TAMPA, Fla. -- Jim Kelly knocks things over. He wakes up the whole football neighborhood. Noise follows him, it has since his mess-around days as a kid in western Pennsylvania, where his idea of fun was to strap on a helmet and attack his brothers. ARRRRRRRR! Even now, a millionaire quarterback in the biggest game of his life, he admits to a "linebacker's mentality." And given his thick neck, his broad torso, and his affection for a pitcher of beer, he might still become one.
TAMPA, Fla. -- When the coffee turned cold and the fruit plates were empty, the announcement came that the morning interviews were over. All around the huge ballroom, the Buffalo Bills headed for the exits. James Lofton stayed where he was, sitting at a table, surrounded by reporters. He answered more questions -- about his age, about his years in Green Bay. Soon the room was half-empty, and the kitchen staff was collecting plates and clanging silverware. Lofton stayed, answering more questions -- about being cut by the
TAMPA, Fla. -- Normally it takes a few hours before something really idiotic happens at the Super Bowl, but this being a short week and all, it took only five minutes. Here we were Tuesday morning, the sports media, just me and 3,700 of my closest friends, being herded into Tampa Stadium for our opening interviews with the New York Giants. And the first thing I saw when we walked on the field, dancing among the players in a tight black dress, black hat, black fishnet stockings and black leather boots, was "Downtown" Julie Brown from MTV. Doing interviews. Or trying.
SAN FRANCISCO -- On one sideline, the miracle man stood alone, watching, his back stiff, his hand throbbing, his body racked with pain. For the first time in most people's memory, Joe Montana could do nothing about the finish of a championship game. Nothing but pray.
My grandmother, who grew up in Brooklyn, used to talk about getting the news during World War I, how the family would wait for the paper each day and read sketchy stories with no pictures.Later, my father would talk about World War II, how the family huddled by the radio when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and how the news crackled from that old speaker in the wooden casing.
In some ways, this is the hardest column I have ever had to write, hard because, for the first time in my life, I have no interest in writing it. This has never happened before. I love my work. I love wandering around the sports world, breathing in its funny drama, writing it down.
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.
