Detroit Free Press

KC’S BALBONI NOT CRYING OVER HIS WEAK BATTING

KC’S BALBONI NOT CRYING OVER HIS WEAK BATTING

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.
WELCOME HOME WINGS, PISTONS DETROIT DANCES THE 2-TEAM TANGO

WELCOME HOME WINGS, PISTONS DETROIT DANCES THE 2-TEAM TANGO

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.
THE QUEST BEGINSTHEY’RE BACK, THEY’RE FEARED,THEY’RE INSPIRED AND THE FAVORITES

THE QUEST BEGINSTHEY’RE BACK, THEY’RE FEARED,THEY’RE INSPIRED AND THE FAVORITES

They come clanking into the playoffs like some science fiction monster, unbeatable, unstoppable, unkillable. Buh-dump. Buh-dump."Hello," they say, "we are Detroit.""AHHHHHHHHHH!"People scatter. Sirens roar. The police turn on the spotlights to try to blind them into submission. Suddenly they are Godzilla in basketball shorts, the favorites, the invincible army."Excuse us," they say to the people of Boston, "we don't mean to make a fuss. Is this the way to the Garden?""AHHHHHHHHHH!"
PISTONS FLY, WINGS DIEJUST SAVOR ALL THE MEMORIES

PISTONS FLY, WINGS DIEJUST SAVOR ALL THE MEMORIES

EDMONTON -- Melt the ice. This remarkable season is finally over. The Red Wings went down the way they had come up, fighting, scratching, clawing, overachieving, playing better than anyone had dreamed, playing within inches of greatness, within a breath of a miracle. But still a breath away.Over? Over.
BOYD PROVED TO BOSTON HE WAS THE CAN WHO COULD

BOYD PROVED TO BOSTON HE WAS THE CAN WHO COULD

BOSTON -- One game for the pennant now. One game left. One more chance for the Boston Red Sox, who, when they needed their steadiest pitching performance of the year, went to their unsteadiest pitcher. Naturally. And true to form in this wacko American League Championship Series, he delivered. Naturally."Did you hear them yelling OIL CAN! OIL CAN!" someone asked Dennis (Oil Can) Boyd, after his team stuffed California, 10-4, behind seven strong innings of his pitching, to force Game 7 of this American League Championship Series.
FOR THE NEXT 10 DAYS, THE RUBES MUST BE RUDE

FOR THE NEXT 10 DAYS, THE RUBES MUST BE RUDE

NEW YORK -- You say: "What a nice day."I say: "Drop dead."You say: "Can I help with your luggage?"I say: "Drop dead."You say tomato. I say stuff the tomato. I am rehearsing my lines. It is part of my plan. I am following the strategy of every general from Napoleon to MacArthur. Know your enemy. Think like your enemy. My enemy is the New Yorker. From now until a week from Sunday. Ten days. Seven baseball games. Tigers versus Yankees. I seek a New York state of mind."What a nice suit," you say."Drop dead," I say.
A.C. PROVIDES THE SPARK LIONS ARE SORELY MISSING

A.C. PROVIDES THE SPARK LIONS ARE SORELY MISSING

Go ahead. Make us sick, why don't you? It's bad enough to sit in a canvas bubble watching your team go plop. But here was Anthony Carter, back for his annual visit, streaking across the middle of the Silverdome as if everyone else were moving in slow motion, and here comes the ball, right on target, and, bingo, it's in his hands and he's off.Who needs it? It's hard enough to see the Lions week after week without getting chewed on by the rats of what might have been. But they were there Sunday, every time Carter caught the ball. And wouldn't you know it? He caught it a lot.

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.

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