Word: rub
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Sure, there were a lot of good moments. It's funny, but whenever I think about the days when baseball was THE SPORT, so many details pop up. Like the smell of Glovolium, this magical oily-like substance that I used to rub on my Carlton Fisk catcher's mitt and then on my Jim LeFevebre (whoever he was) infielder's glove every day in February. I really don't know what the Glovolium did to my gloves; I just thought every major leaguer...
...imagine drug gangsters murdering both Attorney General Dick Thornburgh and his predecessor, Edwin Meese. Next, pretend that drug triggermen and guerrilla allies rub out almost half the Supreme Court -- say, Justices William Brennan, Byron White, Antonin Scalia and Sandra Day O'Connor -- along with hundreds of lower-ranking but still prominent jurists. Expand the list of victims to include Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee and Los Angeles police chief Daryl Gates, both slain, and Amy Carter, kidnaped and held briefly as a warning to authorities who might get tough with the narco-barons. And then the grand climax...
Agreeable to all parties, of course, is the rub. It will always be politically safer to fund an exhibit of old masters than an exhibit of unproven work. Two weeks ago at a meeting in his office, Yates confronted NEA critic Armey with a Picasso painting of the Crucifixion, which offended many people in the 1930s. Armey admitted that he was not offended by the Picasso, but did not concede anything about Mapplethorpe. Armey warned that if the Mapplethorpe catalog is plunked down on the table during the debate on NEA funding, its budget would be "blown...
...bash or not to bash: that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous trade practices. Or to take arms against protectionist barriers. To punish, to avenge. Perchance to trigger a trade war. Ay, there's the rub that must give us pause...
John L. Lewis, the late great boss of the United Mine Workers, would rub his shaggy eyebrows in disbelief if he could see a coal miners' strike nowadays. ( No goons with clubs. No beatings. No gunfire (except for an occasional harmless lapse). Instead, in a remote corner of southwestern Virginia, 1,400 striking miners -- and even their wives and kids -- were all decked out in jungle fatigues. A public relations firm was pumping out pamphlets excoriating the bosses. Strike leaders with beepers, walkie-talkies and cellular telephones were blasting orders, tuning in scanners to chart the movements of the state...