Detroit Free Press

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THESE GUYS WON’T BE IN A BEER AD ANY TIME SOON

November 19, 1989 | Detroit Free Press

Now that baseball has gone from NBC to CBS, and basketball has gone from CBS to NBC, it's about time football made ...

WINGS’ CONFIDENCE SIMPLY SHOT TO PIECES

November 17, 1989 | Detroit Free Press

The light behind Greg Stefan was flashing red all night, like blood. How fitting for a man who had suddenly become ...

For A Change, Let’S Laugh With The Lions

November 13, 1989 | Detroit Free Press

The locker room was noisy and they were slapping Wayne Fontes on the back and someone said to him: "Hey, Wayne. The governor's on the phone."Fontes looked up. Really? The governor? He jogged to the office and someone handed him the receiver and whispered in his ear, "I think he's gonna commute your sentence."Fontes smirked."Hello, governor! How are you!" Something about congratulations."Thank you, sir . . . uh-huh . . . "Something about the offense."Improving, governor . . . that's right . . ."

What The Heck – Give Them All A Raise

November 12, 1989 | Detroit Free Press

Let me get this straight. Jerry Ball is complaining about his salary. Again. After he renegotiated a few months ago.And let me get this straight. Bennie Blades, who does more fist-waving than intercepting, and Lomas Brown, who is a member of Detroit's internationally famous offensive line, figure, hey, if Jerry can do it, we can, too. So they're complaining about their salaries and talking about renegotiating.

Old-Fashioned Football Fuels Wolverines Over Upstarts

November 12, 1989 | Detroit Free Press

CHAMPAIGN, Ill. -- Jeff George, the Illinois quarterback, fidgeted with his helmet strap. This was his time, wasn't it? The final seven minutes. He was the miracle man, the can-do kid. He does more with a football in the closing minutes than some teams do all afternoon. Hands on hips. Look up. Look down. It was his time.

U-M Teaches Illinois The Meaning Of Possession

November 12, 1989 | Detroit Free Press

CHAMPAIGN, Ill. -- Jeff George, the celebrated Illinois quarterback, had his hands on his hips. He fidgeted with his helmet strap. "Damn," he seemed to say, pacing up and down, "this is my time." It was the final seven minutes. He was the miracle man. The sold-out crowd was waiting breathlessly for his magic, his typical rally to victory. But he was a prisoner of the sideline.