You pity the text bubbles. They sit there in that rectangle, quivering with nervous anticipation. They dance and do their equivalent of a three-man weave. And then it comes: the bubbles are obliterated, replaced by a burst of photos, emojis and text blocks, so long they could be serialized.
These onslaughts, these cloudbursts of prose, emanate from the thumbs of Dick Vitale. Now 82, Dickie V is no diaper dandy, but he spends as much time on his devices—head down, hands out—as any teenager. And for the past few months, he has been texting in lieu of talking.