Alan Dean

Obviously Canada considers the US its biggest rival. They’re playing in the gold medal game, and the Soviet Union no longer exists.

The first round is often perversely the most fun. The heaviness of expectations and the levity of possibility warp spacetime, making every win feel both satisfying and insufficient, like candy, and every loss feel both nauseating and not quite dread-inducing, also like candy.

The left understands the idea of collective provision. We understand the idea of solidarity. You don’t just go out on strike. You have a strike fund; you have alternative means of provision. But I don’t know what those are in this case, if what’s being threatened is an NIH grant that funds an entire chemistry department, for example.

As the neighborhood bar played “New York, New York” (they do this for every Yankees win), the air felt electric. This was the team we came to watch, and while we weren’t sure exactly where they’d been the last week, we were happy to have them back. The final score of 11–4 lent a rosy sheen to what was, in truth, a night of ghastly behavior at Yankee Stadium.