Word: fists
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Neil Kinnock burst exuberantly into Darlington's Dolphin Center gymnasium, 1,000 supporters jumped up with a whoop. His right fist pumping air like a boxer who has just knocked out the champ, the Labor Party leader strode to the podium to accuse the Conservative government of creating a "divided kingdom," with islands of affluence surrounded by poverty. Campaigning in Edinburgh, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher responded that economic prosperity would "vanish like a dream" if Labor were elected. "Personal abuse," she added disdainfully, "signals panic...
...Deneuve, who presented the award, pleaded futilely for the mob to give the director a chance to defend his honor. But the catcalls delighted Pialat. "If you don't like me," he proclaimed, "I can tell you, I don't like you either." He smiled and raised a defiant fist. More boos, more hoots. Somebody spat at him. PALME D'OR SCANDALE A CANNES, screamed the next day's papers...
...where we saw more subdued though equally dipsomaniac Runnin' Rebel fans, but the evening was for crewcut Hoosiers from the cornfields. Television crews were out, and every few blocks we saw big knots of people, all struggling to get an alcohol flushed face or at least a clenched fist into evening news immortality. Impassive mounted police stood at the corners, staring from under plexiglass visors while the horses suffered raucous tourists to breathe beer fumes into their sleek faces. They let the drunks lie where they fell...
...think I'm unyielding?" he asks Dean Garrett playfully, clasping a fist to the back of his center's neck. "No," Garrett answers sheepishly. "Am I unyielding?" he turns to Forward Daryl Thomas. "No, sir." It is the eve of the title game, and the press invites Alford into the discussion. Socks, shorts, one, two, three. "I've survived for four years," he backs off in a panic. "I've only got one more game." Indiana won it, 74-73, over the Syracuse Orangemen. Their perfectly competent but strangely insecure coach, Jim Boeheim, was slightly outflanked...
...modern temper. But judged by the canons of good photography, those pictures looked fumbled, invertebrate. Klein's anarchic strengths went unappreciated by eyes looking for nice tonal gradations and the standard ironies. Where were the compositional ligaments that held even the airiest Andre Kertesz photo in an iron fist? Where was the fine printing? For that matter, where was the subject...