Word: beers
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1970-1979
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...them get their small winnings beaten out of them in a fast parking-lot brawl. From then on they become accomplices in misfortune. Gould inhabits some sort of foggy half-world of the hard scuffle, keeping company with a couple of soft-core hookers who serve beer and Fruit Loops for breakfast. Segal likes the style, likes the dead-end quality of the life, and he leaps into it with gusto. Winning is the best way to work out of melancholy, but once Segal and Gould hit big, they crap...
...about all we have is..."--she peers at the cover of the cereal box--"Fruit Loops." She lets out a yawn. "Sit down and eat some Fruit Loops." And we watch as Bill, so banged up he is barely able to move, his eyes heavy with beer and exhaustion, sits down with a spoon in his hand and begins to eat his Fruit Loops...
...press man when you was a little bitty boy," Killer said. There was an understandable amount of disappointment in his voice. Most of the reporters who cover pro golf are fat old schlock-slingers who never venture out of the press tent save for a beer or a trip to the bathroom; their contact with the players is usually limited to the mass interviews held after each round, with the players saying such fascinating things as "Well, I played pretty good. I could a done better, but I played pretty good," and the press men peering over the half-moon...
...time. I had to select one or two key holes that would provide the crucial action. The 15th, 16th, and 17th, were all clubhouse holes, and by the time the last threesome would be coming through, the greens would be mobbed with over 30,000 sweating, screaming, beer-swigging Massachusetts sports fans, seasoned tough by fearful battles for hockey seats in Boston Garden. It would be nearly impossible to move in that crowd...
...frantically up the 18th fairway, the rain soaking my notebook and ruining all my carefully recorded first-person observations into one another, trying desperately to get to the green in time to see the winning putt. It was no use. The putting surface was packed tight with belching, bellowing, beer-gutted golf fans who had parked their prodigious derrieres next to the sandtraps and choice sections of the apron for nearly five hours. They were not about to yield to the press...