<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9402160163
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
941227
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Tuesday, December 27, 1994
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>
Drawing Color DICK MAYER Free Press
</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1994, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
THE HUDDLE
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
It is with great sadness that we come to the final Huddle of the year, our
last chance to get together, put our arms fondly around each other's necks,
and squeeze until somebody gives up his wallet.  I, for one, will miss this
tremendously.

  But we ain't done yet.

  Hut one, hut two . . . HUDDLE UP!
  WHO'S IN THIS WEEK: Johnnie Morton, Herschel Walker, Ben Coates, Barry
Sanders (lifetime  membership), Dan Henning and Boston College, Joe Montana,
Don Shula's scooter, Drew (Whew!) Bledsoe, Jim Everett (best unnoticed
quarterback this year), Pizza Papolis, the editors of this thing -- thank
you, Steve, Tom, Gene, Bob, Tim, et al -- and a deserving Detroit family,
Robert, Patricia and son Jemale.
  WHO'S OUT: Rich (See ya) Kotite, Tom (See ya) Flores, Wade (See ya)
Phillips, Buddy (So  I Lied About The Playoffs, Sue Me) Ryan, Art (nice call
at the end of the half) Shell, all the referees, Jeff Lurie (shame on him,
trying to kill Dick Vermeil like that) and the salespeople last week  at Best
Buy, whose favorite line was,  "Sorry, I'll have to get the manager."
  What's up, Huddle?
  Hey. It's Dan Marino. Come to gloat?
  Well, I did pick apart the Lions.
  Yeah, yeah.  You're  nothing without your arm. Here, I'll prove it. WHACK!
  Hey, that's my arm you just chopped off.
  Now try throwing deep, big shot.
  That's my ARM! OH MY GOD! GIMME THAT!
  Sorry, I'll have  to get the manager.
  Hello. Good-bye. Grrbllgrrbll.
  Hey, it's Jeff Hostetler from the Raiders. Tell us, Jeff, after all those
concussions, how's your head?
  Made my bed? Every day.
  So,  as the NFL assures us, concussions are OK.
  Throw hay? I can do that.
  And you're not suffering any side effects?
  Nuh-uh. I'll take Bachelor Number Three.
  Once again, the media worry too  much.
  Yo, Hud. What's the Tampa franchise worth?
  Without Sam Wyche -- $150 million.
  And with him?
  About $4.95.
  Happy New Year, Huddle.
  Well, well! It's Father Time -- come to  ring in 1995. How are you?
  Fine, Sonny. Say, how's about letting an old man into your Huddle?
  Sure, Father. Just watch it with that sickle, OK? Now, stand in here, raise
your hand, and repeat  after me. "I . . . state your name."
  I . . . Lou Holtz.
  Pledge t  . . .  WHAT?
  Pledge t  . . .  WHAT?
  Did you say HOLTZ?
  Uh, I . . . silly me, I meant hopes! I have hopes!
  Gimme  that beard . . . It's YOU!
  Stand back, I've got a weapon! I'm getting in this Huddle if it's the last
thing I do! STAND BACK! BACK I SAY!
  Easy, Lou. Look. Up there. An NFL job offer!
  Where?
  WHACK!  Get him out of here, boys.
  LET'S GO TO THE MAILBAG:
  Dear Huddle: I have recently been having a dream where I am at Joe Robbie
Stadium and I punch out Bryan Cox. Am I in, or am I out?  -- Jerome Meloche,
London, Ontario.
  Everyone has that dream. Next?
  Dear Huddle: My father is the athletic director at U-M. I know he's taking
a lame record to a mediocre bowl. But he's also taking  his new wife, Carolyn,
whom he married Christmas Day. This merits the Huddle, doesn't it? -- Marvin
Roberson, Jacobsville.
  Actually, what merits the Huddle is a son who calls his dad's record "lame"
 and his bowl "mediocre." Have you checked the will lately? Anyhow, you're all
in.
  Dear Huddle: My cat is named Mitch. Can I get in the Huddle? -- Gail Page
Kelly, Bloomfield Hills.
  My dog's  named Elvis. Do I get into Graceland?
  Hey, Huddle. I've heard of the Rose, Sugar and Orange bowls. But what are
the Freedom, Independence and Heritage bowls?
  About nine hours' worth of car commercials.
  Huddle, I wanted your poll for Xmas.
  Sure thing, Santa. Here it is:
TOP  BOTTOM
1. San Francisco  12. Detroit
2. Pittsburgh  27. Houston
3. San Diego  28. Gymboree
4. Dallas  29. Philadelphia
  Yo, Huddle. Why do NFL players immediately rip off their helmets when they
score?
  That's how fast their heads are swelling.
  Hey, Huddle. Why would Dick Vermeil even  consider coaching again?
  If your job required sitting next to Brent Musburger, what would you do?
  So, Huddle, any New Year's resolutions?
  Yes. The Huddle resolves never to watch a Fox pregame  skit, never to pick
on George Perles again -- unless he gets another job -- and to review Lou
Holtz's application very carefully next year, before rejecting it.
  HAPPY NEW YEAR  . . . BREAK!
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN;  FOOTBALL; PLAYOFFS; ANALYSIS; GAMES; NFL
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
