MINNEAPOLIS -- You can't smoke at your seat inside the Metrodome, only in the concrete corridors, and I swear halfway through the last game of maybe the best World Series every played, those corridors were stuffed with people too nervous to go without a drag, hundreds and hundreds of fans puffing away like expectant fathers, straining to see the TV sets, puffing some more, dying with every swing, puffing some more, waiting, waiting for the one crack in this choking drama that would give us a king of baseball for this wonderful crazy season.
ATLANTA -- Sooner or later in this World Series -- probably Saturday night, the way the Braves are going -- they will have to name an MVP, and won't that be fun? I can see the guys in the back room, rushing to make up the trophy."Quick, read me the ballots.""OK. One for Lemke--""Who?""That's what it says. Lemke.""Lemke? You sure? How the hell you spell that?"
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.
