Tuesday morning at 9 a.m. -- long before the other players would arrive -- Mike Ramsey entered the Red Wings' locker room. It was empty, freshly vacuumed, the music playing softly over the stereo. Ramsey went to his locker, grabbed his two pairs of skates, his pads and his helmet. The only other thing he had brought with him three weeks ago were his sticks. He decided to leave them behind.As he headed for the door, he stopped at the blackboard. He picked up the chalk and squeaked out a message."Thanks guys. Good luck, (signed) Rammer."
Sometimes you play basketball, sometimes it plays you. Maurice Taylor knows this. He remembers the airport a few years ago, waving good-bye to his mother, who was moving to Tennessee for a better job.Taylor wanted to go, too. A self-described "mama's boy," he couldn't imagine a day without her, even though he had been living with an aunt in Detroit for several years, because his mother's east side neighborhood was not the place for a budding basketball star.
First of all, Michigan basketball players, their coaches and fans must understand one thing: The game didn't begin with them. There is a bad news history in this sport, and much of it has to do with fancy cars and hidden envelopes of cash and outsiders who get too cozy with the players.
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.