Word: trios
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...large the roster that played to rave reviews last year remained the same. Rico Petrocelli belted out three hits and the outfield trio of Jim Rice, Freddy Lynn and Dwight Evans combined for a melody of five hits (three of them for extra bases), as the offense that appeared dormant in Baltimore emerged from its winter hibernation...
HARVARD (15th in the country)--The Crimson offense has been powered to this point by the high-scoring attack trio of Bill MacKenzie, Bill Tennis, and sophomore Steve Martin. The inexperienced defensive unit--two of the starters are sophomores who did not play last year--has rounded into form quickly, and Jim Michelson has contributed a solid effort in the net. There are two freshmen and two sophomores starting on the first two midfield, while two of last year's starters, co-captains Bruce Bruckmann and Scott Mead, are still out on a day-to-day basis with costly injuries...
...exercise, lacks the excitement of the other two pieces: "Songs," choreographed by Carol Jordans of the Cambridge School of Ballet to Mendelsshon's "Songs Without Words," and "Pas de Trois," choreographed by Hochberg to the allegro movement of Mozart's "Clarinet Quintet in A." In Jordan's work, the trio of dancers evokes Mendelssohn's past. Rosenberg's sprite, Hochberg's strength, and Figie's smoothness create the moods of childhood, maturity and old age. The crowning glory of the evening, however, is Hochberg's piece. The synchronized flow of her line visually realizes the pure movement of the Mozart...
...Deaton (Pamela Lewis), to whose charms he seems immune but to whose weird logic he succumbs. No suicide till the plumber comes to fix the hot water, she tells him. But he doesn't intend to scald himself to death, he argues. Non sequitur follows non sequitur. A trio of international jewel thieves arrives, but they also do quick-change sequences as Indian priests, complete with cobra and waxwork replicas of Captain Blood, Buffalo Bill and Marie Antoinette. As may be guessed, a good deal of this is just plain silly, but the wackiness is infectious, and at play...
...late. As the train pulled into Washington Street Station, the wino clutched the neck of his brown paper bag and lurched through the door. I realized with a quick chill that I was alone, totally alone. Suddenly, as the doors slid shut, a trio of leather-jacketed, acne-scarred youth darted onto the train. The stench of beer and sweat and corruption filled my nostrils. As one of the toughs sprawled insolently across a seat, another flicked his switchblade open and shut in dull, menacing repetition...