He died quietly, which was not like him, early Sunday in New York City, before sunrise, in the wee hours, when the ratings don't matter. His heart -- which many claimed he never had -- failed him at last.Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, ESPN was preparing for its second full day of NFL draft coverage, over-hyped and over- announced insanity, with the insufferable Mel Kiper Jr. set to prattle on about split times.No wonder Howard Cosell left us. He probably couldn't stand it anymore.
A scout's journal . . . I don't follow the big names. The big names, they got plenty of guys following them. You think Ki-Jana Carter is gonna go unnoticed? Come on. We already know his shirt size and his favorite sports car. How much more can a lousy scout dig up?Me, I go for the small names. I beat the bushes. I check under rocks. I scour the country for every backwater college that still believes in the tackle and the forward pass.And I watch. And I make notes.Sometimes I have a drink and fall asleep.
He was there for the Pistons' two NBA championships, and he knew as much about those teams as anyone.He was there for the Pistons' slide into mediocrity, and it broke his heart, because he knew why it happened.He was there for the start of the Pistons' rebirth -- Grant Hill, Allan Houston -- and he taught them, tutored them, cajoled them.Now the Pistons are booting him out.
Dead men tell no tales. And dead parents make no complaints. So it's impossible to know what Dorothy Mayfield would have thought about her daughter's acceptance to Harvard University.Or what she might have thought when Harvard changed its mind.It seems that her daughter's application -- which featured straight A's and glowing recommendations -- left out one alarming fact: The girl had murdered her mother four years earlier.Not exactly a small detail.
Grant Hill had a decision to make. Quickly now, before he answers. Mr. Jordan? Michael? Mike? He was sitting in his car, with the cellular phone set on speaker, because his buddies were cramped in there with him, hoping to hear the famous man's voice. Hurry up. What should Hill call him? Mikey? Mr. Mike? Your Highness?"Hello?""Hello . . . MJ . . . it's Grant Hill."MJ? He called him MJ?"Well, yeah," Hill laughs now. "At least I didn't say 'It's GH.' "
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.
