WIMBLEDON, England -- He went out holding his racket, not his crotch, which is a sign of maturity, I suppose. Jimmy Connors hasn't always been a grown-up. But when he exited Wimbledon Friday, a semifinal loser to a young and overpowering Pat Cash, he was given an ovation not only for today but for a lot of yesterdays. He got the old man's cheer.
SEOUL, South Korea -- She ties her shoes and grabs her tennis racket. She squeezes in the elevator behind two fencers and an East German handball player.Chris Evert.Olympian.She walks among swimmers and Greco-Roman wrestlers. She waits behind cyclists and discus throwers. She asks the cafeteria lady to hold the gravy on those potatoes, thank you.Chris Evert.Olympian.
And they say nightmares happen only in Boston Garden. Forget that. Here, as the buzzer sounded in a summer-hot Silverdome Monday afternoon, was Boston's Danny Ainge, heaving a basketball high in celebration and pointing bleep-you fingers at the disbelieving crowd."YES! YES!" he shouted, his team suddenly alive again in this gut-twisting Eastern Conference final against the Pistons."No . . . no . . ." the crowd seemed to whisper.
BOSTON -- Dave Henderson bounces. He is young and muscular and slides into the bag like a Boeing jet crashing in some distant desert, but then, whoop, he's back up again, springing to his feet -- so quick the dirt doesn't stick. Up, down, up. The perfect slide for the man from nowhere.
First of all, Barry Sanders doesn't mind dancing. As long as someone else is doing it. Sure, when he scores a touchdown, he hands the ball to the referee like a mailman delivering a phone bill. But he isn't bothered by those who prefer a wiggle or a shake. "Hey, I used to love Billy (White Shoes) Johnson, and the Washington Smurfs and all," he says, looking down at his hands. "It's just . . . not me."
FLUSHING MEADOW, N.Y. -- They are stripped naked for 10 minutes a day. All of them. Martina and Chris, McEnroe and Lendl and Connors, even golden boy Boris Becker, exposed for all to see every time they make the walk from the locker room to the stadium.Yes, the big shots must wade through the crowd here -- past the hamburger stands and bathroom lines -- just like the regular folk, without priority, without special privilege. Sure, they walk a little faster and try to look disinterested.
WIMBLEDON, England -- He is like some tragic hero from Greek mythology; when he catches the man it turns to a horse, when he catches the horse, it flies away as a bird. What more can Ivan Lendl try at Wimbledon? He has elevated his game, learned to move on grass, learned to come to the net, learned to handle the thunderous serves of the Beckers and Edbergs. He is masterfully prepared, kneaded by chiropractors, oiled by psychologists, his rackets and shoes perfectly engineered for his lean, strong body. Effort? Did you say effort?
LEXINGTON, Ky. -- They cut down the net, one player at a time, each taking a souvenir piece for himself. Finally, it hung by a single strand, until the Wolverines found their coach, gave him the scissors, and marched him up the ladder to the rim. "FISH! FISH! FISH!" they screamed.Snip.Finally, Four.
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.
