Detroit Free Press

Paul Coffey sat by his locker for a long time Saturday night, refusing even to take off his skates. He pushed a ...

Wait a minute, teenagers. Not so fast. Come back here with that fashion article printed in this very newspaper just two days ago, the one with the headline "PROM-ising Alternatives" that dealt with new ways to dress for your high school prom without looking traditional, which is to say, a dweeb.Gimme that paper!riiip . . . swiiip . . . shrshhh . . . There now.

Steve Yzerman looks like hell. Or as much as a heartthrob can look like hell. The left side of his face has a red mark from forehead to chin -- "a glove cut," he says -- and his pouty upper lip still has the vertical scar from 30 stitches, turning it purple and slightly swollen.

First the shot, which made a thudding sound as it hit Chris Osgood's pads. Then the swish, as several Red Wings skated the other way. Then the swelling roar, as Dino Ciccarelli surged ahead of a defender, puck on his stick. Then the explosion, as Ciccarelli flicked a shot past the sprawling San Jose goalie, Arturs Irbe, for a Detroit goal, its sixth of the night.Blowout. Blow out.

You are calm. You are serene. You are a perfectly mature adult who is not the least bit worried that tonight could mark the quick death of a once promising hockey season. Not at all."Coffee?" asks your spouse."COFFEY? WHAT ABOUT COFFEY? DON'T TELL ME HE GOT HURT! THAT'S ALL WE NEED! HOW DID HE GET HURT? BLAST IT! CURSES! RATS! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"Your spouse runs upstairs. Must be having a bad day.Not you. You are fine. You are at peace. You go to work, enter your office, nod at your colleagues.One of them says, "How's things?"

You can't run your own farewell party. Sometimes, you can't even attend it. Today, in his house in Bloomfield Hills, crutches by his side, heel in a splint, Isiah Thomas no doubt realizes this.And it must bother him. He had hoped for a better ending, a cleansing rinse on his long career, dotted toward the end with unanswered questions, bad press, injuries, and snickers from longtime critics.

What makes a man? Strong hands, to bend destiny in his direction. Strong shoulders, to bear the weight of his ...

You can't tell anymore by the way he looks. With that stringy blond hair that he flicks out of his eyes, he could ...