Word: watcher
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...supreme purpose of sports is enjoyment; all others are subordinate to it. There are two ways to enjoy sports: by watching and by playing. To satisfy the watcher, the spectator, the ballplayer is generally called an athlete. In professional sports the avowed purpose is to please the spectator, not the ballplayers. It is natural, then, for the professional to tag opponents in the nose win a baseball, to commit intentional fouls in the hope they will not be seen on the basketball court, etc. The supreme purpose of non-professional sports is the enjoyment of the ballplayers, whether he wins...
...fellow countrymen, a Briton must be eccentric indeed-almost out of his wits, in fact. One contemporary Briton who unquestionably deserved the title was the late Arthur Annesley Ronald Firbank (1886-1926). Novelist Firbank was an esthete whose behavior was so "odd" that even such a case-hardened bird-watcher as Sir Osbert Sitwell is moved to confess in an introduction that Friend Firbank must have felt a bit "hedged off" in a private world that was noticeably "different from that of others...
...then dies. Fabre took such houses that were built an inch apart and interchanged them, coloring with different colors each house and its bee for identification purposes. He then took the bees ... to a point three kilometers from home . . . When they were released at a predetermined hour, a watcher clocked them back in ten minutes. Though in one case the house was begun and in the other finished and stored with honey, the bees returned, not to their own work, but to the exact spot on which their house had been...
...first turn, Jockey Dave Gorman moved Air Lift up on the outside from fifth to third. He was gaining on the leaders, when he broke stride, began to weave. A watcher near the rail had heard something that sounded like a pistol shot. Jockey Gorman slowed the colt down and slipped off. When he saw blood running from Air Lift's left foreleg, Gorman wept...
Next morning, in a slatch in the storm, surf watchers on the tip of Cape Cod saw the Portland, among the snarled and yelping seas, just off the treacherous Peaked Hill Bar. The storm closed in, and the day wore on. That night, the sea suddenly belched forth a dreadful spew of trunks, mattresses, chairs, stateroom doors and barrels on the sands near Race Point. The bodies came more slowly, rolling inertly in the surf. Explained a coast watcher: "The bodies do not float as woodwork does, but the tide and waves push and roll them along the bottom until...