I fell asleep last night to the U.S. Men’s Volleyball Team spiking on Venezuela, and woke up this morning to the hoops squad dunking on China, concluding that these are the most rock and roll of all sports, dynamic and powerful, fluid and angular, rhythmic and propulsive, with a drummer’s snap of the wrist and a guitarist’s sense of the riff. Lebron James, in particular, seemed to have a feel for heavy metal thunder, throwing down a Kobe Bryant alley-oop with such ferocity that I fear he may have harmed the universe.
I kind of dig these precisely-half-a-world-away games, where we watch the morning events at night and the nighttime events in the morning, with the wee-small-hours competitions replayed all day long. Shhh! Don’t tell me what Michael Phelps did overnight, though I don’t think I have to guess. With the PGA, minus Tiger, being played this weekend to complete indifference, there’s a new predator in town. That guy is a Shark.
Dwight Twilley - Shark
