Bricklayer
Don't Make Me Use The Bat
By all rights we should be looking at girls right now, but no, another one of this ludicrous squad's fake hustle charges after the game was over deprives us. So now we get grades for a game involving the 12-47 Sacramento Kings and the 23-35 Charlotte Bobcats without even anything exciting to look at.
Well, favorite philosophers turned out to be a dubious choice for an off the cuff theme -- took too long to explain the choices and dragged the grades out. Was almost going to take the favorite cuts of steak suggestion from yesterday, except I'm not sure there would be enough of them to fill this out. So going to do another off the cuffer, but one where I know that I can simply copy paste the information from around the internet: So let's go with a theme of: Favorite Poems. Which should be appropriate for this season since most of my favorites are sad poems about death and loss.
Cisco ( B ) -- overpowerd by Gerald in the first half, able to get a little at the other end, but we could not find him a good matchup on defense. Came out in the thrid energized and helped lead a push to get us back into it. Had problems bringing up the ball as he was forced to play some point in the late third, but made pretty good decisions with the ball when he was able to advance it, and continued to give us a little scoring, thankfully eschewing the mindless long bomb chucking for aggressive drives to the hoop. Outplayed by Gerald, but then again Gerald is the better player. Generally helped, and was only one of 2 starters to do so.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas
Let's start this off with a bang with one of the greatest poems ever written and likely my own personal favorite:
Thompson ( D ) -- continued his recent struggles, although this time it was not really the fouls that did him in -- he had 5 but was not in serious foul trouble until late. Struggled rather in the more conventional sense of a guy who just got his butt kicked, and by Boris Diaw of all people too. Boris, it must be remembered, started his career as an OG, is a natural SF, and really only a PF in a smallball system like the Suns'. But you would not have known it based on tonight. JT had some early hiustle boards but otherwise was badly outmaneuvered and even surprisingly overpowered by Diaw in the first half. Sat for the first time for ineffectiveness, not foul trouble, which would actually have been a welcome change if he were playing somebody who could reasonably have been expected to render him ineffective. Returned for the second half of the second quarter and was more effective, or at least active, on offense, but stil could get nothign to fall on his way to a 2-10 night. Started off the third with both he and us as a team looking briefly rejuvenated, and even took it like a man when Diaw drew two fouls from him on one possession, the second on a nice post move that had Jason befuddled. But it led nowhere in particular, and on a night when he struggled on defense, strugled to finish, and wasn't even able to control the glass, he lost a lot of minutes to a much more effective Drew Gooden.
Fern Hill
by Dylan Thomas
Overshadowed by the fame of the first selection, I always considered this poem by the same author to be completely brilliant as well in a much different way:
Hawes ( C- ) -- and in a disappointing outing, turns out both of our bigs had poor games. Looked like Spencer was going to use his height advantage against Okafor early, but he started missing everything and once he headed to the bench never returned for the rest of the half with Gooden playing well. Was enver able to generate any push offensively, and the reasons why remain a little mysterious. Best thing he did on that end was make a few good passes to set guys up. Got beat on the glass as well. Okafor has never terribly impressed me, and again looked pedestrian out there, but what he does, and did to Spencer tonight, was just deliver another of his classic night in and night out workmanlike efforts. 13pts 11rebs, and just solid while the kid he was facing (that would be Spencer) flitted about trying a little of this and a little of that and not getting much done.
An Irish Airman Forsees His Death
by William Butler Yeats
The first of two I'll probably include from Yeats, written after WWI:
Martin ( B ) -- carrying the Kings early on offense then went completely quiet until the second half -- think he had all 9 of his first half points in the first 5 minutes, then nothing until half. Came out with five quick points in the third as we got it under 10, and was generally solid thereafter. At no point spectacular, just solid. Had a 9 point first quarter, a 9 point third quarter, and then 9 more in the 4th. Was plagued by turnovers for much of the night, and not the best rounded performance again (the stats credit him with 3 steals and 3 blocks and all I have to say is, no way). Was some sporadic activity up top as a defender. Don't think that Bell particularly bothered him on defense, and certainly uber scub, and namesake, Cartier Martin did not. Provided the steady scoring we needed if we were ever going to win this, but there was no pop -- its worth noting he had the highest negative +/- on the team, by a lot (-19 for the game). The pushes we made needed him there chugging along, but it was Gooden, or Cisco, or Bobby or even McCants who made the positive differences in this one.
To an Athlete Dying Young
by A. E. Housman
Here's an athletically related one:
Well, favorite philosophers turned out to be a dubious choice for an off the cuff theme -- took too long to explain the choices and dragged the grades out. Was almost going to take the favorite cuts of steak suggestion from yesterday, except I'm not sure there would be enough of them to fill this out. So going to do another off the cuffer, but one where I know that I can simply copy paste the information from around the internet: So let's go with a theme of: Favorite Poems. Which should be appropriate for this season since most of my favorites are sad poems about death and loss.
Cisco ( B ) -- overpowerd by Gerald in the first half, able to get a little at the other end, but we could not find him a good matchup on defense. Came out in the thrid energized and helped lead a push to get us back into it. Had problems bringing up the ball as he was forced to play some point in the late third, but made pretty good decisions with the ball when he was able to advance it, and continued to give us a little scoring, thankfully eschewing the mindless long bomb chucking for aggressive drives to the hoop. Outplayed by Gerald, but then again Gerald is the better player. Generally helped, and was only one of 2 starters to do so.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas
Let's start this off with a bang with one of the greatest poems ever written and likely my own personal favorite:
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- Dylan Thomas
Thompson ( D ) -- continued his recent struggles, although this time it was not really the fouls that did him in -- he had 5 but was not in serious foul trouble until late. Struggled rather in the more conventional sense of a guy who just got his butt kicked, and by Boris Diaw of all people too. Boris, it must be remembered, started his career as an OG, is a natural SF, and really only a PF in a smallball system like the Suns'. But you would not have known it based on tonight. JT had some early hiustle boards but otherwise was badly outmaneuvered and even surprisingly overpowered by Diaw in the first half. Sat for the first time for ineffectiveness, not foul trouble, which would actually have been a welcome change if he were playing somebody who could reasonably have been expected to render him ineffective. Returned for the second half of the second quarter and was more effective, or at least active, on offense, but stil could get nothign to fall on his way to a 2-10 night. Started off the third with both he and us as a team looking briefly rejuvenated, and even took it like a man when Diaw drew two fouls from him on one possession, the second on a nice post move that had Jason befuddled. But it led nowhere in particular, and on a night when he struggled on defense, strugled to finish, and wasn't even able to control the glass, he lost a lot of minutes to a much more effective Drew Gooden.
Fern Hill
by Dylan Thomas
Overshadowed by the fame of the first selection, I always considered this poem by the same author to be completely brilliant as well in a much different way:
Fern Hill
by Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the roster on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
by Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the roster on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
Hawes ( C- ) -- and in a disappointing outing, turns out both of our bigs had poor games. Looked like Spencer was going to use his height advantage against Okafor early, but he started missing everything and once he headed to the bench never returned for the rest of the half with Gooden playing well. Was enver able to generate any push offensively, and the reasons why remain a little mysterious. Best thing he did on that end was make a few good passes to set guys up. Got beat on the glass as well. Okafor has never terribly impressed me, and again looked pedestrian out there, but what he does, and did to Spencer tonight, was just deliver another of his classic night in and night out workmanlike efforts. 13pts 11rebs, and just solid while the kid he was facing (that would be Spencer) flitted about trying a little of this and a little of that and not getting much done.
An Irish Airman Forsees His Death
by William Butler Yeats
The first of two I'll probably include from Yeats, written after WWI:
An Irish Airman Forsees His Death
William Butler Yeats
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
William Butler Yeats
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Martin ( B ) -- carrying the Kings early on offense then went completely quiet until the second half -- think he had all 9 of his first half points in the first 5 minutes, then nothing until half. Came out with five quick points in the third as we got it under 10, and was generally solid thereafter. At no point spectacular, just solid. Had a 9 point first quarter, a 9 point third quarter, and then 9 more in the 4th. Was plagued by turnovers for much of the night, and not the best rounded performance again (the stats credit him with 3 steals and 3 blocks and all I have to say is, no way). Was some sporadic activity up top as a defender. Don't think that Bell particularly bothered him on defense, and certainly uber scub, and namesake, Cartier Martin did not. Provided the steady scoring we needed if we were ever going to win this, but there was no pop -- its worth noting he had the highest negative +/- on the team, by a lot (-19 for the game). The pushes we made needed him there chugging along, but it was Gooden, or Cisco, or Bobby or even McCants who made the positive differences in this one.
To an Athlete Dying Young
by A. E. Housman
Here's an athletically related one:
To an Athlete Dying Young
by A. E. Housman
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields were glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.
by A. E. Housman
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields were glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.
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