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Mile 12.5: Ok, there are about 500 Wellesley girls screaming for me. Many have “Kisses for the runners” on big posters. Why didn’t I write my phone number on my shirt. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
...these, Dartboard can’t help but imagine President George W. Bush, Vice President Dick Cheney and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld sitting in a backyard treehouse playing with cheap green plastic army guys. “Hey George, let’s call this one infinite justice, ok? Infinity is coooool.” Try sloppy and overblown...
Favorite ice-cream flavor: Mango with pecan sprinkles (ok, that’s a long shot...
...days are numbered, optimism is waning, the daydreams fade. Strength and honor, I tell myself, but to be honest, I don’t think that there’s much hope for this thing riding out as expected, no coup de grace. And that’s OK: I’ll take out one of my best friends, and we’ll order the lobster, pop the champagne and gossip—and if we order that second bottle of wine I just might start hacking my way through the French language with our gar?...
...gone after the second period of Game 1 (shoulder), Mazzoleni was forced to adjust on the fly, double-shifting both Fried and Turano and changing his lines so often on Friday night you would’ve thought he had a Powerball hopper behind the bench. (‘OK, we’ve got 7…and 17…and 12. That’s Fried-Moore-Turano...