Word: clapped
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Trying to tie Holmes' record, Rose was hitless when he came to bat in the seventh in New York. "Let's go, Pete!" chanted the Mets crowd. Rose promptly singled to left, took a big turn at first, then allowed himself an elated clap of his hands before tipping his cap to the fans. They stood and cheered for three minutes. Rose's first thought after getting his hit? "I wanted to be sure I had a chance at second in case the ball took a bad hop. We're in a pennant race, you know...
...even have to bring the audience into an operating room and show scalpels slicing up bodies, brains, exposed kidneys and other assorted organs. After a while the normally squeamish fellow will cry "Gross me out!" and sit with his hand close to his face, ready to clap it over his eyes when the next bloody image appears. He may even delude himself into thinking that because he's so tense, the movie must be good. Well, that's not true; the movie just exploits our aversion to operating rooms...
...play on the prison's beat-up piano. As the glow of the gospel music touched the audience of disheveled, jean-clad and self-segregated men-blacks seated on the left, whites on the right, Chicanos in front-they began to thaw. Black prisoners started to sway, clap their hands rhythmically and shout an occasional hallelujah. One white inmate drummed his tattooed fingers and pulled at a diamond ornamentally embedded in his ear lobe...
...know who Jerry Jeff was. Progressive country music--much less real country western--has never been very popular in this area. But on Friday, October 21, thousands of expatriates from Texas, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi and other rural states poured into the Harvard Square Theater to stomp their feet and clap their hands at some of Jerry Jeff's fiddle music and heave an occassional sigh at his more melanchology tunes about home and the good life away down South...
...thing--Rich, our rock reviewer, says that he's not going to write his "rock" "column" ever again after this week. There are two things we can all do to guarantee that we'll continue to read Rick's articles. We've all got to wish really hard and clap our hands three times, at the same time. After that, drop Rich a line at 14 Plympton St. telling him how much you're going to miss his column. And I mean you should do this...