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Alan Alda Paper Lion essay

Smirnoff keeps the Bloody Mary on course. Skirmish all you want to over the lemons and the Worcestershire Sauce. Fight the tomato juice versus V-8' Juice battle. But the Smirnoff has to be real Smirnoff for a red-blooded Bloody Mary. Because nothing puts the swash in your buckle like Smirnoff. Smirnoff Vodka leaves you breathless. PAPER LION Continued from page 57 "But that's three days from now. Can't you get him to postpone it?" "Why?" "Because I don't know how to play touch football. How am I going to learn in two days?" "Stop screaming," Marty said. "If this doesn't work out, I have you up for another picture. The life story of Clyde Beatty. They think you're perfect for it, but they want to see how you look in a cage with real tigers." "Good-bye, Marty," I said. The next day I went to a shop in Palisades Park and bought the best football they had for $9.60.1stepped outside and grabbed at the ball with my right hand. It immediately fell back into my left hand. I grabbed at it again, harder this time; it stayed right there in my old left hand. I tucked the ball under my elbow and went home. After dinner I threw the ball into the couch a few dozen times (just as old George had done) and played catch with everyone I could find—my wife, my six-year-old daughter, the stagehands at the theater. Next day I got out of bed early and went to Overpeck Park in Leonia with a neighbor, Greg Heimarck, a husky psychiatrist who had played football in school. We tossed the ball around and I had the chance to dodge him once, and I faked him so well that he felt down. I jumped up and down and rolled on the grass out of pure joy. For some reason this seemed to me the essence of football. As I got up from the ground, Greg noticed that I w. s tugging at various parts of my body. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Nothing, a couple of my pads slipped." "You're wearing pads?" "Well, kneepads. Just a few. On my knees, on my elbows and on my hips." He looked at me for a moment. "Well, as long as you're not worried, you'll be fine." The next morning, eyes glazed, heart pumping, I covered myself with kneepads and set off for Central Park. When my wife and I got to the field, my heart sank. A man at the far end was setting up a movie camera. Every move I made was going on film. Millar held out his hands for a practice toss, and I sent him a ball that spun perfectly . . end over end. He said nothing and tossed it back. We marked off the sidelines and chose up sides. Millar was on the other team, along with four hulking athletes. My bunch all seemed short and skinny. On the kickoff, I saw the ball coming toward me, and, to my astonishment, I caught it and started running. No one was guarding the left sidelines, so I ran over there, hoping to go all the way for a touchdown. Unfortunately, by the time I got there a sizable crowd of people was waiting for me. I started back for the right sidelines, but they followed and we all ran right off the field, nearly trampling my wife, who was trying to take my picture. On the second play I tried a pass. I threw into a tangle cf people, c ne of whom I was almost certain was on my side. Fortunately nobody caught it. On the next play it was deciue that I would run with the ball. As they all closed in on me, I made one last desperate lunge that sent me into the ground, head first, rclling ever the dirt and stones of the baseball diamond we were playing on. I was so sure they were impressed by this maneuver that I did it again. I felt it showed a certain physical abandon and made up for the flaws in my passing. Finally, on the last play of the day, it was decided that I would catch a pass in their end zone. I coolly got up on the line. "Watch out for Alda," they all started shouting. The ball was hiked and I started running. There kNas Millar in front of me, ht (king, grinning, looking just like the man who had chopped me in the larynx. I ran toward the center of his hulk, as if I were going to run right through him, and then at the last second 1 dug my left foot in the ground and turned right. I looked over my shoulder, and there was the ball coming in high and heading for a spot about 10 feet in front of me. I realized with a tingle of excitement that if I ran all out, I'd be under the ball when it Continued on page 77 73


Alan Alda Paper Lion essay
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