SPRINGFIELD, Mass. -- It was too early for a basketball classic. The first snows hadn't even fallen, much less melted. The days were growing shorter, football ruled the screen and the words "final four" would be interpreted as how many shopping weeks left until Christmas. Yet here was an arena full of people and a court full of network TV cameras waiting for greatness from two college basketball teams, who just happened to have been pre-season ranked No. 1 and 2 by most everybody in the know, you know.Georgia Tech and Michigan.
You could see it coming; if you had any compassion, you closed your eyes. Frank Tanana had loaded the bases in the first inning -- a single, two walks -- and now a kid named Todd Benzinger was up for the Red Sox, and he pretty much held the pitcher's immediate future in his bat. Whack! A long fly ball. Over the left-center fence. Gone.And so was Tanana.
LOUISVILLE -- The beasts were pawing at the gates."START THEM UP!" someone screamed."WOOOH!" screamed someone else.Only the gates stood between them and mad glory. The beasts were restless. The beasts wanted to run."IT'S TIIIIME!" someone screamed."DO IT!" screamed someone else.A cop checked his watch. There were about 75 cops there, billy clubs by their sides, safe on the other side of the gates, away from these wild animals. The cop with the watch looked up. He nodded.
As a kid in Philadelphia, I played a lot of ice hockey. It came with the territory. The Flyers were the only winning team in town. So if you wanted to feel good, you put on skates, grabbed a stick and picked a Flyer to call your own.
CALGARY, Alberta -- There were hands on his shoulders and hands cupped behind his neck and two, three, four hands slapping him lovingly on the head. Bells were ringing. Women were singing. "ALBERTO! ALBERTO!""BELLA, ALBERTO!"He waved. He laughed. He pointed playfully to the No. 1 on his racing bib. There were Italian flags behind him and Italian flags in front of him, and four, five, six hands slapping him loivingly on the head."ALBERTO!"" FANTASTICO, ALBERTO!"
"We were playing for our lives."Coach Jacques Demers, after the Wings' 6-4 victory TuesdayWhat do you call it when the puck is suddenly your enemy, when every bounce seems evil, when the clock says 13 minutes left in your season, kiss it good-bye, see ya later?Wake-up time. Here were the Red Wings staring at their very souls in the Joe Louis Arena ice. Down, three games to one, in this first-round playoff against Chicago, losing, 4-3, playing poorly, playing unluckily. Hey, if life gets any worse, don't tell us. Just put on the blindfold and shoot.
WIMBLEDON, England -- The last American tennis man was getting the hell beat out of him. His racket was bleeding. He looked weary, overmatched -- he looked old, and that was the worst thing, because Jimmy Connors is old, he's 34, and by tennis standards that's ancient, at least to be Centre Court at Wimbledon, taking on a guy more than a decade younger. Clunk! He put a shot into the net. Clunk! He hit long and out. The tennis fans who had been watching him here since 1971 shook their heads grimly, like loved ones on the edge of a hospital bed.
BOSTON -- Forget what they say about old friends. Bobby Ojeda was looking to leave the Red Sox in the dirt and the Sox were hoping to paste his pitches and his face to the left field wall. Oh, he got along OK with everybody here during his eight years in the Boston organization. But this is the World Series, Ojeda is now a Met, and that means to hell with you these days in bean town. "To hell with whom?" he seemed to say from the Fenway mound Tuesday night, where his Mets finally won a World Series Game, 7-1, to close Boston's lead to 2-1. "What did you 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.
