Detroit Free Press

TO: SPORTS EDITORFROM: THE CORRESPONDENT IN ROME RE: WHY THE CORRESPONDENT IS IN ROME Boss:OK. So what am I doing here? It's a fair question. And I promise to answer it. In a second. First, I have to tell you this story:

ATLANTIC CITY -- Larry Holmes was flat on his back, his legs spread apart, while the referee tried to jiggle the mouthpiece from between Holmes' teeth. A mob of people hovered over him, three guys in red satin jackets, a policeman, a doctor."Get out, get out," the ex-champ mumbled.

MOSCOW -- So I wanted to jog around the Kremlin. What's the big deal? I mean, you gotta jog somewhere, right?"You're insane," a colleague said."Hope you like Siberia," another said."Boys, boys," I said, slipping on my running shoes, "the Kremlin is just a big building. Buildings are meant to be jogged around."They shook their heads."Nice working with you," one said."Can I have your bags?" another said.

"We won't have a very long practice today. Just long enough to throw up."--Chuck Daly, Friday morning Adrian Dantley had his feet up on the seat. Bill Laimbeer was asleep with his mouth open. Rick Mahorn sat with headphones over his ears.

MIAMI -- You expect, now and then, to run smack into your conscience. You just don't expect it to happen at the Super Bowl. A game. A gunshot. And, in the land of beach and sun, we suddenly ask ourselves what America is all about.

When they first told him three people were dead, that it was a crime, that when he was finally released from the Pontiac hospital where he now lay, immobile, his head in a brace, his thumb sewn to his hand, he would be charged with manslaughter, this is what Reggie Rogers said: "Why?

KANSAS CITY -- Big men don't cry. That much you learn with your baseball milk. So I guess the idea of a 6-foot-3 home run hitter bawling is pretty much out of the question. Just the same, I keep visualizing Steve Balboni, all 225 pounds of him, returning to his hotel room after the game, stripping down to his undershirt, cuddling up with a bag of Doritos, and weeping.It is not because he is sensitive, which he is. It is not because he speaks with all the volume of a monk, which he does. It is not because, without his cap, he looks like the "before" picture for a hair-weave ad.

We interrupt you, America, to bring this rumbling from the Midwest:Pistons. Wings. Pistons. Wings.Ba-boom.The words create a growing frenzy, like a sparrow's heartbeat, like a Baptistchurch service, like the music from "Jaws." They are on the lips of every auto worker in Dearborn, every lawyer in Birmingham, every elevator-rider in every office building in downtown Detroit.Pistons. Wings. Pistons. Wings.Ba-boom.