IT WAS THE game he had to play in the game they had to have. Superstars don't deliver every night, but they do when they must, or they're not superstars for long. Grant Hill pushed the curtain aside Friday night and did what you're supposed to do when your whole business is watching. Took the night over.
TO: Mike RoykoFROM: An admirerDear Mr. Royko:Over the years, I have received many letters from readers. Quite a few begin this way. "I've never written to a columnist before . . ." Tell you the truth, Mr. Royko, neither have I. It took your death to get me to write you now.
Some fool needs to take charge here, and I am just the fool. I cannot shoot a hockey puck. I cannot stop a hockey puck. I cannot even walk across the ice without falling down.But I am taking charge, because, gosh darn it -- ooh, did I really say "gosh darn it"? -- this city is not ready for baseball season. Have you looked at the Tigers' pitching staff? Are you nuts?
Night after night, if you watch the NHL playoffs, you'll notice a pattern. It's Joe Sakic making a lightning-quick goal for Colorado. It's Wayne Gretzky scoring three in one game for the Rangers. It's Pittsburgh's Mario Lemiuex breaking away to put it in the net and keep his Penguins from elimination. It's big players doing big things, stepping up to grab the ring of greatness that separates them from the pack.It is everything the Wings have been missing.Until Friday night.
The phone rang around 3:30 Wednesday afternoon. Paul Boyer, the equipment man, picked it up."Who wears No. 14 for us?" asked Scotty Bowman, the Red Wings coach."Aaron Ward," Boyer said."Make a new No. 14 with the name 'Shanahan.' Give Ward No. 27. You think he'll mind?""No," Boyer said, smiling, "I don't think he'll mind."
ATLANTA -- The race was over, the world record was in pieces, and the loudspeakers were blasting well-chosen rock lyrics -- "You're unbelievable!" The hero of the moment was jogging around the track in golden shoes, with an American flag in his hands and an ice pack on his right leg. The crowd rose to applaud. Now, with the expected miracle behind him, we'll see how much steam this Michael Johnson really has.
Where else would you rather be? It was a sentence that came to Lloyd Carr during the muggy heat of August, when the Michigan football team was sweating through a practice, panting like dogs. "Men," he yelled, "your friends are at the pool, or driving girls around campus, and you're here, working out for football. Where else would you rather be?"
Week after week during this past football season, I would walk into ESPN and see the grinning faces of analysts Joe Theisman and Sterling Sharpe."How 'bout those Lions?" they would yell, and then break up laughing.They would shake their heads, ask me about the latest embarrassment, then ask me to explain again how Wayne Fontes kept his job. And then they'd laugh some more.They are not laughing this morning. They are nodding in admiration. That is the first thing Bobby Ross brings the Lions. He's legit. Everyone stops laughing.
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.
