Summers brought it. Freeman brought it.
Monroe can pass the ball better than any 18 1/2-year-old big man who has ever lived.
Georgetown dominated the #8 Orange.
My mom doesn’t have cable, so we had to listen to Chvotkin the Great on AM 570, which, as I have said, is even better than being at the game.
Very nice Big East win for the Hoyas! By the way, does anyone know the whole story of how the Syracuse Orangemen became the Syracuse “Orange”?
On other interesting matters…
Perhaps you recall our discussions some time back regarding the Aeneid by Virgil. The Aenied defined the ancient Romans as a people by tracing their noble origin through the adventures of their hero and forefather Aeneas.
If England has an Aeneid, it is probably Shakespeare’s “Richard II.” (Or the series of Shakespeare’s plays including Richard II, Henry IV Parts One and Two, and Henry V.)
Near the beginning of the play, Sir John of Gaunt gives a speech while he is in his death throes. King Richard has issued bonds to bankroll his delusions of grandeur, putting the country in debt. The old knight believes that the king will listen to his advice, since “they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.”
Here are the words of the dying duke about his homeland, the Sceptred Isle:
This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear’d by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death! (Act II, Scene 1)
Now that‘s a patriotic speech!