It's ballet set in green fields, where lithe dancers pirouette and spit on their shoes.

It's opera in an incomprehensible tongue, where music stops when the tenor begins, and starts again when he stops.

It's a silent movie with one speaking role, as the Giants win the pennant, the Giants win the pennant.

It's a novel, more tragic than any Russian; the heroes keep dying, half are dead before you can open the book.