Here they come again, the "other" Lions, the ones that always appear just as you're about to give up on them. You know these Lions. They do everything right. They do everything the other Lions don't do. They use their talent, they use their strength, they make crunching hits, incredible catches, dazzling runs that pretty much blow the roof off the Silverdome.And like the piece of chocolate cake that appears just as you swear you're going to start your diet, they suck you back in. You become a fan again.
The lights flashed on, but she had not flicked the switch. The TV changed channels, but she had not touched the remote. There was a voice on her phone that interrupted her conversations with burps, curses, and laughter -- but there was no one in her house on the other extension.The modern-day version of a haunting was happening to Debbie Tamai and her Windsor family. Only this phantom was not some long-buried soul, but a very real, very alive, very conniving punk who calls himself "Sommy" and who thinks it's cute to terrorize a family.
Having not seen Grant Hill in a few months, I go to Pistons practice with a twinge of concern. Off-seasons, I believe, are when egos take root. Players go home to friends and family. They hang out in clubs and parties. They hear the sycophants saying, "Man, you should be making more money . . ." or "How come you're not bigger than such-and-such? He doesn't have half your talent . . ."They come back with an attitude. A chip on their shoulders. During the season, there is barely time for playing, sleeping, and catching the next plane; it's the off-seasons when monsters are hatched.
BALTIMORE -- He arrived for his last game hours before the first pitch, early Sunday morning, as the fog was breaking up and most people were still in church. He removed his clothes in stages, hanging up his gray sports coat, followed by the tie and the shoes. He pulled his baseball shirt over his dark slacks and socks, and he sat down that way, half-man, half- manager, munching a doughnut and holding the omnipresent cup of black coffee, part of the reason his hands now tremble like a nervous safecracker. The other reason is that he is 61 years old.
GOOD MORNING, class. The question today is simple: Which of the following is the greatest mystery of all?A) The riddle of the Sphinx.B) Stonehenge.C) Charlie Batch's thumb.The answer is C, Charlie Batch's thumb. Not because it is as complex as the Sphinx or Stonehenge. In fact, Charlie's thumb is pretty simple. It's attached to his hand, like the rest of our thumbs. He can stick it out if he wants to hitchhike. He can wiggle it, bend it, he can jam it in his nose.
Just under a year ago, we took a talented young golfer and turned him into a god. Fortunately, for Tiger Woods, he has turned himself back into a man.Unfortunately, for Tiger Woods, he's had to do it by losing.That's right. Tiger loses. He loses close. He loses far. He loses a playoff. He loses by collapsing on the final day. He even loses, once, by missing the cut.
GREEN BAY, Wis. -- This was all you needed to see, safety Ron Rice, pointing at the sky. "The sun! It was the sun!" he screamed, as if the refs should throw a flag on Mother Nature.
First, I am neither a Democrat nor a Republican. I vote for people, not parties.Second, I am neither a liberal nor a conservative. I worry about people, not ideology.Third, I am not a gun owner.Ah. Changes things, doesn't it? I was safe on the first two, a common-sense type of guy. But as soon as I wrote that third item, some of you said, "Friend," and others said, "Enemy."
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.
