UK breaking out the "Coal Whistle" on 3rd downs
- Thread starter ThwKentuckyKid
- Start date
Cool, cannot wait until we put a beatdown on USM and shut up all the experts hyping them. Go CATS!!!!!
Some good love for eastern Ky being shown.
Awesome!
Awesome!
Exactly! There are so many unique, time-honored traditions in the bluegrass state. We could add little wrinkles like this to reflect a culture that is more than just bourbon and horses.
Maybe put a pharmacy on the concourse.
I should add that the whistle is kind of cool, but they should have never added that stupid music.
Much, much better than a 400 pound Jared Lorenzon huffing and puffing onto the field to rally the 4th quarter crowd.
That's embarrassing to be honest. Cheesy as hell.
The "coal whistle" is part of the Eastern Kentucky Heritage, and coal paid a lot of bills, and supported UK, BIG TIME for many years.
OLD STOLL FIELD GUY!
OLD STOLL FIELD GUY!
A little late to celebrate a dying industry but it can serve as a memorial tribute to all the black lung deaths .
I worked 12 yrs in the mines and have no idea what a coal whistle is.
EPA fines will be $5,000.00 everytime the whistle sounds.
Hmmm. This is for 3rd downs. Not sure how the beginning of the 4th quarter deal has anything to do with it.
Like what? Play some burlesque music? Just kidding... Maybe some polka?
We bring out Jared lorenzen for all home games. What more do you want. Lol
The coal company whistle used hot steam
to bellow out its high pitched scream,
to signal the beginning or end of the shifts,
to call the miners from under the cliffs.
The whistle was always as precise as could be;
a loud reminder to the families
who heard the shrill and lonesome sound
to pause and remember their kin working underground.
She knew he would be home in a little while,
a shower at the bathhouse, then he would walk the mile,
alone with dinner bucket in his tired hand,
on his face the strained look of a hard working man.
With stooped shoulders he walked but head still held high
feeling the pain in his back but showing a fire in his eye.
He knew he had little to offer his family but his pay,
and family always remained in his thoughts each day.
While working for the mine he knew he had to be tough,
because The Company he worked for knew how to play rough.
The Company rules were strict and were far from golden,
the miners who worked there were forever beholden.
The Company owned the food, clothing, and shelter;
the miners earned their way digging coal to feed the smelter.
He would kiss his woman and give her a big miner's hug,
grab the little kids and gently wrestle them down on the rug.
Her time would come later, when the little ones were asleep,
when the fire grew hotter and the passion ran deep.
His dinner bucket sometimes contained a little extra snack
that he had really wanted to eat but decided to bring back
to the young son or daughter that occupied his mind,
for them he wanted better--never to be like “his kind”.
The steam whistle meant to all a schedule and order,
a reminder of a way of life that never changed its border.
Most of the time it was a good sound to hear
for it signaled a new day or that loved ones would soon be near.
When the whistle was blown at an odd time of day or night,
the fearful sound let folks know things were not right.
The fear would clutch tightly at the throat of the wives
who always lived in fear for their husband's lives.
Deep hole mining was a venture toward hell,
and sometimes the sound of the whistle did not bode well.
The dark and clammy pit and the discomfort it bore
was an abyss of great danger complete to its core.
With gas and dust and very little light to reveal
the many hidden dangers that could immediately kill.
The slate falls lurked in the roof above,
and the ceiling could fall at the drop of a glove.
The powerful machinery designed to chew away stone
had very little respect for flesh and for bone.
The gas and dust were a dangerous mixture
and could be ignited by a tool or a light fixture.
A flash and bang and a miner could be all done,
for down in the hole there’s nowhere to run.
His journey through life might end in an instant or less,
leaving his family behind and in a mess.
A simple mistake, a misdirected train of thought,
could spell disaster and family misery wrought.
Widows and orphans left to fend for themselves
since they could no longer live off the "Big Store's" shelves.
The Company didn’t really give a damn
about the miners as long as they could fill a coal tram.
Without the miner there to meet The Company quota
the women and children meant not one iota.
The coal and rock dust that the miner's lungs took in,
tiny particles that didn't end up in the steel mill's coal bin;
the harmful effects which were often concealed
became an unwanted bonus when finally revealed.
When The Company’s swan song was finally sung,
the miner discovered that all he had left was "Black Lung".
How ironic can it be that the black hearse and thin box of steel
in which the miner traveled to his final resting place on the hill
were both made possible by his own blood, sweat and tears,
as he toiled in the coal mines for those many, many years.
The machinery that once carried the black rocks along
is now abandoned and rusty and no longer sings its noisy song.
The whistle is now silent, no more its shrill voice will sound,
and the coal that remains is still deep in the ground.
The steel rails have all been pulled, the money is gone;
the once brightly colored houses and buildings of cut stone
sit forlornly, some abandoned and empty, waiting all alone
for Mother Nature to slowly reclaim its own.
There are few remaining signs of life in the old coal town,
mostly the elderly and widows; not many young children around.
The stores are now closed, and some houses have fallen down,
and though the town is mostly abandoned old memories still abound--
of the hustle and bustle, of church, school, people, and that special friend,
of the glorious mountains in the springtime, there is never any end.
So let the sound of the steam whistle, hidden deep in our mind,
blow softly in our memories so we will remember "our kind"--
those precious memories of our fathers and brothers,
the tired bodies, taut faces, and worn hands of our sisters and mothers.
The fathers who worked at the mine, killing themselves there was no doubt,
so their children would not have to follow in their steps, but have a way out.
So let us pay tribute to those who went before
and never, ever close that most precious memories door,
of our grandfather, father, mother, sister, neighbor, and friend,
for it was all just the beginning for us, and not the end.
to bellow out its high pitched scream,
to signal the beginning or end of the shifts,
to call the miners from under the cliffs.
The whistle was always as precise as could be;
a loud reminder to the families
who heard the shrill and lonesome sound
to pause and remember their kin working underground.
She knew he would be home in a little while,
a shower at the bathhouse, then he would walk the mile,
alone with dinner bucket in his tired hand,
on his face the strained look of a hard working man.
With stooped shoulders he walked but head still held high
feeling the pain in his back but showing a fire in his eye.
He knew he had little to offer his family but his pay,
and family always remained in his thoughts each day.
While working for the mine he knew he had to be tough,
because The Company he worked for knew how to play rough.
The Company rules were strict and were far from golden,
the miners who worked there were forever beholden.
The Company owned the food, clothing, and shelter;
the miners earned their way digging coal to feed the smelter.
He would kiss his woman and give her a big miner's hug,
grab the little kids and gently wrestle them down on the rug.
Her time would come later, when the little ones were asleep,
when the fire grew hotter and the passion ran deep.
His dinner bucket sometimes contained a little extra snack
that he had really wanted to eat but decided to bring back
to the young son or daughter that occupied his mind,
for them he wanted better--never to be like “his kind”.
The steam whistle meant to all a schedule and order,
a reminder of a way of life that never changed its border.
Most of the time it was a good sound to hear
for it signaled a new day or that loved ones would soon be near.
When the whistle was blown at an odd time of day or night,
the fearful sound let folks know things were not right.
The fear would clutch tightly at the throat of the wives
who always lived in fear for their husband's lives.
Deep hole mining was a venture toward hell,
and sometimes the sound of the whistle did not bode well.
The dark and clammy pit and the discomfort it bore
was an abyss of great danger complete to its core.
With gas and dust and very little light to reveal
the many hidden dangers that could immediately kill.
The slate falls lurked in the roof above,
and the ceiling could fall at the drop of a glove.
The powerful machinery designed to chew away stone
had very little respect for flesh and for bone.
The gas and dust were a dangerous mixture
and could be ignited by a tool or a light fixture.
A flash and bang and a miner could be all done,
for down in the hole there’s nowhere to run.
His journey through life might end in an instant or less,
leaving his family behind and in a mess.
A simple mistake, a misdirected train of thought,
could spell disaster and family misery wrought.
Widows and orphans left to fend for themselves
since they could no longer live off the "Big Store's" shelves.
The Company didn’t really give a damn
about the miners as long as they could fill a coal tram.
Without the miner there to meet The Company quota
the women and children meant not one iota.
The coal and rock dust that the miner's lungs took in,
tiny particles that didn't end up in the steel mill's coal bin;
the harmful effects which were often concealed
became an unwanted bonus when finally revealed.
When The Company’s swan song was finally sung,
the miner discovered that all he had left was "Black Lung".
How ironic can it be that the black hearse and thin box of steel
in which the miner traveled to his final resting place on the hill
were both made possible by his own blood, sweat and tears,
as he toiled in the coal mines for those many, many years.
The machinery that once carried the black rocks along
is now abandoned and rusty and no longer sings its noisy song.
The whistle is now silent, no more its shrill voice will sound,
and the coal that remains is still deep in the ground.
The steel rails have all been pulled, the money is gone;
the once brightly colored houses and buildings of cut stone
sit forlornly, some abandoned and empty, waiting all alone
for Mother Nature to slowly reclaim its own.
There are few remaining signs of life in the old coal town,
mostly the elderly and widows; not many young children around.
The stores are now closed, and some houses have fallen down,
and though the town is mostly abandoned old memories still abound--
of the hustle and bustle, of church, school, people, and that special friend,
of the glorious mountains in the springtime, there is never any end.
So let the sound of the steam whistle, hidden deep in our mind,
blow softly in our memories so we will remember "our kind"--
those precious memories of our fathers and brothers,
the tired bodies, taut faces, and worn hands of our sisters and mothers.
The fathers who worked at the mine, killing themselves there was no doubt,
so their children would not have to follow in their steps, but have a way out.
So let us pay tribute to those who went before
and never, ever close that most precious memories door,
of our grandfather, father, mother, sister, neighbor, and friend,
for it was all just the beginning for us, and not the end.
At first I didn't like it, but after reading the poem I think the coal mine whistle is perfect for third downs
The whistle was used for three things-end of a shift, start of a new shift or disaster.
These are exactly what happens to the defense on third down-if they stop the offense and prevent a first down, that ends their shift.
If they don't and the offense gets a first down, well that's a new shift and back to work.
And if they allow a score ...
I hope we have lots of shift ends tonight.
The whistle was used for three things-end of a shift, start of a new shift or disaster.
These are exactly what happens to the defense on third down-if they stop the offense and prevent a first down, that ends their shift.
If they don't and the offense gets a first down, well that's a new shift and back to work.
And if they allow a score ...
I hope we have lots of shift ends tonight.
Celebrate Appalachia! That'll reel in the recruits yeah!!!
And what, no banjo music along with it?!
And what, no banjo music along with it?!
