I used to have trust with reporters. Give them scoops. Those were the old days. It's very strange when you give a story and it doesn't come out the right way.
Oh literature oh the glorious Art how it preys upon the marrow in our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us and chucks us aside. Alas!
They weren't impatient for the boys to turn into cartoons again. They awarded sympathy gave compassion. Because deep down they had found parts of themselves in the characters. You said it George.