Tuesday, March 25, 2014

It's Not the Humidity; It's the Miami Heat

From the messy desk of Paul Levine...

I had some minor foot surgery this morning, so no tap dancing tonight.  No Sony Tennis Open.  No practicing 50-yard field goals.  And a short blog.

First, a Word (and Photo) About the Miami Heat

First, my son Michael always accuses me of leaving athletic events early to beat the traffic.  Proof positive I stayed to the final gun of last night's Miami Heat 2-point victory over the Portland Trail Blazers.  The photo is Chris Bosh's last second block of Damian Lillard's shot.  If you look closely, you can see me in the brown jacket just behind Lillard's airborne right foot.  And if you look in the second row to the left, you can spot  Mitchell Kaplan (black shirt, beard), owner of the legendary Books & Books, here in Coral Gables and elsewhere.

Mark Twain Would Love the Miami Heat

Opening Lines:  Next in my series of opening lines I love. The opener of Mark Twain's "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is well known. Not only does it make us wonder about the narrator, it PLUGS Twain's earlier novel. Now, that's chutzpah. In fact, Twain, much like Dickens, was a helluva self-promoter. Here's the line:
"You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter."

What Would the Duke Think of Birdman's Tattoos?

I don't know what John Wayne would think of Chris Andersen's heavily tattooed body? I imagine he would not like it as much as Mark Twain would.
This is brought to mind because today's New York Times has a MAJOR review of pal Scott Eyman's new biography, "John Wayne: The Life and Legend." There are surprises:
He was a heavy smoker and hard drinker, like many of his characters, but also an avid chess player and book lover who could quote Shakespeare and Dickens (and who, Mr. Eyman reports, “had a surprising taste for Tolkien”). He collected Eastern woodblock prints and kachina dolls, and his impoverished childhood left him with a love of catalog shopping, buying so many presents for his children and friends that “mail order packages would arrive in bunches, 10 or 20 at a time.”
I was never a huge fan of The Duke...or his acting. And while this infuriates many of my friends, I just hate "The Searchers,"  and not just for its blatant racism.  But that's a subject for another day.

Paul Levine


  1. James O. Born3/25/2014 1:28 PM

    I will address your distaste for The Searchers on another day. Do you think was was racism in the old west? Should we just write only politically correct dialog? okay, I'm addressing some now.

    Hope your foot feels better.

    How did you get such good seats? Mike's connections?

  2. Speedy recovery!

    You should never again sit so close to the court. You could be seriously injured by flying bodies, not to mention flying sweat. A friend with seats like that once took me to a Lakers game. Until then, I didn't know you could hear all the trash talk and the squeaking of the gym shoes. Very cool.

    I love your questions, James O. I often censor my dialogue. I hate myself for being so PC but do it anyway.

  3. No censoring here, Patty. Sitting in those seats in the old Miami Arena years ago, I heard Pat Riley (then coaching the Knicks) yell at Patrick Ewing, "Butt fuck him in the paint! Butt fuck him in the paint!"

  4. Speedy recovery! Cary Grant and his daughter used to leave the baseball game before the game was over because of traffic considerations.

    Thanks for sharing,

  5. I wondered about the good seats too, though I have never been to a basketball game. Here's a story from deepest England, where I grew up - a big Yank Tank (as we called American cars) - had stopped outside the picturesque Norman church in a neighboring village, and it didn't take long before a small gathering of locals was eyeing up the vehicle (anything not a tractor attracted attention). Soon the driver came from the church - he'd been apparently been tooling around the countryside because he wanted to see what real old England looked like. The driver was clearly identifiable - maybe it was that walk - it was none other than John Wayne, aka Marion Robert Morrison. So there you go, a bit of local mythology from JW. Take care of yourself, Our Paul.