40 years at Detroit Free Press, and I still feel like the luckiest guy

Here’s something I once did for this job: I lit my lunch on fire.

It was 1989, and an earthquake had just hit San Francisco, where I was sitting inside Candlestick Park about to write on a World Series game. The stadium had thundered, the players and fans had frantically evacuated and it was dark. No lights. Despite police warning us to leave, I had stayed, along with several other sportswriters, to get a story filed.