Detroit Free Press

Poor Kirk Gibson.A baseball star without a contract.Nobody wants him. Except the Tigers. And he doesn't want them. Not at their latest offer. "Hard Times For Free Agents" read the cover of Sports Illustrated last week, above a photo of Gibson. He was looking angry.Who'd have thought being talented, rich, and handsome could bring so many problems?Well. I have a suggestion. It is time for action. It is time for Kirk to do as any businessman would. When supply exceeds demand, there is only one answer.

THE LIVE ALBOM* Today is Friday the 13th. I cannot be held responsible for anything said in this column.

You can come out now. Take the paper bag off your head. Put the phone back on the hook. All is well. Detroit has a first-place team.Say what?"I think we can go all the way," says the star player.All the way? Did you hear that? Forget those Pistons programs you shredded in the blender. And the Red Wings hockey stick you smashed across your forehead when they lost, what was it, 86-0? Relax. Rejoice. All is well.Detroit has a first-place team.Say what?"It took a lot of hard work, but we are rolling," says the coach. "It's in our hands now."

THE LIVE ALBOM: * It's the season of the Bowl. There are many. There are more to come. We have a Peach Bowl, but no Canned Peach Bowl. A Fiesta, but no Siesta. A Cherry, but no Pit.I could go on and on. And I will.

PHILADELPHIA -- He was the rusty model, the spare part you keep in the garage, just in case. Joe Ferguson may not even be around the Lions next year, but on Sunday afternoon, just before game time, his coach came up and said the words he figured were forever behind him at age 36.You're starting."When did you find out?" someone asked Ferguson, after he played the entire game as Lions quarterback in their awkward 13-11 win over the Eagles Sunday."Warm-ups," he said. "Late in the warm-ups."

"I love you whether you win or lose. But it would be nice if you won."-- Laura Norman, to her husband Sunday.TURNBERRY, Scotland -- "Four, three . . . Greg Norman was squaring off on his approach shot. He was in the middle of the 18th fairway, the final hole, and the massive British Open crowd was pushing at the ropes and counting down."Two . . . Norman hunched slightly, bringing his club head to within a grass blade of the ball."One . . .

THEY'RE SET NOW. CARL LEWIS IN LANE 3. LINFORD CHRISTIE IN LANE 4. CALVIN SMITH, LANE 5, AND BEN JOHNSON, THE WORLD-RECORD HOLDER, IN LANE 6. THOSE ARE THE ONES TO WATCH. THE BEST FIELD EVER ASSEMBLED. THE OLYMPICS. THE CROWD IS HUSHED. AND . . . THE . . . GUN. . . .

He sat in an office behind smoked glass windows. He wore a sports jacket and a button-down shirt. No pads. No helmet. These were the final 60 minutes of Doug English's football life. He was going out as a civilian. "You OK, big fella?" a front-office guy asked."I'm OK," English said."You mind waiting here until the press conference?""I don't have any other plans," English said.