Word: knowed
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1990-1999
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...sign of a hero is if you feel enhanced simply when talking about him--recounting his feats, recalling a time when your own little life was touched by his. Last week people who know baseball were lit up talking about "the great DiMaggio," as Hemingway's old man called him; his death bequeathed that final gift. I chatted with Roger Angell, the baseball writer, and remarked upon that well-known yet unbelievable statistic: 361 lifetime home runs, 369 lifetime strikeouts. Angell made the point finer when he noted that in 1941, in 541 at bats, DiMaggio struck out only...
What's interesting about the public's relationship with DiMaggio is that people did not seek to know him. Even in his last years, in this age of snoops, nobody sought to pry into the great DiMaggio. It may be that there was little to pry into, but I think, rather, there was a tacit consensus that his life was too important, too elevated, to mess with. It was what a life should be: private, accomplished, well-mannered and devoid of envy, gossip and whining. As an emblem of nobility, indeed of secular religion, he could be most useful...
Backstage, he's exultant. Like a winning prizefighter, he poses for pictures, accepts kudos, gives interviews. Like himself, he breaks into The Star-Spangled Banner for no apparent reason. People who know Wilson say they've rarely seen him this up, this animated. "These concerts aren't going to go down in history," he says, "but what I want to do is play for people and make people happy. That's all I want." This night he got it. You'd have to be emotionally inert not to be happy for him in turn...
...harried studio executive, he might provide an evening of baseball nostalgia, centered on the New York Yankees, beloved since Kubrick's Bronx boyhood. Maybe Warren Beatty caught the delicious dynamic of those encounters best when he observed, "You always assumed Stanley knew something you didn't know...
...sorrow seems to play little part in Jay's decision; sadism and selfishness are more like it. In between bouts of intense sexual nostalgia for another woman, he thinks, over and over, This is our last evening together, and she doesn't know. When a tender thought creeps in, he instantly stomps on it. Going upstairs to watch her sleep, he thinks, "I can make out your hair in the jumble of blankets and pillows. I stand looking at you. I wish you were someone else...