Word: lanes
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...many plays bloom briefly, then fade after a limited engagement. Some shows run for ages that shouldn?t: the stodgy ?Blood Brothers? has run for 16 years; and Nunn?s rendition of the Cole Porter musical ?Anything Goes,? which moved successfully from the National to the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, looked simultaneously stiff and frantic when I caught it. All right, the good die young. Here are notes on a few plays you can?t see, and I?ll have trouble forgetting...
...even more bold insurgent attacks. On the morning of July 7, a 100-person company of Iraqi National Guardsmen ventured onto Haifa Street to set up checkpoints. Almost immediately, they came under fire from the concrete forest of towering Soviet-style apartment blocks that line the wide, four-lane boulevard. After 50 minutes, Task Force 1/9 headed toward Haifa Street to evacuate the Iraqi troops. As a platoon moved toward a former palace of Saddam Hussein's at one end of Haifa Street, another entered the narrow winding laneways of Old Baghdad, dubbed the Maze, and took up positions atop...
Shawn Crawford is weird. Two years ago, the U.S. Olympic sprinter wore a Phantom of the Opera mask during a race in Italy; Crawford was disqualified after the disguise blocked his sight, causing him to stray from his lane. In early 2003 he appeared on Fox's Man Vs. Beast TV special, losing to a zebra. And last week, after coming within .04 seconds of a 100-metres gold medal, and .01 seconds of a bronze, the 26-year-old Crawford didn't prostrate himself across the track in dismay. He didn't bury his face in his hands...
...beyond a joke. His car is crawling in a line of vehicles that snakes up the main road to the beachside suburb of Vouliagmeni, stymied by a local bus that seems to stop every 50 m. "One hundred fifty-six euros," Spyros says, nodding enviously at the empty outside lane. The five red rings on the shimmering asphalt mark it as reserved for official Olympic transport, and the fine is savage...
...night. For such an important event, an Olympic final seems rather short on ceremony. The women's semis over, the eight men emerge from a waiting room. As they're introduced, Australian hands rustle in backpacks and bigger banners are produced. The last man, Canadian Rick Say, in Lane 8, waves to the crowd and takes off his track suit. Then they're on the blocks and, as if by telepathy - no chance of hearing the starter above the noise of the crowd - they're porpoising in unison toward their first stroke...