They call her Daffadill: Whoſe preſence as ſhe went along, The prety flowers did greet, As though their heads they downward bent, With homage to her feete.

He had rehearsed his own counter-password over and over again throughout that time, as he nervously looked at his watch and wondered what could have gone wrong.

They look drunk—like a swack holding onto a lamp post.

Football behind closed doors is discombobulating; this was a whole new level of weirdness