Kenny Dryden’s eight-foot leg slips out to stop the puck shot by some Black Hawk shooter that I will never remember… Wayne scores his ninety second. Yvan Cournoyer skirted the boards, slipped a pass to… we win. 1972
Phil Esposito, in the slot after Bobby Clark hacked the ankle off the top Soviet scorer… Bret Farve throws the winning pass. Old horse mouth finally wins the Super Bowl, then wins it again the next year. Ben Johnson didn’t steal no stereos… My team won the Gold medal in Utah, finally after, after all that after the Canadian ice-keeper froze a loonie under the circle at center ice.
The Bear retired yesterday after missing the cut… Tiger looks to win it; again… again on the day Jack hangs up his cleats. People who play the games I only watch as my cousin John beats me again and again in the boats.
Johnson, Bird, Dryden, Richard [both of them]… Lafluer, Gilmore, Jeter… Gladiators with an endorsement contract; heroes with a paycheck; superstars… I watch them. Lance with his yellow wrist band and one less testical… Ice skaters, curlers [the wrench], bob sledders, Olympians, golfers, rugby players Australian Rule football players… indoor fireworks…
The stories they write, are the stories I read.
