Once upon a time he hid in the back of a dark Mercedes as it raced through the German countryside. He was a scared kid defecting from his homeland.On Sunday morning, he hid in the front of his four-wheel- drive truck after it smashed into a car on Woodward Avenue. He was a drunken adult, hoping the cop wouldn't see he'd been driving. I don't know what Petr Klima dreamt of when he came to America three years ago. I doubt it was prison. Or a rehab center. Or life with no paycheck. He is facing all three now.
BOSTON -- Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. To win in Boston Garden, where the angry fans are so close, so thunderous, so hot you feel as if they're sweating inside your clothes -- to win here is nothing short of miraculous anyway. But to lose this way? On a stolen pass by Larry Bird in the final two seconds, a pass he dished to Dennis Johnson for a lay-up that put a stake through the heart of every Detroit fan? Unbelievable.
MINNEAPOLIS -- I missed the last couple of Lions' games on account of the World Series. I made Sunday's game. I think I'm going back to Missouri.There is winning pretty, winning ugly, losing pretty and, of course, losing ugly. And then there is the way the Lions lost to Minnesota Sunday, which I'm still trying to figure out how to classify.Maybe "losing politely." For as much as the Vikings tried to give this game to Detroit, the Lions steadfastly said, "No, really. It wouldn't be right. We just couldn't. No. Sorry."
HOUSTON -- I have this idea for Larry Bird. One more year and goodby. Quit. Throw the sneakers in the gym bag, grab a ball on the way out. "Where you going?" someone would ask."Not sure," he'd say.And he'd disappear forever.How good is Larry Bird? That good. So good that, at 29, the only thing left is the myth-making exit. The kind that comes too early, that kind that makes him legendary, a cult figure, even bigger when he's gone than when he was around. A James Dean, an Elvis, a J.D. Salinger.
I awake in the desert. The sun, she is hot. The earth, she is dry. My tongue, she is parched. Many moons have I traveled in search of the hidden treasure, the prize that no mortal has ever possessed: the sure thing in pro football.See the skeletons of those who tried before me. Some are curled in the sand. Some have the stale cigar still in their teeth. Hey, wait a minute, I know that guy. That's Ralph!
This is beautiful. We're here freezing in Michigan and Jim Harkema is out in the California sun, practicing for a bowl game. Isn't that ironic? Especially since he was on the verge of losing his team, his helmets, his field, the works, three years ago. Nobody wanted Eastern Michigan then. But sometimes, if you just stick with it. . . .
They left for the airport with the city waving goodby like a war bride. Would the Red Wings be back? Would there be a Game 6? Would this love affair between a motor town and a little-engine- that-could end on a Canadian battleground, thousands of miles away? Could that happen?"No! Come back!" the crowd at Joe Louis Arena seemed to scream Monday night, as the Wings fell to the Oilers, 3-2, their third loss in this best-of-seven Campbell Conference final. "Whatever you do, make sure you come home alive!"
BOSTON -- As the fourth quarter was about to begin Tuesday night, Pistons center Bill Laimbeer leaned into his team's huddle, sweat dripping from his chin, and yelled, "We can still win this thing! Come on! Come on!"You can understand his reminder. Up to that point, the Pistons had played as if victory was not on the menu in this venue.
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.
