“Say, fellows, you enjoy sport, do you not?”
“But of course, Littlefield. Why do you ask?”
“A whimsical little notion just occurred to me: What say we have a regular series regarding sport on the NPR?”
“Oh, yes, let’s! We can cover Brazilian mountaineering and ladies’ hacky-sack!”
“And tennis?”
“Naturally, tennis!”
“And we can air it when nobody is listening!”
“Splendid! But what shall we name our little programme?”
“Aha; what about something delightfully puckish, such as ‘Come Along, Gents; No Need to Take It So Seriously—After All, It Is Only a Game!’ ”
“Oh, jolly good, Littlefield, jolly good. Let’s don some pantaloons and write poetry!”
“Last one to the locker room is a linebacker!”
“Why, you impish rascal, you!”
[Sound of snapping towels and high-pitched squeals of gym-teacher-infuriating glee. Fade to a lovely shade of mauve that blends nicely with the leather seats of a 1972 Saab.]
yeah, i got .com 