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.' "
Kirk Gibson was yelling like a banshee. His teammates froze. I still remember that scene, even though I can't tell you the day, can't tell you the opposing team. I can tell you the Tigers had lost several games in a row, during a pennant race, and that was enough to boil Gibson's blood. He was screaming, calling them -- and himself -- names I can't repeat here, pacing like a caged beast, swearing they would never lose again or he'd kill somebody.The other players -- older and younger -- looked up the way children look at a raging parent.They won their next three games.
SEATTLE -- You want an Opening Day? Take your kids to the park, pitch them a few balls, cook some hot dogs and go home. Trust me, that's all we have left of the spirit of this thing.Smiling? Who's smiling this morning? Just because a court injunction has sent the game back to work? Just because the major leaguers will soon be in Florida and Arizona, doing in April what they should have done in February? Big deal. Nothing has been solved. Nothing has changed. They are still disgraceful, both sides, without shame. Unworthy of our cheers. Undeserving of a smile.
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.