It is not my place -- as a man who needs a month to grow a five-o'clock shadow -- to ask why Red Wings players are suddenly sporting the same facial hair. But I'll do it anyhow. Someone has to. I mean, if everyone in your office suddenly came to work looking like Magic Johnson, you'd ask, "What's going on?" Wouldn't you?So what's going on?"I don't know," says Aaron Ward, rubbing his mustache. "I just grew mine because you're supposed to.""Don't ask me," says Darren McCarty, scratching his beard. "I don't know who started it."
I remember the good old days, when Denver was a place your plane stopped on the way to the West Coast?"Hey, nice mountains you got here," you'd say to some cowboy-hatted local who was hanging around the airport.And he'd pause for a minute, spit some tobacco and say, "Yep."Then you'd get back on the plane and go someplace else.Back then, the city had only one big sports franchise, a football team, the Broncos. They wore orange uniforms and were lucky if they won four games a season. Five victories, they held a parade.
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.