Former edifying principles of politesse have withered away, and any semblance of gentility in one's conduct is a thing of the past.
The virtues of mind have become alien to the body, rather than remaining its correlative partner.
Who here recalls the poised presence of Sergio Oliva, who, speaking not in his native tongue, and in unaccustomed defeat, still had such command of language and soul to remind us of his Mythic immortality? Now there was a champion!
The depths to which we've sunk. McMillan's lack of social decorum, his lack of personal eloquence, and his lack of respecting the bounds of the Oak's slack, soon-to-be septuagenarian, Austrian heinie. The violations are legion; the transgressions -- unpardonable.
Such intemperance of character is unable to provide stately, dignified inspiration to oiled up men parading under stage lights in glittery string shorts.
And, to top it all off, "McMillan" isn't even Scottish!
