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Clive James dead?

 

Really?

 

Awaits that's why I said it response.

 

I'm at work, forgive me

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Clive James dead?

 

I've just checked. Very much alive.

Did you know he was born Vivien Leopold James?

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Just woke up and saw his face at the end if the channel 4 news, assumed he was brown bread.

 

Have you got him?

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I think I'm with Vlad on this business about replacing your picks...it just seems a bit unseemingly to seize on the latest celebrity to have been diagnosed with cancer.

 

It aint the Predictions League for a certain sport

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Anyone got Elmore Leonard?

 

BBC News - Elmore Leonard, crime novelist, dies aged 87

 

Elmore Leonard, crime novelist, dies aged 87

 

US crime writer Elmore Leonard, author of such books as Get Shorty, Maximum Bob and Out of Sight, has died at the age of 87 after suffering a stroke.

 

A statement on his official website said he had died on Tuesday morning "surrounded by his loving family".

 

The author of 45 novels, Leonard had been in the process of writing his 46th.

 

Born in New Orleans in 1925, he started out writing western stories before turning to crime fiction in the 1960s.

 

Renowned for his terse, no-nonsense style and sparse use of dialogue, his works inspired numerous screen adaptations.

 

Hombre, 3.10 to Yuma, Get Shorty and Rum Punch were among those filmed, the latter by Quentin Tarantino under the title Jackie Brown.

 

One of his more heroic characters, US Marshal Raylan Givens, inspired the TV series Justified, while his 1978 novel The Switch was filmed this year as Life of Crime.

 

Yet Leonard was not always impressed by how his books were adapted, being particularly dismayed by the two films made of his 1969 novel The Big Bounce.

 

"I wanted to see my books made into good movies, but for some reason they'd just be lame," he once said.

 

"At first that sort of thing frustrated me, but I've since learnt to live with it."

 

His 10 Rules of Writing, published in 2001, contained such salutary admonishments as "never open a book with weather" and "keep your exclamation points under control".

 

"I always start with the characters," he revealed in 2004. "I get to page 300 and I start thinking about the ending."

 

The same year he wrote A Coyote's In the House, a book for children about a coyote who befriends some canine performers in Hollywood.

 

His many accolades included the F Scott Fitzgerald award in 2008 and the PEN USA Lifetime Achievement Award in 2009.

 

He received a further lifetime achievement prize last year, presented at America's National Book Awards.

 

Leonard suffered a stroke earlier this month in Detroit and had been in hospital. He died at his home in the city's Bloomfield Village suburb.

 

He is survived by five children, all from his first marriage, as well as 12 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. He and his third wife Christine divorced last year.

 

British author Ian Rankin was among the first to pay tribute, calling Leonard a "a great writer".

 

"Gave me a few tips once," he wrote on Twitter. "I ignored most of them."

 

Journalist and author Tony Parsons also remembered Leonard as a "great writer" whose books would "never die".

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No' date=' but I've got Dick Van Dyke who, at age 87, was rescued from his car when it went on fire today.

 

Selfish old bastard.[/quote']

 

According to the Guardian he was also saved from drowning by porpoises or dolphins or some shit. It's like he's being protected from dead pools by some shit-cockney voice loving higher power

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I think I'm with Vlad on this business about replacing your picks...it just seems a bit unseemingly to seize on the latest celebrity to have been diagnosed with cancer.

 

It aint the Predictions League for a certain sport

 

The criteria should be like Private Health Insurance,no chance of getting it if you aren't in good health.

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You can pick anyone you like. That's how a dead pool works. Otherwise you'd have to check every pick to ensure there are no articles knocking around with rumours of illness. Where's the fun in that?

 

Sounds like excuses from losers.

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You can pick anyone you like. That's how a dead pool works. Otherwise you'd have to check every pick to ensure there are no articles knocking around with rumours of illness. Where's the fun in that?

 

Sounds like excuses from losers.

 

Ive got 10 points at least.

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Ive got 10 points at least.

 

I'm a 30 pointer. I'd be level at the top with Trucker Paddy if fucking Dick Van Dyke had burnt to death in his car as god intended.

 

No rule changes. I'm in it to win it.

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You can pick anyone you like. That's how a dead pool works. Otherwise you'd have to check every pick to ensure there are no articles knocking around with rumours of illness. Where's the fun in that?

 

Sounds like excuses from losers.

 

Nah, it just feels a bit 'obvious'....get a hit, replace them with someone diagnosed with cancer.

 

I like the sporting predictions games....it turns out that I don't like this one much. That is all

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The thread would be about 2 pages long if no one could pick people who were ill.

 

I'm putting this down to sour grapes from the 10 points brigade.

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Anyone have him?

 

Seamus Heaney dies aged 74 | Books | theguardian.com

 

Seamus-Heaney-has-died-ag-010.jpg

 

Seamus Heaney, Ireland's first Nobel prize-winning poet since WB Yeats, has died aged 74 in hospital in Dublin after a short illness, his publisher announced this morning.

 

Heaney won the Nobel prize for literature in 1995 and was celebrated for his many collections of poetry during his lifetime. He won the TS Eliot Prize in 2006 for his collection District and Circle. In 2010 he won the Forward poetry prize for Human Chain, a volume of verse inspired by his experiences after a stroke; his earlier collection The Spirit Level was shortlisted in 1996, as was District and Circle in 2006.

 

Heaney was born on a small farm near Toomebridge in County Derry, Northern Ireland, in 1939, "the eldest child of an ever-growing family". In his Nobel address in Stockholm he spoke lovingly of his childhood in a three-roomed thatched farmhouse at Mossbawn where, in their early years, he and his siblings passed "a kind of den-life which was more or less emotionally and intellectually proofed against the outside world".

 

After attending boarding school at St Columb's College in Derry city as a scholarship boy – a transition, as he has said, "from the earth of farm labour to the heaven of education" – Heaney went on to study at Queen's University Belfast, where he joined a generation of "Northern poets" that included Michael Longley and Derek Mahon. He published his first major collection, Death of a Naturalist, in 1966.

 

He contributed a first edition of Death of a Naturalist to a recent auction in aid of the writers' charity Pen, writing in pencil, above the poem "At a Potato Digging", that the critic 'Anthony Thwaite once described me (to my face) as "laureate of the root vegetable"'.

 

On another page, he wrote: "These two poems (along with 'Digging') were published by Karl Miller in the Christmas issue of The New Statesman, 1964 - and the poems caught the eye of the editors at Faber. Whence this volume."

 

Many of the poems he wrote in the 1970s and the 1980s, during the Troubles in Northern Ireland, are unflinching threnodies for a terrible time.

 

On receiving the David Cohen prize for lifetime excellence in writing in 2009, Heaney chose to sum up his achievement in poetry by reading his lyrical evocation of a moment during his honeymoon, The Underground, and his sonnet A Drink of Water.

 

The Underground sees him and his wife, Marie, "Honeymooning, moonlighting, late for the Proms", running down the corridor from the underground to the Royal Albert Hall. Heaney imagines himself as an Orpheus who won't look back, and therefore keeps his bride. A Drink of Water recalls a memory from his childhood, of an old woman who drew water every morning, "Like an old bat staggering up the field", who is revealed later as a muse of sorts to the poet. Heaney said it was "about receiving a gift and being enjoined to 'remember the giver'" – something he said he would always do when remembering that evening.

 

At the close of his Nobel address he spoke of "poetry's power to do the thing which always is and always will be to poetry's credit": "the power to persuade that vulnerable part of our consciousness of its rightness in spite of the evidence of wrongness all around it, the power to remind us that we are hunters and gatherers of values, that our very solitudes and distresses are creditable, in so far as they, too, are an earnest of our veritable human being".

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