Word: forehead
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...last week a new Bobby Hull was sporting a 15-stitch gash on his forehead -souvenir of a brawl with New York Defenseman Jim Neilson. He already had spent 49 min. in the penalty box, and the Chicago Black Hawks, who have never won an N.H.L. championship, were leading the league by 1½ games over Montreal. "Something was bound to blow," exulted Coach Reay. "Bobby had to do something to protect himself...
...Great American Desert is very much like the proverbial little girl who had a curl right in the middle of her forehead: when it is good, it is very good, and when it's bad, it certainly is horrid. Like the little girl, it is moody, often funny, sometimes serious, frequently and petulantly cute, and then again just plain naughty. Within a scant hour, it manages to touch on the following subjects: the American Ideal, larceny, age, prostitution, sypnilis, dope addiction, juvenile delinquency, homosexuality, et al. That kind of range would be difficult in any play--in The Great American...
...rest of the fight, Clay's left fist beat a bewildering tattoo on Patterson's forehead, and Cassius punctuated each punch with cries of "Boop! Boop! Boop!" Patterson later complained that he had aggravated an old back injury. Only losers need excuses, and Floyd needed more than most. From the second round on, it was evident that Cassius could have knocked Patterson out any time he chose-and he almost did, despite himself, in the sixth round. A ripping uppercut snapped Floyd's head back and turned his legs to rubber; a left hook drove...
...spent warm hours trudging alongside her ticker-tape parade up Broadway. At one point, they were startled by the sight of an unexpected limousine in the procession. In side, cool and elegantly dressed, sat Columnist Dorothy Kilgallen, covering the event in her regal fashion. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead, an exasperated woman reporter murmured: "There goes the Queen covering the Queen...
Chief Joseph was splendid in defeat. When he came riding into the white man's camp that cold, snowy morning in 1877, there was a bullet scratch across his forehead, wounds on his wrist and back, and bullet holes in his shirt and leggings. Handing his rifle to Colonel Nelson Miles, he spoke: "I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed. The old men are all dead. He who led the young men is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away...