Word: crouching
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...They put me through the jet," he said, then abruptly halted. A man put through the jet was forced to crouch motionless for hours or days, his head down and outstretched like the nose of a jet, his arms extended behind him like its wings. While Red Guards changed hourly, the victim crouched and answered questions. Some collapsed, some died. Hu survived but is a frail and melancholy...
...walk there. Coiled in a crouch that allows the pitcher only a 10-in. strike zone, Henderson has earned a league-leading 109 strolls from the plate, batting No. 1 for the beleaguered (fifth place in the American League West) '82 version of Billy Ball. Once on base, he is an electric offensive threat. When he leads off from first, infields become positively giddy, outfields flounder about like regional ballet corps, and pitchers are afflicted with tics and shudders. "You know he's going to go," says Angels' catcher Bob Boone. "The question is, which pitch...
...around there is evidence that Pete is old. "But age is meaningless with me," he says. By some trick of time, he has skipped his true generation. His lined, leathery face is as supple as if treated daily with neat's-foot oil. As he goes into his crouch, grinning hideously, his gapped teeth look as if they were hammered into his head by a drunken cobbler. And his remarkable body, you might say, is more rounded all over than he is. "If you slid into bases head first for 20 years," he says to all of that...
...away, wearing a red armband, firing at a target I could not see. I shot, heard the figure say "Eccch, you got me," in a conversational tone and saw a yellow stain from my pellet on his shirt. Feeling quick and clever, I ran on in a crouch. In a stand of small trees, too skinny for good cover, a red player and I caught sight of each other and began to shoot. The pistols made phutt, phutt noises. I could see the paint pellets spin past me, although they were too fast to duck away from. My fourth...
...longer only sad, as was Jakob's bitter luxury. Next time, no one will read of an old man's cold pleasures, of musing over weak tea about shattered, harmonies and faded memories, in ruins wrought by creatures who, in their foolish scribblings, advised their children to crouch under school desks so as to hide from the blast...