Word: bigs
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1970-1979
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Florian has some delicious hot coffees--big mugs of capuccino, cafe au lait, and mocha mit schlag grace their dessert menu, which changes every day. The chocolate seven layer cake was a little dry, and the caramel topping was harder than a candy apple. For something a little lighter, try a slice of their white butter-cream cake with almonds...
...yeah, UNH. Get to them in a minute. First, a B.U. epilogue. Consolation game against Cornell, meaningless except to Ithacans. (Every B.U. game is a big game--for the other team.) Many of the Commonwealth Ave. fans don't even show up for this one--and the team doesn't do much better...
...game is Cornell's 7-4, with 3:44 to play when Terrier rightwinger Dave Silk gets into a skirmish with one of the Big Red and loses his cool. After some shoving, Silk throws his helmet at Cornell's Geoff Roeszler and gets and extra minor for roughing...
...quick goal gave Dartmouth a 1-0 lead, but more importantly, solid backchecking and clutch defense kept the slightly nervous (at first) Gaudet from being too severely tested. Everything hung together for the Big Green until 8:32 of the second, when a miserably-timed line and defense change gave UNH a three-on-zero break and a tie game. The Wildcats needed only 37 seconds to go out in front, but Dartmouth fought back until Steve Higgins made the match, as Bud Collins would say, "dead even" with less than 14 minutes left in regulation...
...where flying men hunt elephants, people will just naturally want to get high," Michael Moriarty writes his wife (Tuesday Weld) back home in a Berkely bookstore. Moriarty is a war correspondent in Vietnam; what he's seen there disgusts him, and he just wants to get out with the big score--two kilos of heroin. His carrier is Nolte, a Nietzsche-reading, Zen master he knew in the Marines. But Moriarty has no idea just how much entrepeneurial capitalism is frowned upon by corporate America--just who do you cross, running smack from the Golden Triangle...