Once upon a time, when Kirk Gibson went out socially, you locked up the women and children. He was a serious party animal, a whole frat house rolled into one reckless body.Now Kirk Gibson goes out socially to his son's elementary school, with the other fathers, leaning against the bulletin boards, and when the teacher asks them to write something in their children's journals, Gibson takes the pencil and writes his name and the date and the usual stuff. Then he adds a message to his boy. The message reads, "You never know unless you try again."
Today's column will be A WINNER! It will be THE SURPRISE HIT OF THE FALL!It has BLOCKBUSTER WRITTEN ALL OVER IT!It is THE FUNNIEST COLUMN I'VE READ ALL YEA--Sorry. You caught me practicing. I have decided to give up my current line of work, which is, well, I'm not sure, whatever it is, and go into movie reviewing.I don't mean the long, gracefully written reviews Pauline Kael did in the New Yorker. Or the serious criticism found in the New York Times, Boston Globe, or this newspaper.
Gatorade is out. Worms are in.It's true. As you read this, athletes are pouring milk on their worms.Or spreading worms on toast. Bagels and worms? With tomato?Whatever. It's just a matter of time before we're all into the slimy little buggers, after the news this week in sports:Worms make you run faster.
* Lions 23, Patriots 14: New England. New Coach. New Quarterback. Same mess.* Minnesota 20, Chicago 17: Jim McMahon steps under center, looks across the line at his old Bears teammates, and says, "Hey, you never returned my albums . . ."
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.
