NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Las desventuras del doctor Fleischmann acabaron emitiéndose en España a horas intempestivas en La 2; una de mis primeras anécdotas seriéfilas deriva de esto, cuando yo en mi tierna pre-adolescencia me iba a la cama después de ‘Vivir con Mr. Cooper’, ‘Infelices para siempre’ o la sitcom post-cena del momento en TVE2. Horas más tarde, a la 1 de la madrugada, mi padre subía el volumen de la inolvidable canción que acompañaba a la intro de la serie para despertarme. Y yo corría al salón para no perderme ni uno sólo de los programas de Chris, de los accidentes de los novios de Maggie, de las películas de Ed o de los monosílabos de Marilyn.

O'Connell, I am not going. You know, if it was a weekend in Hawaii or Hong Kong, London, maybe I'd do you a favor... but we're talking Detroit. What do they call it? "Cleveland without the glitter?"

Hey, did I mention that baseball is sneaky? Yeah, very sneaky. See, 'cause it uses poetry to invade our brains and stick to the walls of our unconscious.

You take Casey at the Bat. A clever advertising campaign disguised as harmless doggerel. Well, how is basketball supposed to fight such folksy appeal to the hearts and minds of the American people?

Well, up 'til last night, it couldn't. But now, there is a new weapon. If I may, I would like to recite a few words written at midnight last night. Herewith, a sample of an epic to come.

And so the rubber spheroid arced beneath the brilliant lights headed for a hoop of dreams he'd dreamt of all those nights.

The crowd gasped as the ball descended. Would it grant their fondest wish?

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