MINNEAPOLIS -- A goal! A goal! Their kingdom for a goal! The Red Wings were down to the last gasping seconds of their 1992 season, their best season in years, all those victories, all of the weary days from October to April, the first-place finish, the rave reviews, all that excellence and effort now dripping away, dying before their bleary eyes, unless . . . unless they could put that puck in, just once. That would be enough. The score was 0-0. And they were in overtime. One goal! They live or they die.
I am starting my own talk show. I figure everyone else has one.My show will be called "Get A Life."It will be not be like Phil or Oprah or Sally or Maury.It will never be confused with Geraldo."Get A Life" will have no guests."Get A Life" will have no male strippers. No lesbian truck drivers. No teacher-student love triangles, or circus performers who worship the devil.There will be no men who want to be women. Or women who want to be men. There will be no porn queens who drive school buses. No Mafia hit men. No nudist cops.
I've seen heavyweight fights go like this: One guy comes out on fire and gets the crowd all worked up. Pow! Pow! His fists are flying, and his opponent takes every shot, the blood spitting from his face, until he looks like he'll go down any moment -- which only excites the aggressor more. Only the opponent doesn't go down. He stays standing. Blow after blow. And finally, the first guy, exhausted from all this punching with no reward, takes a breath, says, "Hey, what's with this lug?"And pow! The other guy knocks him out.
I've seen heavyweight fights that go like this: One guy comes out on fire, he slugs and pounds and gets the crowd all worked up. Pow! Pow! His fists are flying, and his opponent takes every shot, the blood spitting from his face, until he looks like he'll go down any moment -- which only excites the aggressor more. Only the opponent doesn't go down. He stays standing. Blow after blow. And finally, the first guy, exhausted from all this punching with no reward, takes a breath, says, "Hey, what's with this lug?"And pow! The other guy knocks him out.
Think of me as the idolmaker. Think of me as LIFE magazine knocking on the door.I have come for Tim Cheveldae.I am ready to make him a star."So," I say, pulling out my notepad, "pretty soon it'll be fancy limousines and fast women for you, right, kid?""Huh?" he says.I know what's coming. The Stanley Cup playoffs begin Saturday. The Red Wings are a favored team; Cheveldae is a hot goalie.I know what's coming.
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.
