Word: thwacking
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
McInally stood up and placed a soccer ball about 20 feet in front of the green baseball backstop next to Watson Rink. He studied the ball for an instant, then flung his lanky frame at it, arms and legs flying in clutzy precision. THWACK! His foot hit the ball. THUD! The ball hit the wooden backstop and bounced back to McInally. He frowned...
Sweep down to the field in the center, green and pulled tight and pulled apart by rubber bands of dirt. Suddenly, far beneath the ball, thwack. It snaps. The men leave their private turfs as one and crash to each other like the joust of great elks. They come together with a thundering of a team, but there is no sound. Layered in bandages, packed in ice, paralyzed, you thrash to hear the sound and there is none. Johnny Bench is in Pete Rose's arms, and the ball is high above shallow center. Everyone knows this...
Cavemen's Trophies. In the second long scene (the play is a lengthy, un interrupted triptych), the frustrated boys get spiky-tempered, vicious and ugly. They thwack the girls unmercifully with a beach ball and shove them sprawling into the sand. One of the boys delivers a monologue on what he once found in a girls' John, which for sheer nauseated revulsion at woman as a menstruating animal is in direct descent from the diatribes of the early Christian fathers. Bruised and crying, the girls are lugged offstage like cavemen's trophies...
...fact, I missed most of that ludicrous Mets victory. You see, one of my roommates purchased a pinball machine (an early sixties Gottlieb model called Olympics), and I'm becoming an addict. The thwack of cowhide against a Louisville Slugger just couldn't seem to compete with the clack of the free game as the shiny silver ball thanks and dings its way about a maze of gaudy bumpers and bizarre pictures...
...began indicating that the revolution was ending. Those trapped in the Carrera sensed the lessening fire, sometimes too soon. For instance, as I was typing in my room early Thursday, a man asked if he could look out the window, which overlooks La Moneda. As he opened the curtain, thwack! came the shot from below. Before I could crawl over and throw him out of my room, he had taken another peek, and we had taken another round. But after three days of entombment in the Carrera he, like everybody else, had begun thinking of other things. He had risked...