If you want to know the truth, I'm much too busy to be writing this column, since, in addition to my duties here, I also serve as a professional football scout.That's right. I serve to spot those players the NFL overlooks in its annual draft.Hey, it's not that those NFL guys aren't thorough. It's just that, well, they sometimes miss some really prime candidates who suffer a teeny-weeny blemish on their record, such as double-homicide. I blame the media. You know how the media can be.
The hinges are coming loose, the rusty bolts are rattling and the door that for more than four decades has separated Detroit from the coveted Stanley Cup is about to shatter into a million pieces. The Red Wings earned their third victory of this championship series Thursday night with a force that could burst a dam, a defense that could hold back time, and a speedy confidence that bordered on destiny. So mighty was their domination of the dazed and confused Philadelphia Flyers that the Wings scored their goals as if chosen from an assortment pack:
CHICAGO -- The difference between Friday and Sunday is the difference between a party night and a school night, between the fun starting and the fun ending, or, in college basketball's thrilling, season-ending tournament, the difference between a future and a past. Three Michigan schools, two of them strangers to this kind of spotlight, woke up Sunday with a sweet taste of success and dreams of more, more, more. By evening, reality had hit home: One taste was all there would be.
Enough.The summer is over, school buses are rolling, people are back to work.And so am I.Not as a symbol. I am not here because I side with management in this wretched newspaper strike, nor am I here to be a union spy. I did not come back for money, and I plan to give much of what I earn to the people still on strike.
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.
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.
