I was fascinated last week by accusations by the Lions that several Green Bay Packers were stealing signals from the sidelines. Not that I don't believe them. It's just that, well, how on Earth can you do that? And who has the time?PLAYER 1: They're going with the red dog, deep six, drop four.PLAYER 2: Yeah. Better signal into our quarterback.PLAYER 1: Right. Let's see. Red dog, that's the closed fist isn't it? And deep six, that's a wipe of the forehead. Or wait. Is the forehead for a blitz, or --QUARTERBACK: Hut!See what I mean?
NEW YORK -- What could possibly be left in this World Series? What could possibly equal the bottom of the 10th, the two-out drama, the hitting, the pitching, the rain? The rain? What could be left in this made-for-TV-deal, except . . .But of course.
CHAMPAIGN, Ill. -- Jeff George, the celebrated Illinois quarterback, had his hands on his hips. He fidgeted with his helmet strap. "Damn," he seemed to say, pacing up and down, "this is my time." It was the final seven minutes. He was the miracle man. The sold-out crowd was waiting breathlessly for his magic, his typical rally to victory. But he was a prisoner of the sideline.
NEW ORLEANS -- Oooh, Freddie. A free throw? How mortal. How sadly mortal. Time running out, Nevada-Las Vegas is losing, about to be sent down the NCAA mountain, and suddenly, the guy switches on, what he throws up is going in -- and we're talking rainbows from space here --so the crowd goes nuts, like a thousand hot crap tables, and look out, UNLV is coming back at Indiana, straight for the jugular.
DAYTON, Ohio -- Throw out your hands. Make two fists. Wave them around over your head and start running backward.Hey, hey, hey, do the Spartan Shuffle.Or The Scott Skiles Shuffle, really. But what's the difference? He is this team, like it or not, and every time he backpedals after a score and does that little "whoopie" step that looks as if he's punching someone in the face, he is injecting magic into Michigan State, this little basketball team that can-can. And who knows how far it will go?
Alvin Hayes looks out the window. Then he looks at the clock on the wall. It's 9 in the morning and he's waiting for the car to pull up so he can get the hell out of here and back to the real world for a few hours. Rehab centers are better than prison, he figures. But not much. "Like the Army," he mumbles. They check your every move, give you penalty points if your bed isn't made right, and, ho, God forbid you get caught hiding anything when they strip-search you. Forget it. You're dead.
"I like a look of Agony, because I know it's true." -- Emily DickinsonNEW YORK -- His eyes were vacant, as if someone had sucked out any hint of anger or disappointment. Maybe he never felt those things to begin with. The last glimpse of Dwight Gooden in the 1986 World Series was clean and sanitized: dressed in street clothes, dipping to the mike for a few questions, then heading to the airport."Whose fault?" the reporters had wanted to know Thursday. "Why did the Mets lose?"
CALGARY, Alberta -- A few months ago, Bob Trenary was sitting in a restaurant atop Detroit's Renaissance Center. He looked out the window and saw, way down at the bottom, an ice rink."Let's try skating," he said to his wife.She agreed. Down they went. "You won't believe this," Trenary said to the rink attendant, "but my daughter is the national figure skating champion." The guy shrugged. Trenary pushed away. After five minutes, his ankles were throbbing. He wobbled to the wall, removed the skates, went back upstairs, and ordered a drink.
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.
