Sublime

(In 1965, Norman Mailer, watching her at a party, observed, “She’s a perfect advertisement for herself.”)

The boredom of a long flight could turn inside out again, and boredom give way to epiphany.

Let us quote Plimpton’s account here: He repeated, at times so slowly that it seemed as if he were stumbling through a written text, what he had so often said in dressing-room statements following his victories: “There is never a loser. No fighter should be a winner. Both should be applauded.” The reporters stood around uncomfortably, knowing that

Foreman came out for the sixth looking like an alley cat with chewed-up brows. Lumps and swellings were all over his face, his skin equal to tar that has baked in the sun. When the bell rang, however, he looked dangerous again, no longer a cat, but a bull. He lowered his head and charged across the ring. He was a total demonstration of the power of

Donald Antrim,