DAYTON, Ohio -- The hamburgers are on the grill, and the margaritas are flowing like small green waterfalls."GO JAYHAWKS!" someone slurps."GO HILLTOPPERS!" screams another."Pardon me," I mumble. "'Scuse me. . . . Pardon me. . . . "I make my way through the tailgating parties like a police officer assigned to Beach Blanket Bingo. A van full of students is booming rock music and singing along. Suddenly, in the middle of the song, someone stops and yells "HOW ABOUT THEM HOGS?""WHOOOEEE!" they answer. "HOGS, HOGS, HOGS, HOG--"
What do Isiah Thomas, Barry Sanders and Juwan Howard have in common? All have been celebrated as "good guys." All have been hailed as humble star athletes who have their priorities straight.And all have fathered children out of wedlock.I bring them up only to prove that the current Sports Illustrated cover story, "Where's Daddy?" about paternity and athletes, is not some device to sell magazines, and not some blown-up tale about a few sex-crazed deviants. It's as real a problem as there is in sports, and it says a lot about who we are and what we choose to admire.
The people who run sports at the University of Michigan insist their basketball coaching job is a juicy plum, a sparkling treasure, a gem of a position that the best coaches in the business would lunge at if given the chance.The funny thing is, they never get the chance.
Like many people, I have trouble picking a favorite movie, a favorite food or a favorite song. But I have always been able to pick a favorite possession:My passport.It has long been at the top of my list, ever since I got my first one as a teenager on a trip to Paris. I had never been overseas before, and at the airport, when I slid my passport under the glass, the French officer said, "Vous ete Americain?"And I said, "Oui."And he stamped my entrance to his country.
That's it? That's the way this mini-series ends? Somebody sticks a microphone in front of William Clay Ford and he says, "I didn't fire him and he didn't quit." And that's the end of this year's Wayne Fontes saga?
TEMPE, Ariz. -- Finally, something easy was coming Larry Brown's way: the football. It spun in a nice tight spiral, as if tossed in a practice drill. Brown opened his arms, made the catch, and ran. Past the 30. Past the 20. Past the 10. Never mind that the ball had been thrown by the opposing quarterback, Pittsburgh's Neil O'Donnell. Never mind that there was no Steeler in sight. Never mind that this seemed to be a deja-vu bonehead play by the Pittsburgh offense, Brown's second interception in this Super Bowl and the second one he'd made by just standing there like a spectator.
TALLAHASSEE, Fla. -- There were tears all over the locker room floor, mixing with the dirt and the soiled, wet towels. Jud Heathcote had cried, and Shawn Respert had cried. Eric Snow sat motionless in a chair as reporters moved through and camera lights blinded the already stunned Spartans players. Someone leaned down, patted Snow on the shoulder, mumbled "Sorry," and that was it, the floodgates opened, he began to sob, unable to catch his breath. He was every kid after every big game that didn't go right. This is what they don't show you on ESPN SportsCenter.
I know what you're thinking. How did the Philadelphia Eagles, who kicked the pus out of the Lions last week, look so mortal in dying against the Cowboys on Sunday? That's not fair. That doesn't make sense.I know what you're thinking. How did the mighty San Francisco 49ers, everybody's favorite juggernaut, get stomped like a grape in their own vineyard? How did Jerry Rice, Steve Young and that offensive brain trust lose to a team from the tundra, the Green Bay Packers? Not fair. Doesn't make 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.
