strange. No laughter. Not even a chuckle."What gives?" said Elaine. "That line always gets a laugh."
Grant Hill had a decision to make. Quickly now, before he answers. Mr. Jordan? Michael? Mike? He was sitting in his car, with the cellular phone set on speaker, because his buddies were cramped in there with him, hoping to hear the famous man's voice. Hurry up. What should Hill call him? Mikey? Mr. Mike? Your Highness?"Hello?""Hello . . . MJ . . . it's Grant Hill."MJ? He called him MJ?"Well, yeah," Hill laughs now. "At least I didn't say 'It's GH.' "
When you take a few months off and then come back to work -- as I do today -- it's comforting to know that certain things remain the same.Barry Sanders giveth . . ....and Scott Mitchell giveth away.That old song was sung again Sunday afternoon at the Silverdome, where it was hot enough to faint, and, thanks to Mitchell, understandable if you did. Here was Sanders scoring three touchdowns, racking up 229 yards of brilliant offense, and leaving the highlight people scrambling for film.And here was Mitchell handing the game over.Not once, but twice.
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.
