N.O.B.
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Slowly pitched softball updates
First game I was late getting to so I got their in the 4th inning. We were up 8 to 1. I sat out and coached 3rd. We won 13 to 2.
Second game we encountered an umpire with the strike zone the size of a box of nerds. Opposing team drew 4000 walks. My team decided to swing our bats. I went 1 for 1. Double with an rbi. We lost 20 to 5 i think.
Who tf draws walks in softball?
First game I was late getting to so I got their in the 4th inning. We were up 8 to 1. I sat out and coached 3rd. We won 13 to 2.
Second game we encountered an umpire with the strike zone the size of a box of nerds. Opposing team drew 4000 walks. My team decided to swing our bats. I went 1 for 1. Double with an rbi. We lost 20 to 5 i think.
Who tf draws walks in softball?
Me, gladly. Ted Williams's first rule of hitting was, "Get a good ball to hit." I'll take 4-4 with 4 walks for a blistering 1.000 OB% any day.
Happy Neil Armstrong Became The First Man To Walk On The Moon (on a closed Hollywood set in a remote location of the Mojave Desert) Day everybody.
That’s a good point — yeah, as serious as a bunch of 55+ YO Glory Days has-beens hacking around in a Senior Slowly Pitched Softball Tournament can be
WhyTF would you worry about walks, OB%, BA, etc...? All that matters is dingers & whether or not your stirrup game was on point. The rest of that meaningless crap will take care of itself.
Keep it simple, man. Just come correct stirrup wise and always swing for the fence.
#chicks dig the stirrups (in addition to the long ball)
Keep it simple, man. Just come correct stirrup wise and always swing for the fence.
#chicks dig the stirrups (in addition to the long ball)
Lord, look at that stance. Dad can land and walk on the moon and then he comes home to that.
It isn’t the stance, it’s the low slung start of the bat position… I mean, Ricky is gonna be a late punch & Judy swinging ***** with the WRONG STUFF.
I'll be honest, my first thought when I saw that pic was, "Damn, ol' Neil sure is putting his back into his fastball." I noticed the kid's ****** stance/pre-swing for sure, but what really struck me was how hard Armstrong appeared to be throwing. I mean why the hell was he bringing the heat to his kid? Then, after funk's and kook's posts, it dawned on me -- he's throwing that hard precisely BECAUSE of his kid's lack of baseball ability.
Think about it. It's March, 1969, barely four months before Armstrong and his crew are scheduled to attempt the most epic endeavor in mankind's history. He's stressed and the pressure is building exponentially with each passing day. Now he comes home after an 18-hour day in the simulator and all he wants to do is relax. He walks silently past his wife and son, grabs a couple beers from the fridge and a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and heads to the bedroom alone. He pounds the beers, takes a long swig of Scotch, and stares blankly at the floor. Just what the hell have I gotten myself into? he says to himself.
About half an hour later there's a feeble knock on the door. Armstrong ignores it. A few more minutes pass. There's another knock...
Son: "Dad?" the kid asks meekly through the closed door
Armstrong (still staring): "Yeah? What the hell do you want?" The much-needed buzz was starting to kick in.
Son: "Would you pitch to me?"
Arm: (long pause) "Sure kid, what the hell. I could use a good laugh."
They head to the back yard. His wife pleads with Armstrong to take it easy on the boy, but Neil brushes her aside. "He asked for it, Janet, so shut your mouth and just take the damned pictures or you're next." Janet ceases her protestations and walks meekly behind them, camera in hand.
Son: "Hey dad, do you think I'll get a hit today?"
Arm: "Hell no," he replies with a chuckle, "you swing like a GD girl."
The kid takes his "stance" and Armstrong begins laughing. The booze is in full effect. "Hold the GD bat like a man, you little *****." "NEIL!!!" shrieks his wife, "Stop that, stop it right now! The neighbors can hear you." Armstrong lets out a hearty, drunken laugh, "The neighbors? I don't give a flying f#ck what Pete Conrad thinks. I'm going to the moon before that ********** anyway and he knows it. Besides honey, I'm just doin' a little trash-talkin'. You ready boy? Here it comes!" "Ready, dad" replies his son with the innocent eagerness of a child trying to finally make his dad proud of him.
Armstrong doesn't hold back. He winds up and fires a fastball as hard as he can possibly can, his wife capturing the moment as the ball is in mid-flight. His son doesn't even react until the ball caroms off the top of the backstop's frame -- only then does he attempt a feeble swing. The ball continues its path, barely missing Janet's face a millisecond before slamming into the side of the house.
Armstrong explodes in a fury of rage brought on by both the alcohol and the tremendous pressure of his impending journey. "YOU CALL THAT A F#CKING SWING? WHY THE HELL DO I EVEN WASTE MY TIME ON YOU? YOU CAN'T BE MY SON. YOU. CANNOT. BE. MY. F#CKING. SON. YOU'RE WEAK. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE WEAK. ALDRIN'S KID IS ALREADY HITTING BALLS A MILE AND HE'S ONLY FOUR! FOUR! NOW GET THE F#CK OUT OF MY SIGHT YOU LITTLE BASTARD." Armstrong storms back to the kitchen for more beer as his son runs crying into his mother's arms.
Think about it. It's March, 1969, barely four months before Armstrong and his crew are scheduled to attempt the most epic endeavor in mankind's history. He's stressed and the pressure is building exponentially with each passing day. Now he comes home after an 18-hour day in the simulator and all he wants to do is relax. He walks silently past his wife and son, grabs a couple beers from the fridge and a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and heads to the bedroom alone. He pounds the beers, takes a long swig of Scotch, and stares blankly at the floor. Just what the hell have I gotten myself into? he says to himself.
About half an hour later there's a feeble knock on the door. Armstrong ignores it. A few more minutes pass. There's another knock...
Son: "Dad?" the kid asks meekly through the closed door
Armstrong (still staring): "Yeah? What the hell do you want?" The much-needed buzz was starting to kick in.
Son: "Would you pitch to me?"
Arm: (long pause) "Sure kid, what the hell. I could use a good laugh."
They head to the back yard. His wife pleads with Armstrong to take it easy on the boy, but Neil brushes her aside. "He asked for it, Janet, so shut your mouth and just take the damned pictures or you're next." Janet ceases her protestations and walks meekly behind them, camera in hand.
Son: "Hey dad, do you think I'll get a hit today?"
Arm: "Hell no," he replies with a chuckle, "you swing like a GD girl."
The kid takes his "stance" and Armstrong begins laughing. The booze is in full effect. "Hold the GD bat like a man, you little *****." "NEIL!!!" shrieks his wife, "Stop that, stop it right now! The neighbors can hear you." Armstrong lets out a hearty, drunken laugh, "The neighbors? I don't give a flying f#ck what Pete Conrad thinks. I'm going to the moon before that ********** anyway and he knows it. Besides honey, I'm just doin' a little trash-talkin'. You ready boy? Here it comes!" "Ready, dad" replies his son with the innocent eagerness of a child trying to finally make his dad proud of him.
Armstrong doesn't hold back. He winds up and fires a fastball as hard as he can possibly can, his wife capturing the moment as the ball is in mid-flight. His son doesn't even react until the ball caroms off the top of the backstop's frame -- only then does he attempt a feeble swing. The ball continues its path, barely missing Janet's face a millisecond before slamming into the side of the house.
Armstrong explodes in a fury of rage brought on by both the alcohol and the tremendous pressure of his impending journey. "YOU CALL THAT A F#CKING SWING? WHY THE HELL DO I EVEN WASTE MY TIME ON YOU? YOU CAN'T BE MY SON. YOU. CANNOT. BE. MY. F#CKING. SON. YOU'RE WEAK. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE WEAK. ALDRIN'S KID IS ALREADY HITTING BALLS A MILE AND HE'S ONLY FOUR! FOUR! NOW GET THE F#CK OUT OF MY SIGHT YOU LITTLE BASTARD." Armstrong storms back to the kitchen for more beer as his son runs crying into his mother's arms.
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I one hundred percent assumed his hand were backwards, but upon zooming in, that is the only thing he’s doing right.
No pun intended.
Ha, I didn't realize I had made a Buzz Aldrin pun. Man I thought the same thing about his hands too at first -- I think the weird bat angle creates that illusion.
Not sure if any of you remember when my daughter had her accident. Scooter accident, knocked her unconscious. I witnessed it and scared the hell out of me. Thought it killed her. Thankfully, she was wearing her helmet. She lost her four front upper teeth. She has been using a partial until she matures enough that the bones quit moving and she can get implants. She is almost seventeen and Wednesday was phase one of what we hope to be the final leg of this journey. She went to the oral surgeon to receive a bone graphing from a cadaver. Also, while they were tending to that, they went ahead and took out her wisdom teeth. So doctor comes out and says everything went great. He modified her partial a little bit so it would fit better when she heals.... yada, yada, yada.
The nurse brings her out to us and she is in the classic loopy stage. So my 6'2" daughter is being escorted out by this 5' tall nurse and it's already a pretty comical sight. Nurse says, "Here is your little dancer. I had to tell her to quit dancing and just sit in her seat so she wouldn't fall."
We finally get her to the car and she is high as a kite. We're driving down the street and she is just comical. Can't hardly hold her head up. Laughing and carrying on about silly little things. She tried rolling the window down to wave at the other cars on the street..... Then it gets quiet and she takes a serious tone. Looks at her mother and raises her index finger to make a statement.
"I Do Not Do Drugs! But his is making me consider it!"
For a sharp kid, honors in her school AP and all that stuff and very anti drug. That was a surprise for her mother and I to hear. We thought it was hilarious. Four hours later she didn't remember saying it. But, I'll have a hard time forgetting. Good times.
The nurse brings her out to us and she is in the classic loopy stage. So my 6'2" daughter is being escorted out by this 5' tall nurse and it's already a pretty comical sight. Nurse says, "Here is your little dancer. I had to tell her to quit dancing and just sit in her seat so she wouldn't fall."
We finally get her to the car and she is high as a kite. We're driving down the street and she is just comical. Can't hardly hold her head up. Laughing and carrying on about silly little things. She tried rolling the window down to wave at the other cars on the street..... Then it gets quiet and she takes a serious tone. Looks at her mother and raises her index finger to make a statement.
"I Do Not Do Drugs! But his is making me consider it!"
For a sharp kid, honors in her school AP and all that stuff and very anti drug. That was a surprise for her mother and I to hear. We thought it was hilarious. Four hours later she didn't remember saying it. But, I'll have a hard time forgetting. Good times.
Where's the video? Surely you have this on video.
Reminder 7: you didn’t win the chip last season
Mav in fine form on Twitter today. Sprayed my screen after reading one of his Tweets. Monkeypox concerns tweet was solid gold.
Well done, good sir.
Well done, good sir.
Blue Bell Flavor of the Year 2022
Absolutely irresistible.
Absolutely irresistible.
Purchased some a few weeks ago. Have not had time to post the pic. Awesome, indeed.Blue Bell Flavor of the Year 2022
Absolutely irresistible.
** N.O.B. Public Service Announcement **
2022 FFL Draft scheduled for August 28, 2022
Be there. Aloha.
2022 FFL Draft scheduled for August 28, 2022
Be there. Aloha.
I had a friend say over the weekend that "Buc-ee’s is overrated and the Walmart of gas stations and he would much rather go to Five-star." NOB thoughts?
A relative of mine actually used that same comparison. The Walmart of gas stations. Said it like it was a bad thing.
Yes, I love Walmart. They have no competition.
Yes, I love Walmart. They have no competition.
I assumed you would find fault with the overrated statement. He also said the nuggets were just fair and the brisket was just ok.
Danke schoen, brother
Anybody know a good psychiatrist, e.g. one that specializes in arachnophobia and/or arachnophobia-induced nightmares and PTSD to be more specific? As always, TIA.
