"I believe in the church of baseball."From the movie "Bull Durham" ANAHEIM, Calif. -- We have a problem. We've had a fight. We have fallen out of love with the sport that used to delight us, and now baseball has come back, holding flowers, asking for forgiveness.This will not come quickly. For some, it might not come at all. I begin to make my peace the way I knew I would once I arrived here, at the hotel, for tonight's Tigers opener against the California Angels.I call John Doherty's room. At 9 a.m.Sleeping.I call at 10. Still sleeping.
No chance, you told yourself. No way. Nicklas Lidstrom wound up for a slap shot, just a few feet in front of the blue line, and you whispered, "Forget it," because that's nearly 60 feet from the net, and in a game like this -- a sweaty, hard- checking, goaltenders-like-flypaper affair -- a shot like that, at best, only serves to set up another, right?Lidstrom swung anyhow. The puck went screaming. Suddenly he couldn't see it."Have you ever made a winning playoff goal before?" someone would ask later."Never before," he would say.
COREY SCHLESINGER was slumped on his knees, head lowered, hands out, like a man who had thrown himself before his Lord and maker, asking for forgiveness. Forty yards behind him, the San Diego Chargers were celebrating his gift, a fumble that came into the arms of cornerback Darryll Lewis, who ran it in for a clinching touchdown.It was more than a mistake. It was a trip back in time. In one play, the 1999 Lions were stripped of their new identity as the NFL's underdog winner, and were redressed as the Franchise That Couldn't Shoot Straight.
Sometimes it comes down to talent, sometimes it comes down to skill, sometimes it comes down to momentum, coaching, pregame speeches, fights. And sometimes it comes down to a bounce. Here was Tomas Sandstrom, in overtime, simply looking to clear the puck, and on the move he flicked it high into the air.Here were Slava Kozlov and Igor Larionov, skating down center ice, watching Sandtrom's offering come out of the lights.
Oh, Curt. You sad, misguided soul. How can you pick the Green Bay Packers to win this Super Bowl when everyone knows the Patriots are a lock?(Ed. note: Mitch Albom is lying through his teeth. He does not believe the Patriots will win.)The Patriots are the superior team, Curt. They have a better running game and a coach who can win the Big One. What's the matter? Can't your 114-year-old eyes see that?(Ed. note: Never mind the age jokes. Only a fool would believe what Albom is saying.)
MITCH ALBOMAL East -- NY YankeesAL Central -- ClevelandAL West -- AnaheimAL wild card -- BaltimoreNL East -- AtlantaNL Central -- HoustonNL West -- Los AngelesNL wild card -- San FranciscoWorld Series -- Atlanta over New York YankeesAL Central:1. Cleveland2. Chicago3. Detroit4. Minnesota5. Kansas City
The paper. I kept looking for the piece of paper. The crib sheet. The notes. Something written down that Bobby Ross was no doubt checking as he stood at the microphone, neatly coiffed, rattling off his coaching blueprint. Methodically, he outlined why he came here, how he operated, and the steps he would take to build a winner in Detroit. Surely he was working from a script, no? It was too logical. Too orderly. The Lions haven't witnessed this kind of organization since the Silverdome crowd sang an on-key verse of "Another One Bites the Dust."
Some things you do for love, some you do for tradition. In frosty weather, with the season already a week old, and the team -- let's be honest -- not expected to win as many as it loses, those who came out for Opening Day at Tiger Stadium on Monday afternoon did it for tradition. They did it because their folks did it. They did it because they love the first pitch, the organ music, because some rituals you keep alive, even if, for the moment -- with empty seats and an alien roster -- they don't make much sense.
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.
