If someone created all the bad news in the world, then he would be responsible for it.But if the bad news were already there, and that someone just told you about it, would he be the problem -- or a depressing reminder?That's the stand-off we have this morning, the day Reggie Lewis's number will be raised to the rafters of Boston Garden. A cloud of doubt will ride up that rope, alongside the green and white banner. And in a country never satisfied until we blame somebody, the fingers are pointing -- but in the wrong direction.
INDIANAPOLIS -- It wasn't the way he chewed gum as he jogged out of the tunnel, nor the ease with which he carried the ball in his first lay-up drill, one-handed, effortless, as if putting a glass on a shelf. No. What convinced you the guy was back for real were those familiar beads of sweat glistening on his smoothly shaved head, exerting himself again, in basketball, after nearly two years away. His number was already retired and a statue erected in his honor. Now he stripped off his warm-ups to the familiar red-and-black uniform. The crowd exploded.
TALLAHASSEE, Fla. -- There were tears all over the locker room floor, mixing with the dirt and the soiled, wet towels. Jud Heathcote had cried, and Shawn Respert had cried. Eric Snow sat motionless in a chair as reporters moved through and camera lights blinded the already stunned Spartans players. Someone leaned down, patted Snow on the shoulder, mumbled "Sorry," and that was it, the floodgates opened, he began to sob, unable to catch his breath. He was every kid after every big game that didn't go right. This is what they don't show you on ESPN SportsCenter.
DAYTON, Ohio -- The hamburgers are on the grill, and the margaritas are flowing like small green waterfalls."GO JAYHAWKS!" someone slurps."GO HILLTOPPERS!" screams another."Pardon me," I mumble. "'Scuse me. . . . Pardon me. . . . "I make my way through the tailgating parties like a police officer assigned to Beach Blanket Bingo. A van full of students is booming rock music and singing along. Suddenly, in the middle of the song, someone stops and yells "HOW ABOUT THEM HOGS?""WHOOOEEE!" they answer. "HOGS, HOGS, HOGS, HOG--"
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.
