Detroit Free Press

It's Thanksgiving. Time to count your blessings. Assuming you are a Lions fan, you may be thinking you have no blessings to count after last Sunday's embarrassing loss to Tampa Bay.Not true. There are still many things you can be thankful for. For instance:1. The Lions do not play Tampa Bay today.2. The Lions are at home.3. The football season is almost over.4. You were born without a tail.Any of these should give you reason to smile, and say, "Oh, thank you." If not, how about an abbreviated version of our regular Sunday picks column?

BOSTON -- He is the kid with his finger in the dike. The fisherman who hooks a great white shark. The prince with a slingshot who rides off to slay the giant.He is the man who must cover Larry Bird."What do you do to stop him?" someone asked Houston's Rodney McCray."I do my best," he said, shrugging.

TURNBERRY, Scotland -- The British Open ended here Saturday, a day earlier than expected. The cup and the check were handed over to the obvious winner -- the Ailsa course."Thank you," said the greens."A real thrill," added the rough."Lovely," chimed the wind and rain.What a performance. Not one golfer under par. Not one golfer at par. How's that for defending your honor? And don't say, "Ah, it can rain anywhere." The weather is as much a part of this 83-year-old Scottish temptress as her tees.

WIMBLEDON, England -- You would think, with her growing mountain of trophies, her blood-chilling forehand, her nuclear serve, the way she disposes of opponents so quickly she sometimes has to apologize to the crowd -- you would think with all that Steffi Graf might give us something about her to . . . dislike. A little ego, perhaps? A little scandal? Maybe she bet on tennis matches?

MIAMI -- He was wearing one of those toy beepers, and when he reached down and pulled the bullet from his flesh, the beeper went off and made a funny noise -- beedledeedleeep! -- a noise that said, "Hey, I'm just a kid, what's going on here?"He was a black youth shot by a white man, a moment of madness, a moment of horror, and heaven help this city now, for the fire this time will surely continue. "I'm going to get him," the youth screamed, upon seeing his wound. "Y'all come back tonight at 6 o'clock if you want to help me get him!" he yelled at the crowd around him.

Just a minute ago, he was dancing. Just a minute ago, he was spritzing champagne on his teammates, laughing with those gap-teeth, shaking his big nasty body and singing "BAAAD BOYS! BAAAD BOYS!" Just a minute ago, Rick Mahorn was the muscle around the heart of the Pistons' brand-new NBA championship team.And now he is gone.

He answers the door, invites you in, offers a cup of coffee. The small apartment is decorated in earth tones, almost cozy in the early morning light. A bookcase holds the jet-black stereo equipment, lights flickering silently behind smoked glass. Neat. Clean. Maybe you figured the place would be a mess, dirty clothes stuffed under a mattress, the remains of last night's party all over the floor. Wouldn't that be a hockey player's lifestyle?