I've never understood why theater folks tell a performer to "break a leg" just before they go on stage. Seems like the last thing you'd want to do when you're performing. If it's supposed to be some whacked form of "good luck," I think I'm missing something here.

Breaking a leg at the college basketball championships is a really bad idea. That NCAA Tournament - known for some strange reason as "The Big Dance" - is coming down to the final two games.

One team many expected to be there was the Louisville Cardinals. But then, in the must-win game to play for the Final Four, Louisville got a very bad break. Literally.

Their star guard, Kevin Ware, suddenly went down with a season-ending injury. A leg so badly broken that reporters insist on calling it "gruesome." The bone protruding some six inches. Networks deciding to quit showing the excruciating moment when it happened. Louisville's veteran coach wiping tears from his eyes. Players on the floor in tears.

I'm used to turning on the news and hearing about bullets or ballots or budgets.

But the Bible? Pinch yourself, Ron - the Bible is one of the lead stories on newscast after newscast today. Well, actually "The Bible." The ten-hour History Channel mini-series that has stunned everybody with its blockbuster ratings, especially among young viewers.

There were epic moments from Noah's Ark to the parting of the Red Sea to David decking Goliath.

Abraham Lincoln - the hero of my boyhood - died on Good Friday. I knew that because I was sort of a Lincoln encyclopedia when I was a kid.

But until this month, I didn't know his final wish. Whispered to his wife just before that fatal shot at Ford's Theatre. What's so moving is how very much it has to do with Good Friday.

Abe Lincoln grew up with a God-loving mother and a religious but demanding and distant father. His mom died when he was a boy. As Lincoln grew, he went from spiritual skeptic to a Bible-bashing unbeliever.

Spring is time for cardinals. We have cardinals dining every morning at our backyard birdhouse.

And the baseball Cardinals have gathered in Florida for spring training - with St. Louis fans counting down to Opening Day.

And then there are the cardinals who have migrated to Rome. To elect a new pope. Knowing he will both symbolize and shape the largest religious institution in the world.

The cardinals clearly feel the weight of their decision in Rome. Some have been speaking out, expressing what kind of man they think the Church needs.

My first reaction: "No way." Then, "It's true...and it's awful." A man asleep in the middle of the night. Suddenly, a sinkhole opens up beneath the house and literally sucks the man, the bed, the room in with it.

Now the home has been demolished, and the fate of nearby homes is uncertain. It seems the sinkhole is growing. The neighbors were given 30 minutes to grab what they could and evacuate.

Our babies were all born in nice, warm hospitals. With the frigid weather systems that have been blasting across the country, I can't imagine a baby being born outside. On a city street, no less.

But that's exactly what happened in Toronto last week. As a 20-year-old young woman was trying to walk to the nearby hospital, the baby came.

I've been to South Africa several times - and I love those accents. But not when they're talking about an inspirational sports icon killing his girlfriend.

There's a lot we don't know yet. What we do know is that South Africa's Olympic hero admittedly shot his girlfriend four times. Accidentally, he says. On purpose, the police say.

It's all the more disturbing because he's been such an overcomer. A double-amputee, running on carbon-fiber blades, competing last year as an Olympic runner. He made history. And inspired people around the world. Now he's behind bars, charged with first degree murder.

I won't be going on a cruise anytime soon.

Not that I've ever wanted to. But this week's reports of passengers on a powerless, drifting cruise ship clinched it. Fire at sea...everything shut down - from lights to air conditioning to toilets...no communication...little bags as your "bathroom"...accounts of sewage running in the halls and down the walls...a repulsive stench...sleeping wherever.

I ain't goin'.

Poor ol' Charlie Brown. Staring into his mailbox, hoping to find a Valentine. He never does. And when he yells "hello" into the mailbox, the only answer he gets is his own echo.

"Happy Valentine's Day" seems to be an oxymoron for Charlie. And for lots of real-life folks. Like our friend Holly, for example.

This will be her first Valentine's Day without Jack. It all happened so fast. The headaches. The emergency flight to better medical facilities. The hospital vigil. The final goodbyes. And that first morning of waking up and realizing your status has suddenly changed to "widow."

Some kids aren't even sure what their school bus driver looks like. They're still asleep when he picks them up in the morning. But every child who's ridden in that yellow "limo" knows the "chauffeurs" come in all kinds of flavors.

You've got the kind bus driver who greets everyone by name. The grumpy ones who seem to want to be somewhere else. The wisecrackers. The happy road warriors.

And then there was Chuck Poland. Who really loved his Midland City, Alabama passengers. To death.