SAN FRANCISCO -- I am writing this column in the most frightening position I have ever been in, some 200 feet above the ground in Candlestick Park, which just moments ago was shaking as if the entire stadium were on a wagon being wheeled over cobblestone. An earthquake, they call it out here, with some regularity, and even as I type these words, the stadium occasionally rolls -- aftershocks -- with the concrete, the steel supports, everything shaking, as if suddenly there is no such thing as sturdy, not anymore.
OAKLAND, Calif. -- It is not for me, as a sports writer with ketchup stains on his shirt and a screaming editor on the other end of the phone, to take sides in this World Series. But I am. Taking sides. Actually, I'm taking a front. Rick Reuschel's front. Actually, just the part from his chest to his belt. I like it. Reminds me of my Uncle Mort, the pickle man from Baltimore.
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.