SAN FRANCISCO -- I am writing this column in the most frightening position I have ever been in, some 200 feet above the ground in Candlestick Park, which just moments ago was shaking as if the entire stadium were on a wagon being wheeled over cobblestone. An earthquake, they call it out here, with some regularity, and even as I type these words, the stadium occasionally rolls -- aftershocks -- with the concrete, the steel supports, everything shaking, as if suddenly there is no such thing as sturdy, not anymore.
This week the Free Press will run exclusive excerpts from Bo Schembechler's new autobiography, "Bo," co-authored with Free Press sports columnist Mitch Albom. The book details Bo's life, career and criticism of college football today. In the first excerpt from "It's Not Temper, It's Coaching," Bo explains his reputation.If you believed all stories about me, you'd think I was the toughest, meanest b------ that ever lived.Not true.You'd think I had a temper made of lighter fluid. Not true.
The Tiger slowly made his way through the jungle. He'd been traveling for days. It was a sad journey, but he had no choice.Over the mountain. Down the river. Finally, he clawed through some vines and into a clearing.The trees were tall, of white ash, and had "Louisville Slugger" written across their trunks. Old baseballs hung from the branches. The rocks were shaped like bases. And there, around a small campfire, sat a group of cartoon- like characters.A Pirate. An Oriole. A Brave. Two Red Socks. They were moaning softly."No pitching . . . "
SEOUL, South Korea -- Oh, Florence, be for real! Tell us that blazing world record in the 200 meters Thursday was yours and yours alone, that your magnificent sprinter's body is all hard work and dedication, that when you crossed the finish line and waved your hands and beckoned to your husband, Al, to join you in glory, and he lifted you and swung you in his loving arms and the stadium roared with delight -- tell us all that was genuine, real hero stuff, because the Olympics need that right now. In the worst way.
BOSTON -- Listen. I have a trade to propose: Me for Ron Darling. One for one. Here's the deal. Darling, the New York Mets' heartthrob pitcher, gets everything I own. Everything I ever accomplished. Everything I ever laid my eyes, ears or hands on, including my first bicycle. And I get to be him for 24 hours.That's all. Just one day. I do not jest. Everything in the kitty. For 24 hours.
I am getting a little tired of traveling around the country and hearing sports fans say: "Oh, you're from Detroit? How are they doing?" The next person who says that to me, I kick.The fact is, Detroit is doing better than any other sports city in 1987, thank you. And I am sure people in such high- cultured, well-educated places such as New York and Los Angeles would quickly realize this, if they ever stopped shopping.
A lot of people were shocked last week when Chicago Bears coach Mike Ditka suffered a heart attack. But I was not. After all, one look at the volatile coach, ranting and raving on the sidelines, and you knew that he was an accident waiting to happen.The truth is, in football, it is possible to tell the stress levels of coaches simply by watching them on Sunday afternoons.
TAMPA, Fla. -- Chuck looked at Darryl.Darryl looked at Chuck.Joe looked at Darryl.And Darryl looked at Joe.Then Joe and Darryl both looked at Chuck, who was still looking at Darryl, I think.You getting all this?"Oh, all right, get on in there," Darryl said.Ta da.The Long era begins.Let the history books show that with 2:06 left in a meaningless game in a sun-stroked Florida stadium, Detroit's quarterback of the future saw his first NFL action. And here it was.He called the play, marched out of the huddle . . .
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.
