Detroit Free Press

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.

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.

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."