But some wax loquacious!
Por ejemplo, the always truculent Tyson Chandler. In last night’s match, the Dallas Maverick proved himself a faulty theoretician and a trippingly fast speaker.
You see, time was nearly elapsed at the ending of el primer período!
“Perhaps,” I responded, even as I coaxed the ball toward the hoop with elegant bodily linguistics. “But watch! Even as the basketball soars away, it will magically land in your diabolical visage. I say this knowing full well that the spheroid cannot be in a place in which it is not, and yet—”
¡PUM! The basket was made, the goal was counted, and the masses surged in their ecstasies!
“—and yet it is now most assuredly in your face!” I shouted at Chandler’s departing form. Ah, how his shoulders slumped, mi amigos!
And as he departed, Chandler cried out, “All it takes to create Hell on the court is a Spaniard and a basketball.”
Even now, I do not know if my opponent viewed my philosophical point with clear eyes. If not, he might choose to don three-goggles. As the Wall Street Journal, I am their procreator! (After Nate McMillan said, "they must be bifocals, because guys are blowing past us" perhaps I should not be so proud!)
In any event, I cannot prescribe tres puntos gafas for Tyson Chandler. Peering down myopically, his eyes fogged with pride and fear, the three-point goggles are beyond his range.
Fotos from the Oregonian,
bottom fotografía from the WSJ.