Detroit Free Press

UNDER PRESSURE, GOODEN IS MERELY MORTAL

UNDER PRESSURE, GOODEN IS MERELY MORTAL

"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?"
SKATING MOMS, DADS SUFFER ON SIDELINES

SKATING MOMS, DADS SUFFER ON SIDELINES

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.
GHOSTS FROM GARDEN STILL HAUNTING DETROIT

GHOSTS FROM GARDEN STILL HAUNTING DETROIT

BOSTON -- Aha. I know what's going on here. Not long after Saturday's game -- when Fenway Park had emptied and the Red Sox had clobbered the Tigers for their 24th straight home victory -- I heard the telltale clue: quiet, soft, but definitely there. Giggling."We did it again," the leprechauns chuckled from somewhere inside the stadium, maybe behind the right field bleachers. "We still got it. Heh-heh."
HAIL TO THE LOSERS VALIANT, HAIL TO . . .

HAIL TO THE LOSERS VALIANT, HAIL TO . . .

I am empty. I am broken-hearted. All around me, college football fans are gearing up for the weekend. They wave Michigan banners. They wave Iowa banners. They talk of how Miami will beat Notre Dame, or how Notre Dame will beat Miami. They stock up on pretzels and hot chocolate.I sit by the window."What's wrong?" asks a voice."Alone," I say, sadly, waving a blue and white pom-pon. "All revved up and nowhere to go."
THE BOY WONDERABBOTT EMBRACES OLYMPIC MOMENTS

THE BOY WONDERABBOTT EMBRACES OLYMPIC MOMENTS

SEOUL, South Korea -- When the Koreans see him on the street they raise one hand and squeal, "Pit-cher! Pit-cher!" and Jim Abbott smiles as he has always smiled -- despite all the attention to his handicap -- because, as he keeps telling us, it's really not a handicap at all."Oh, I have a little problem taking photos," he says, laughing, and holding a make-believe camera with his good hand. "I sort of have to turn it upside down like this to snap the picture. Other than that, I don't have any problems."
INJURY, WAIT PAIN GIBSON

INJURY, WAIT PAIN GIBSON

"How you feeling?" someone asks."Ah . . . OK," Kirk Gibson mumbles.He limps through the doorway. His left ankle is in a plastic cast as big as a ski boot. He plops down near the whirlpool and undoes the straps. It is 9 a.m. It is the Henry Ford Hospital, Center for Athletic Medicine. Kirk Gibson is the first patient. As usual. Every morning. An hour and a half. At least. And more in the afternoon.There are no bat boys here. No pine tar. No tossing jock straps at each other. This is therapy. This is dull. This is boring, and it hurts.
BO WON’T BEAT HIS OWN DRUM

BO WON’T BEAT HIS OWN DRUM

Let me give you a date," I say to Bo Schembechler, who is sitting in the big chair behind his desk.He nods OK."Oct. 5, 1963," I say.Nothing."Miami of Ohio beats Western Michigan, 27-19," I say.Nothing."Well? Doesn't that mean anything to you?"He looks confused."Bo, that was your first win as a head coach.""Was it?" he says."Your first win, Bo."He grins. "Oh, yeah," he says.
WITH U-M CAREER OVER, FRIEDER STARTS ANEWHEY, COACH! WHAT ABOUT THE TEAM YOU LEFT BEHIND

WITH U-M CAREER OVER, FRIEDER STARTS ANEWHEY, COACH! WHAT ABOUT THE TEAM YOU LEFT BEHIND

The Michigan basketball players walked slowly to the airport gate, some talking, some joking, some, like Rumeal Robinson, wearing headphones to tune out the world. If you expected anger, grief -- well, there was none. They had lost their coach to a better offer, they had been stiffed two days before the NCAA tournament, but if they had learned anything from Bill Frieder, Papa Hoops, who kissed them good-bye on the late night news Tuesday, it was take care of yourself first, baby.

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.

Subscribe for bonus content and giveaways!