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.
* SAN FRANCISCO 33, DETROIT 14: I know they're desperate. I know they beat Dallas last year. I know Wayne Fontes survives more crashes than the coyote in "Road Runner." I know all that. I also know that San Francisco kicks the snot out of everyone. Pick vs. spread: San Francisco.* KANSAS CITY 20, CLEVELAND 17: So this is what it comes to. An AFC "big" game features Vinny Testaverde against Steve Bono. Vs. spread: Kansas City.
My experience with tattoos began and ended with the kind you licked. Remember? They came in cereal boxes and were cartoon characters, like Mighty Mouse. You slurped one side with your tongue, then pressed it against your skin as hard as you could. When you peeled it away -- ta-da! -- you had a tattoo.
* I'll say this about Kato Kaelin. He's sure the guy I'd want watching my house.* I mean, has the witness stand become America's answer to Open Mike Night? Consider the O.J. cast: a cop who's an alcoholic, a sister who's an alcoholic, an ex-Marine who says he did -- no, wait, he didn't -- talk to F. Lee Bailey, Rosa Lopez, who can't decide if she's walking the dog or flying to Central America, Faye Resnick, who's either a dear friend or a junkie, and, of course, the Kato-Man, who's a few strokes short of par himself.
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.
