"in the end they had to carry me to the infirmary and feed me through plastic tubes."

Another one bites the dust. I'm finished with End Zone, DeLillo's second, the football soap opera. In the end it has less to do with plastic tubes than man's violent nature, with football as the metaphor (subtle, huh?). It's the low point so far, which is saying something considering Americana's radical spin over the edge. Onto Great Jones Street, about an East Village rocker. The namesake is just a couple blocks away, so I'm quite eager.