TEMPE, Ariz. -- Jerry Jones is talking to me, something about revenue sharing or marketing ideas, but it isn't the conversation that holds me, it's his look. His eyes are wide, bigger than they need to be, his mouth is curled up in the corners as he speaks. His neck is tight above his expensive white shirt collar, his complexion is ruddy, and, to me, he seems slightly crazed, his words appear to fly from his own mouth straight into his ears, fueling him with energy. He enjoys listening to himself.
Here's the scene: The door opens and a recruiter walks in. He sits down with the high school basketball star. Says he wants the kid to play for his team. Says the kid might only have to stay a year or two before he's ready for the NBA. And don't worry about attending math class, it won't be necessary.Then the recruiter reaches into his bag and takes out ... a checkbook.At this point, you're thinking the NCAA bursts down the door with its surveillance camera and yells, "FREEZE!"
LONDON -- When the British insist that, despite our shared language, they are different from Americans, I believe them. It is not, however, due to their superior birthright, their love of manners or their unique ability to tolerate cricket for more than 30 seconds.It's the TV they watch.In today's video-saturated world, you are what you see. And while we Yanks spend an average of seven hours a day with our tube -- swallowing such pabulum as "Melrose Place," "Spin City," "Dawson's Creek" and professional wrestling -- the Brits are being spoon-fed "Ground Force."
The last nine minutes were like something out of a war movie, explosions, bodies flying, nobody sure who was still out there, or, for that matter, who was even left standing. Vladimir Konstantinov hit the ice to block a shot, and his hand went numb from the impact. Paul Coffey took a stick to the head and lay face-down, bleeding. Sergei Fedorov saw a rebound and tried to flick it past the goalie, the crowd screamed, the puck hit the goalie's leg pads, the crowd screamed again, Fedorov tried again, off the body -- denied!
A woman wept. Her sobs echoed through the courtroom, distracting you like someone coughing during a movie. Her voice, raw and broken, cried as the first
LONDON -- I have been in England for a few days now, and you'll be happy to know the skies are still cloudy, the sandwiches are still buttered, the Royal family is still nuts, and British journalism is still somewhere between "The Front Page" and "Striptease."In fact, the next time someone accuses the Free Press of being a "homer" newspaper, I'm going to send over a copy of last week's London Daily Mirror, which had, on its cover, a giant photo of two British soccer players, wearing World War II helmets, over this headline:"ACHTUNG! SURRENDER!For You, Fritz,
LONDON -- Last week at Wimbledon, American Pete Sampras caused a stir when he said there was "nothing to watch" on British television. Bloody hell! The Brits went bonkers! At least the Brits who weren't watching TV. Those who were, naturally, were sound asleep.Sampras was not completely correct. There is, in fact, something to watch on British TV -- but that something usually involves the beetle and its mating habits.
WIMBLEDON -- Oh, great. As if sitting through a week of rain-interrupted tennis and having a match called because of darkness and getting stuck in the hinterlands of the outside courts where the cheers from the big stadium erupt just as you're trying to serve -- as if all that weren't enough for Todd Martin, today he gets to be the most hated man at Wimbledon, and the enemy of all England.Great."Are you aware or interested in who you're playing in the quarterfinals?" a British reporter coyly asked Martin on Tuesday.
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.
