I don’t believe in luck or fate or coincidence. I don’t believe that planes can fly above heartache. And I don’t believe any car is fast enough to ever catch a dream. But I believe in trains. Trains can take you places no car or plane ever could. Trains go beneath the surface, to the heart of things. And I believe in guardian angels. Because one night I took a subway train to Chinatown in New York City, I was saved by one, and somehow that same night, I became one. At 18, I was a naïve, dark-haired college basketball player, certain I was headed for the Hall of Fame. One night, after a game in Madison Square Garden, I got drunk. As drunk as I have ever been. Waiting for the subway, I got separated from my friends. Uptown was home and downtown was lost. I stepped on the express train to lost. At night in Manhattan, roaring through dark tunnels, it’s easy to lose your way. Being lost is a little like being stupid. Usually you don’t know you are. And that night I was both
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