"And now, it's time for our mystery guest. Would you enter and sign in please! . . . Dar-ry-l Ro-ger-s (applause) . . . welcome, Mr. Rogers.""Hi.""OK, panel. You know the rules. You ask questions and try to guess what Mr. Rogers does for a living. Let's start with you, Kitty.""Thank you very much. Mr. Rogers, is your job primarily animal or vegetable?""Well . . . we have some of each.""Are your animals fierce?""On their good days, yes.""And the vegetables?""That would be our punting team.""I beg your pardon?"
NEW YORK -- It was the simplest of plays, the simplest of errors. Tim Teufel did not get his glove down far enough on Rich Gedman's ground ball and it went between his legs and into right field. And Jim Rice headed home from second base with the first run of Saturday night's game, the only run of the game, the run that would decide who took the lead in this 1986 World Series. An unearned run. An error on the second baseman. Red Sox win, 1-0. Mets lose.The simplest of plays.
I could have written this column Tuesday, the day the ax fell. But it seemed to fit on Thanksgiving, a day the Pilgrims sat down with the Indians. A more proper time, perhaps, for you, me and the rest of the football-watching world to smoke the peace pipe with Gerry Faust.Faust resigned as Notre Dame football coach on Tuesday. His crime was losing. Nothing more. He had been plucked from the high school ranks five years ago -- where he was a big-time winner -- and handed the reins to the nation's most popular college football program.
WIMBLEDON, England -- Picture a man dangling on a rope, sharks in the water, snapping at his flesh. The man is Jimmy Connors, the sharks are the tireless young tennis players who keep coming and coming. And one of them just rose up and bit him in the butt.Jimbo exits Wimbledon. Who knows whether this is last time? He is 35 now, the wins come harder and harder, and the opponents are nameless, faceless.
"Chuck?""NOW COACH? NOW? YOU WANT ME IN NOW? I'M READY! I'M--""Uh, Chuck, could you please hand me the clipboard?""Oh, sure, coach.""Thank you. Oh -- and Chuck?""NOW COACH? NOW? PASS PLAY? YOU WANT A PASS PLAY FIRST? YOU WANT A--""Chuck. I, uh, need the pencil that was with the clipboard.""Oh . . . here.""Thank you.""You're welcome.""By the way, Chuck--""NOW? NOW? YOU WANT ME IN NOW?""Chuck, I--"
TORONTO -- The ball went flying high into center field and Chet Lemon waved, he got it, the final out, and that was that. Alan Trammell stood at shortstop, watched the catch, then trotted in with the rest of his teammates.The game was won. The streak was over.
PASADENA, Calif. -- They will see each other again some day, maybe 20 or 30 years from now, at a picnic or a party or an alumni function. Bobby McAllister, the quarterback. Lorenzo White, the tailback. They will laugh and slap backs, remember this story and that story.
There's no talking to Doyle Alexander. There's no disrupting Doyle Alexander. There may be no stopping Doyle Alexander. At least, no one has done it since he donned a Detroit uniform last month. He is the least likely of heroes, a craggy-faced, 37-year-old veteran with a personality -- at least to reporters -- that would compare nicely to a pit bull's. And who cares? If he keeps pitching the way he has been pitching, the Tigers will give him a door for his locker and his own "DO NOT DISTURB" sign.
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.
