They were chanting his name like some sort of pagan ritual, louder and louder, until it echoed through the building in this dreamy roar: "CHEVVV-VY! CHEVVV-VY!" Finally, when the work was done, when this little miracle was over, Tim Cheveldae skated out from the net, raised his stick and was mobbed by his teammates, who, like him, had just completed an exhausting journey from the brink of elimination to the horizon of hope.The Red was back in the black.
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.
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.
