Word: claddings
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Sunday afternoon found our weekend-worn ruggers in Braintree to battle Dartmouth for the Charles River Cup, in a game sponsored by the Charles River Dartmouth Club. The Crimson was seeing green, for the crowd, almost without exception, was clad in that distinctive Hanoverian shade. Those Greenies were so confident of victory that they had already engraved the cup, "Dartmouth 1977." Alas, they were correct...
...event was definitely the thing. At one point the throng of 100 began to chant, "Orb, Orb, Orb!" building to a thunderous crescendo as their man, Dave Sherman '77, entered clad in a yellow bathrobe which served as his warmup suit. He slowly removed it, acknowledged his fans, flexed his muscles and went down to defeat in quick order. But no matter, the Mighty Orb headed for an early shower via the beer...
Sharing the limelight with Seltzer is Nancy Gustafson as Patience, the pure-hearted, affectation-hating country girl. Clad in a yellow and white dirndle, Gustafson acts the part with a winsome wholesomeness and devotion to duty. Her scenes with Archibald, particularly when she alternately begs him to "think of me sometimes" and warns him to "think of me sometimes" and warns him to "advance at your peril," are especially fine. But Gustafson's talents are most in evidence when she launches into song. Her strong, pure soprano elevates Patience's plight to operatic heights, her superb diction rarely obscuring Gilbert...
...stood in the center of the Bosky Amphitheater at the 18th green of the Augusta National golf course last Sunday and stroked in a tap-in to win the Masters. Watson was not quite as resplendent as Jimmy Demaret was when he won the tournament on Easter Sunday, 1947, clad in canary yellow from head to foot, but then all anyone notices in the end is the green jacket traditionally given to the Masters champion...
...Tanzania, it again rained on the Soviet President's parade. The crowds of schoolchildren and workers dutifully turned out by President Julius Nyerere for visiting celebrities had wildly cheered the fatigue-clad revolutionary from Havana a few days before. They could barely muster enough enthusiasm to wave their little flags for the aging (74) apparatchik from Moscow...