Word: jacksons
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...rush to determinate judgment is being led by an unlikely alliance: inmate groups, various academics and law-and-order conservatives. Since California embraced the indeterminate sentence in 1917, prisoners have increasingly chafed under what they see as the arbitrariness of parole authorities. Soledad Brother George Jackson, for example, was held in prison eleven years for a $70 gas station robbery because, his partisans said, he refused to soft pedal political militancy...
Despite their shared disadvantages, the bantams display few signs of brotherhood on the field. Unafraid of big tacklers, the Rams' Harold Jackson dreads a hit from undersized defensive backs: 'When a bigger guy hits you, he just hits you enough to put you down. But those little guys are trying to take your head off; they really let down the boom on you." No matter what their target-gnat or giant-the little men can be big trouble. Is overcompensation, a Napoleon complex? Gray admits to a special joy in beating the big guys. Says he: "I like...
...sidelines, dancing beyond the grasp of lumbering would-be tacklers. The Atlanta Falcons' Rolland Lawrence (5 ft. 9¾ in., 178 Ibs.), a hawk masquerading as a defensive back, swooping in front of half-foot taller tight ends for five interceptions. The Los Angeles Rams' Harold Jackson (5 ft. 10 in., 175 Ibs.), the wide receiver with a modest No. 1 dangling from a gold necklace around his neck, tying up the secondary with a series of baffling fakes, then floating into the end zone all alone...
...zipper. "Was it too much for you?" Oliver Reed asks Alan Bates after they finish a wrestling match in the raw, the homosexual hints dripping off their bodies faster than swear. Then the line pops up again, this time after Reed has been rollicking in the snow with Glenda Jackson: "Was it too much for you," he asks her, as the irony subtly smashes our way. This is too much, period...
...this beast simplistically lumbers, supposedly in the name of art and sensitivity. See Reed groan and growl with animalistic desires. See the abused Jackson run off with a scrawny but spiritual switch-hitter. See Bates act like a blubbering booby as he tries to convince Reed to reciprocate in a partnership of Platonic love. Art, my Oedipus complex. More like a "Dick and Jane" for voyeurs...