Sports and Dogs

Two things that I am enjoying (at the same time, btw):

1. David Foster Wallace on sports:
It's hard not to notice the way this air of robotic banality suffuses not only the sports-memoir genre but also the media rituals in which a top athlete is asked to describe the contest or meaning of his techne.
"Kenny, how did it feel to make that sensational game-winning shoestring catch in the end zone with absolutely no I mean zero time remaining on the clock?"
"Well, Frank, I was just real pleased. I was real happy and also pleased. We've all worked hard and come a long way as a team, and it's always a good feeling to be able to contribute."
...
This stuff is stupefying, and yet it also seems to be inevitable, maybe even necessary. The baritones in network blazers keep coming up after games demanding of physical geniuses these recombinant strings of dead cliches, strings that after a while start to sound like a strange kind of lullaby, and which of course no network would solicit and broadcast again and again if there weren't a large and serious audience out here who find the banalities right and good.
All right, so the obvious point: Great athletes usually turn out to be stunningly inarticulate about just those qualities and experience that constitute their fascination.

2. Puppy attacking a weed:

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