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WiLd ThinG
E.M. Swift
December 16, 1996
It's showtime every night for figure skating, which has become untamed in its appetite for big TV ratings and big money
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December 16, 1996

Wild Thing

It's showtime every night for figure skating, which has become untamed in its appetite for big TV ratings and big money

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"So sad. So, so sad."

"That I missed seeing Couples make that putt? Yes, it is sad."

"Oh, stop. Juliet's dead. I always cry at this part."

"That isn't Juliet, Madge. That's Marina Klimova lying on the ice between two battery-operated candles. And it isn't Romeo, either. It's Sergei Ponomarenko, her husband, holding a rubber knife."

"Shush. Don't intrude on the illusion."

"Madge, you've already seen this program 20 times. Peggy Fleming's about to say something incredibly banal. Then Sergei and Marina will bow to each other 30 times, and they'll get six 10.0s and a 9.9, even though Sergei slipped on his wife's hair before his suicide scene."

"You have no feelings, Harry. Here's your stupid clicker back."

"Thank you. Much obliged."

"I'm going to bed."

"Fine. (Click.) Oh, my god!"

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