Word: tippings
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...disease for Lou Gehrig. Ted Williams they just called names. Officially he was the Kid, the Splendid Splinter, Thumper, but the best ballplayer to make Boston his home received less flattering sobriquets from Red Sox fans at Fenway Park. That's what you get for refusing to tip your hat after a home...
Boston partisans went wild, but lanky Number 9—the rugged individualist as he was described in pre-game ceremonies—characteristically refused to tip his hat. Ted reappeared in left field at the top of the ninth, but was replaced immediately and trotted off the field to a loud, standing ovation...
...were heading for the sparsely inhabited island of Selayar, 75 kilometers south of the southernmost tip of Sulawesi. The trip takes about eight hours, and by midnight, most of the dozen passengers were already asleep in their bunks, rocked by the gentle motion of the waves. Haji, the 68-year-old, one-eyed captain, was up in the darkened bridge, sitting cross-legged on a stool to the right of the wheel, making constant and almost imperceptible adjustments to the course of the ship. Navigational instruments?radar, sonar and GPS?glowed faintly on the control panel, but Haji paid them...
...lines taut and the two green and white striped sails caught the wind and filled with a snap. Some guests pitched in to help, others baited hooks and fished off the stern. A few hours later we arrived at a pristine beach surrounded by coral heads at the southern tip of the island. Divers readied their gear and plunged directly overboard while snorkelers and shell gatherers headed to the beach in a dinghy. Later that afternoon, a small fishing boat pulled alongside the Marco Polo to reveal a hold full of the day's catch. After a few minutes...
...final night of our trip we had reached the northern tip of the island, and the moon was full. To celebrate we supped onshore, grilling freshly speared fish over a bonfire. After dinner and lazy conversation, my fellow escapees wandered the beach or plunged back into the warm waters for a farewell swim. My four-day getaway was over, and as the Marco Polo turned back to Bira, Engel's early observation continued to haunt me. I could always get a boat and set up shop on my own little island. Nobody would ever find me. That knowledge would...