Word: pitches
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...knob on the handle with the fingers of his right hand. He hardly ever gets a base on balls because he swings at practically everything; and he does not bother to study opposing pitchers, or even learn their names. "You never hit the pitcher," he shrugs, "just the pitch." Batting is all a matter of luck anyway. "You no lucky, you get no hits," he says. "You gotta be lucky...
Even with Boxing Gloves. Oliva's haphazard style would have horrified Perfectionist Cobb. It terrifies opposing pitchers. "Where are you going to pitch the guy?" asks California's Dean Chance. "Earlier this year I jammed him and he hit the ball into the rightfield seats. So the next time I went outside with him and he hit the ball 350 ft. into the leftfield stands." Twins Manager Sam Mele says, "I think the kid could hit wearing boxing gloves," predicts that Oliva may yet become the first big-leaguer to bat .400 since Ted Williams...
...zone stands like one big paying claque. Yet there was not a heckle of complaint about the low-fi sound, and plenty of uproarious laughter at even her simplest lines. A whistle whined from the neighboring railway yard. "My God!" she cried. "It's got poifect pitch...
...star of the film was clearly the chorus; and the whole production seemed to be organized around the chorus as a focal core. They sang beautifully together and were right on pitch. Violet Teass wrote the fine choral chants. And Henry Hallstrom's extensive musical score, played by 21 members of the National Symphony Orchestra, was unusually distinguished and carefully synchronized. No less expert was the chorus' dancing of Eleanor Struppa's choreography. Executed with precision, the dancing adapted most effectively the modern Martha Graham stylistic approach...
...tickets. While she conducted the 20-piece orchestra with flicks of a long linen hanky, her smoky voice quavered like a struck gong, snaked nasally through soaring loop-the-loops, dipped to guttural growls, sobs and moans. Her subtle phrasing and delicate changes of pitch evoked revival-like cries from the whistling, shouting, foot-stamping audience: "Ya qalbi [Oh, my heart!]" and "Ya habibi [Oh, my love!]." The first song, Amal Hayati (Hope of My Life), lasted 70 minutes. After a 45-minute rubdown backstage by her two personal masseurs, she returned to sing again. Another break, another rubdown...