BOSTON -- He sat at the scorer's table with the radio announcer, Johnny Most. Out on the Boston Garden court his Celtics players were taking early warmups. The arena was not yet open to the public. There was only the gentle echo of balls thumping against hardwood. Few people in the building knew that K.C. Jones' mother had died the night before."K.C.," Most began, in his gravelly voice, "on behalf of myself and all our listeners, I want to express our deepest sympathy for your loss."
LAKELAND, Fla. -- When will they write the last Alan Trammell/Lou Whitaker story? Four years from now? Five? Ten? And what will it say? Probably some syrupy prose about the longest- running keystone combo in baseball, Trammell, the boyish California shortstop, Whitaker, the brooding-but-gifted second baseman, and what great partners they were on the field and off the field and how sad it is to see them breaking up and walking into the sunset arm in arm and . . .
I don't know about this new instant replay business.Did you watch Monday Night Football last week? Did you see that call? The refs checked the instant replay, what, for four hours? I could have taken a bus to Dallas in that time. Why does it take so long? What were they doing in front of that screen? What were those refs talking about? . . . "Let's see that one again, Jake.""Yes, let's.""Roll it back.""Rolling.""Ooh. Look at that angle.""Yes, very pretty.""Let's see it again.""Yes, let's.
Call me chicken. I would not want to go against Bill Lajoie in a business deal. Maybe it's that deep voice. Maybe it's the narrow eyes. Maybe it's the way he cups his chin in his hand while you're talking, hiding his mouth, as if to say: "This guy is so dumb I'm gonna crack up."Whatever. The man is sharp, you can't miss that. And it's always surprising to go into his office at Tiger Stadium in the off-season and find him alone there, like a priest in a confession booth, when you know he's pulling all the strings for this Tigers team.
Just when you thought you'd seen it all, along comes a snowball.I'm talking, of course, about the infamous snowball thrown by a fan in last week's San Francisco-Denver game. It came flying out of the stands during a 49ers field goal attempt, landed a few feet from holder Matt Cavanaugh, and, he says, caused him to botch the snap and the play. The 49ers wound up losing by one point.Not since Frosty has a clump of frozen mush gotten so much attention."We must do something about snowballs in football!" people are screaming. Of course. And here are some possibilities:
NEW YORK -- The series was complete, the bus was waiting outside, and the Tigers players, still wet from the showers, dressed quickly, pulling on their socks and shoes. The clubhouse was quiet; it is always quiet after a loss. But no one was sulking. You don't sulk in the middle of the fight.
NEWPORT BEACH, Calif. -- You want to get Leroy Hoard's attention? Put a whistle around your neck, make your voice sound like Bo Schembechler's, then sneak up behind him and yell, "DAMN IT, LEROY! NOT AGAIN!"Chances are he will spin around and plead, "It wasn't me, Coach! I didn't do it!" Or maybe he will race down the street and block somebody.
WIMBLEDON -- It was unbelievable.It was unpronounceable."My name," he said, "is Zivojinovic."Huh?He served like a cannon. He moved like a Westinghouse. He was the tall, dark stranger at center court, taking chunks out of Ivan Lendl, the No. 1 player in the world."My name," he said, with every smashing point, "is Zivojinovic!"Huh?Zivojinovic. Slobodan Zivojinovic. Pronounced like it's spelled. I think. Who's to say?
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.
