Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Spurs in Five

I'm listening to two things:  Jeff Buckley's album Grace -- he's currently singing Hallelujah -- and a small child screaming in the dentist's office next to my studio.  The sound the child is making is a series of rhythmic, two-second screams at the top of her lungs.  Absent the context, it could be considered almost musical.

All that aside, if advanced game theory tells us nothing, it tells us that the middle of the game can be very different from what we, at the beginning of the game, thought the middle of the game would be.  And we have to remain open to this, friends.  Thus my continually revised assessments of the Heat/Spurs series.

I see Timmy and The Boys taking the next two and calling it a year, leaving behind them the rubble of the Miami dynasty that never happened.

This from my boy Percy Bysshe Shelley ...

I met a traveler from an antique land 
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare 
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Back to Hallelujah:  Buckley's version (of a Leonard Cohen song) is probably the best known of any of them.  Although Brandi Carlisle does a mighty nice one too.  Either way, quite beautiful.  It's one of those songs that unfairly loses some of it's majesty because television producers insist on playing it on shows like Scandal or Grey's Anatomy.

Which would take the wind out of anybody.

[I'm listening to Brandi Carlisle's version now.  I think I like it better, if for no other reason that Jeff Buckley, in the manner of Ray LaMontagne, was a bit full of himself.]


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