Word: sodded
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Countiess football teams cleat the sod of Soldiers' Field in the autumn--ranging from the inter-House players to the eleven that performs in the Stadium. Midway in the throng and little ballyhooed is Chief Boston's Jayvee squad made up of the men on the rung below the Varsity squad...
...practically three books in one: like Miss Sandoz' Old Jules, a character study; like her Slogum House, a family chronicle; like her Capital City, a crankily "liberal" political tract. Small shakes as a novel, it is long on period history, melodrama, local color and wondrously rowdy soldier, sod-hut and ranch-house talk...
...stroll out from the Eternal City for long looks at the ruins which ringed it like a crum bling shell. Tumbling, ivied walls in scribed with ancient names and victories, pillars overlooking the wilderness or sprawled broken like dead giants in the grass, and marble steps descending into the sod inspired the "Views" for which Pannini became famous. Perhaps his the spaciousness and sparkle of Canaletto and Guardi, whose pictorial celebrations of declining Venice were equally in demand. But for nostalgic elegance Pannini's Roman Views rivaled anything Venice could produce. Without Pannini, wrote art critic Herman Voss...
Last week at the St. Louis Country Club, Sammy Snead trudged onto the final green. Carefully, he plucked a leaf from the sod, squatted to survey the roll of the green. It was the U.S. Open Championship again, and he had to sink an 18-foot putt to get into the playoff match. Sammy stroked the ball, and a gallery of 3,000 stood in awed silence as it rolled up to the cup, plunked in. Then the gallery roared. Sammy puckered his lips and grinned. This time things were going to be different...
Best of the lot was a Dubliner whose name had none of the old sod in it. Louis Le Brocquy (rhymes with rocky), is only 29. His watercolors were roughly rubbed with wax and scarred with nervous jabs and dashes of India ink. He liked to paint Ireland's tinkers: the wandering tinsmiths and horse jobbers whose ability to turn broken nags into one-day blood horses, for sale at country fairs, is the stuff of Irish legend. One Le Brocquy painting of a little girl bathing in a canal (see cut) spoke of children everywhere...