Word: glorious
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...glorious old imperialist days, England exported her national sport so fervently that the sun never set on cricket.* The ones who learned cricket best, England discovered to her sorrow, were the sturdy Australians. After England's second loss to the Aussies, the despondent London Sporting Times wrote: "English cricket . . . died at the oval, Aug. 29, 1882 . . . The body will be cremated and the ashes taken to Australia." The Ashes eventually became the invisible symbol of victory in the matches. For the last 20 years, down-under cricketers have held on to the Ashes. Last week long-humiliated England...
...stakes on war," and called NATO "the main threat to the cause of peace." He talked fondly of Iran, and wished to be "good neighborly" with Turkey; he was anticipating "normalization" of relations with Yugoslavia and Greece; he was anxious to supply bread, coal and business contracts to "the glorious Italian people"; he sympathized with Japanese attempts "to win back the independence of their country" from...
...John's Diner on Fulton Street in Brooklyn. John's, as a matter of fact, has the edge-it stays open all night. But despite their deep, egg-spattered knowledge of human eccentricity, nobody in John's had the slightest inkling that a new and glorious page in the diner's history was about to be written when William ("The Laughing Bandit") Kampi lowered himself to a stool at 3:30 a.m. one morning last week and ordered spaghetti & meat balls with tomato sauce...
...thought," said he, "that we were at peace, Kentucky with the mint julep and Mississippi with the planter's punch. Kentucky has never questioned Mississippi's glorious heritage as the originator of planter's punch. That drink is not without merits, either. It is made of rum, and rum is made of molasses from the sorghum cane that Mississippians revere as we Kentuckians love the billowing blue-grass." He paused. "It is," he concluded, "highly palatable in emergencies and an excellent mosquito repellent at all times...
...curly-fused cannon crackers of yesteryear-so thick, so roundly red, so pregnant with earsplitting, tooth-jarring noise? Where are the backyard skyrockets, with their colored, cone-topped heads and their delicate pinewood sticks? Where are the politicians who spoke, jowls aquiver and veins distended, on the glorious day amid the pleasantly acrid smell of burnt powder? Where are the red, white and blue floats built on flat bed-trucks? Where is the George M. Cohan roll for the player piano and the rock salt for the ice-cream freezer on the back porch...