In my reading

In my reading

I’ve always yelled at them.  I yell, because I’m a yeller.  I’m a yeller, and so I yell.  My voice gets so hoarse it sounds like tires crunching over gravel.  During the season, I go through economy-sized packages of throat lozenges.

Last week I watched Tennessee look like it was going to be blown out by Rutgers in a womens’ basketball game.  I wanted to hide when faced with the mere thought of what Pat Summitt would sound like in the locker room at halftime.  Later in the week, as I read the foregoing quote in her book Raise the Roof, I learned I was probably right.


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