#Football manager 2022 deal

[chosetherose]

This whole article is really something but the excerpt below stood out to me.

Their relationship has unequivocally enhanced his profile – and his podcast followers.

The show, named New Heights, which he does with his brother Jason, went from 1.5 million when it launched in 2022 to 11.2 million today. Indeed last week, they signed a deal with Amazon worth more than £80million.

Taylor has quickly immersed herself in the world of NFL, the American football league.

She took centre stage at the Superbowl in February and earlier this week, when the organisation released its promotional video for the forthcoming season, ­Taylor was the stand out star of the clip.

On Tuesday, in an interview with US chatshow The Rich Eisen Show, Travis told how Taylor ‘creates plays’ for him, meaning – rather astonishingly – she tells him where to run to once he catches the ball.

One sports expert tells me: ‘Imagine when David and Victoria Beckham were at the beginning of their relationship, she’s a Spice Girl and David is playing for ­Manchester United, and she’s in the Premier League promo video. And then let’s go back and imagine how one of David’s managers would feel if he came out talking about how Victoria was telling him how to do his free kicks, or take his penalties. They would be furious.

‘It is all very odd. It is so strange that they have let a singer be such a big part of the NFL. There has been a suggestion that the league are really happy that Taylor has made the game much more appealing to women.

[goatmati]

Aitana Bonmatí, one step away from the Golden Ball: "I suffer because I always want more".

In her book United We Are Stronger (2022) she says that as a child she was "cold and hard". Why does she say that? She answers in the photos, sitting on the visitors' bench at the Johan Cruyff stadium: "My childhood was not easy because I was the only girl in a man's world, and the fights, the insults I received, I think I kept them to myself, I was not able to get them out and I simply put on a shield.”

“Sometimes you would end up in fisticuffs.”

“Sometimes, it wasn't the usual. The usual were the insults.”

“They got you fried.”

“Quite a lot.”

Andrés Iniesta writes by message: "I am proud that Guardiola compares me with the best player in the world today". The prodigy says of Bonmatí: "What I would highlight most is her evolution: she has gone from being a good team player to having an increasingly important role to the point of currently leading the national team and Barça along with Alexia Putellas and other great players". He emphasizes her technical quality, her speed, her skill, her goal sense and "her great winning mentality".

Her former coach emphasizes one word: ambition. Aitana Bonmatí's ambition.

“What is ambition?”

“Wanting to be the best in everything, having the desire to improve every day and to reach the top in all areas," the player answers.

“Where does that come from?”

“From me.”

“But where does it come from?”

“I've never asked myself that question. I've always been very competitive, very ambitious, a winner, haven't I? Since I was a little girl. I don't know, I would say that it doesn’t come from my family, they have many virtues, but they are not competitive and even less so in sports.”

“I don't allow myself to fail.” Too self-demanding?

“Yes, but over the years I have learned not to be so hard, to understand that one is not perfect and that mistakes sometimes make you improve.”

Bonmatí this year has won the World Cup, the Champions League, the League and the Super Cup, and has been MVP of the World Cup, MVP of the Champions League, MVP of the Super Cup final and best player of the year for UEFA. She should be satisfied, at the very least. "I don't know, she's insatiable," responds Cristian Martín along with Ignasi Cardó, her representatives.

Bonmatí knows about the double-edged sword of perfectionism. She deals with it with her club psychologists and in private therapy. "I'm rarely happy with my games because I always want more, but I'm managing it better and better. I still suffer, but not as much as before. I allow myself to be a person and I allow myself to fail."

In the last World Cup, after winning the match that gave them the pass to the final, she spoke with Mayca Jiménez, a journalist from Relevo. There were a few days left before the final and Jiménez asked her if they would celebrate that night. "No celebration", was the answer, followed by the need to sleep eight hours and other comments about essential guidelines that should not be skipped, not even that night. Jiménez underlines her courage in standing up for herself. When Japan beat them in the group stage of the World Cup, Bonmatí spoke to all the media, Spaniards and foreigners, in good English. She pledged that they would learn from the defeat. She said: "I ask for forgiveness.”

"Ambition is wanting to be the best," says Bonmatí.

She says she has seen women's football grow a lot, but points out that it still has a long way to go. "This is the beginning," she says. On what is lacking in women's football, she prefers not to say just one thing out of the many she would have to say. Although she mentions the obvious "precariousness" of some fields in Liga F.

She reflects on language. Should we continue to say women's football? She thinks not and proposes: "Either specify masculine or feminine whenever football is said, or not specify and that according to the context it is understood". She praises Barça's vision in betting on non-hegemonic sports sections and declares herself a "convinced Culé", although she had an offer from Olympique Lyon in 2021 that gave her pause for thought. "Important decisions should not be taken from one day to the next. I like to evaluate all the options," she explains. In December 2021, she renewed her contract until 2025.

She has recovered a bit of her tone. When asked what she thinks of the cliché that a footballer should not talk about politics, she replies that freedom of expression is the same for those who work in a company, in a hospital or in a football team. That said, today is not the day she feels like exercising it. It's over. Aitana Bonmatí needs to go and rest.

Note: Aitana has played 140 consecutive games for club and country. The grind hasn’t stopped for a second.

But also,

Please let my girl rest. She’s done so well.

(Excerpts of the interview she’s done with El País Semanal.)

[ellabellabugz]

Day 6 of DP/DC Week 2022

Danny felt the familiar tug on his gut, letting out a groan as he sat up. Instantly shooting out of his room and into a large field. It was his football field, the only place close enough for him to actually deal with this.

He took a deep breath, envisioning the rope around his core. He reached out and grabbed it, feeling the tug again, trying to pull the Halfa somewhere else. Danny's grip tightened, and he pulled back.

He could feel the shock around him as hooded men appeared in a circle around him. Three gagged men stared up at Danny. They were kneeling in front of him. Domino masks cover his eyes.

Danny blinked before looking at the cultists. “Really? Did you try to use the Batclan to summon me? It’s not even all of them!” Danny felt insulted at the fact they didn’t even bother using the entire Batclan. Just three of them.

“How’d you?”

“Seriously?” Danny groaned putting a hand up against his glowing white hair. “ I’m an all-knowing, all-powerful being, and you're wondering how I pulled an Uno reverse on your summonings?”

“Well yes, the book strictly states we bring the being to us. Not the being brings us to them.”

“It’s a new concept, I like to break the rules and come up with random shit.”

Danny heard a muffled snort from one of the bound men. He looked down, honestly, Danny couldn’t tell them apart at first glance. His gaze was mainly on the bundles of black hair. Before looking over each of them.

The heroes looked pretty beat up, their suits torn and bloodied. Most likely from the scuffle they had with the cultists. Danny raised an eyebrow, the cultists had to be decently skilled if they were able to defeat the Batclan.

He blinked as he registered who they were.

Wow,

The cultists actually managed to defeat, The Batman.

His laugh was odd, causing even more tension around the room. “How the hell did you get caught?” He wheezed looking at Batman. “I mean your Batman. I can’t even think about how they managed to catch you! How’d you manage?”

Danny glanced towards, who he guessed was the lead cultist. Who seemed to shift uncomfortably under the Ghost King’s gaze.

“We simply had a plan.” The man answered after a short moment of awkward silence.

“Really? I’m pretty sure Batman had a plan. I bet he had a plan for his plan. Then a plan for his plan’s plan.” Danny looked upward. “Plan for the plan for the plan for the plan. Plan plan plan plan. Say that twelve times fast could turn into a tongue twister.”

Everyone was shocked by the supposed Ghost King's ramblings. It was as if he forgot he had an audience. Don’t worry, Danny didn’t forget about his company.

His eyes shifted toward the hostages. Floating closer as he explained them.

Alright, so we got Batman, Nightwing, and

Holy shit

“Red hood?”

Danny gaped before jolting forward. “Dude I’m a huge fan.” Danny’s hand shot up grabbing the gag and ripping it off.

“Uh thanks,” Hood spoke after a moment of recovery. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to be untied.”

Danny frowned. “Yeah, in a sec. After I take care of the cultists and get you guys home.”

“Where are we.”

Danny shrugged. “Noneyah.”

“Kid I’m not falling for that.”

Danny's grin widened, revealing the fangs that were hidden. “Look at that Hoodie is too goodie for my jokes.” His grin quickly fell into a frown. “That rhyme sucked.”

“Ghost King.” The cultist seemed to get over his shock and stepped forward, book open. “I bind you to my w-”

Danny appeared in front of the man watching him startle. “Will.” Danny cackled before disappearing as if he never existed.

The silence extended from seconds into minutes before a scream erupted. One of the men was dangling from the air. His limbs flailing around as he attempted to fight back against whatever was fighting him.

Soon the terror grew even more so as a portal opened up where the man had been standing not too long ago.

“Wait! No!” It was too late, the man dropped disappearing into the hole.

The other cultists stared in shock before running. The temperature dropped horrifically, frost coating the ground as the shadows contorted in front of the cultists. Neon green eyes shone through the darkness, a shadow reaching out before the ground gave out underneath the rest of the cultists. Dropping them into an unknown destination.

At least unknown to the Bats.

Danny knew very well where he was sending these men, and the officers at Gotham PD would be very surprised at the random appearing cultists within a holding cell.

The shadows pulled back and Danny was there floating with a cocky grin on his face. His attention turning back to the Bats. “Let’s get yall home.”

He raised his hand. Ignoring the muffled protests of two. While Hood yelled wait. The portal opened under the three of them dropping them onto a rooftop. Danny poked his head through the portal, a sheepish look on his face, watching as the heroes rubbed their sore wrists.

“Sorry bout that. Cultists are a pain. Anyway, have a great day,” His attention went to the darkness of the city. “Er. Night. Have a great night.”

“Wait.” The dark knight, Batman grunted watching the confused look from Danny before he shook his head.

“Sorry, I’m not being batrrogated.”

Hood blinked as Danny laughed. “Interrogated, by the bat. Batrrogated.” Danny shook his head at the lack of response. “Must be in shock, that was a genius joke,” Danny muttered pulling his head out of the portal and watching it close.

The three masks stared up at him as it did so.

Danny shivered.

Wow, what a night.

Too bad he couldn’t use it as an excuse for why he was going to fail his test tomorrow.

[holdmybvbeer]

Since some of you had questions about this post, here's why the majority of the German fans refused to use the name "Die Mannschaft"

Oliver Bierhoff (national team manager at the time, later director and CEO of the national teams + academy), initiated the new nickname for marketing purposes. He wanted to establish some sort of brand name that he can sell internationally. He argued "We must have the courage to position the national team as a premium-product". And that didn't sit well at all with the fans, especially in times when fans were already criticising the increasing commercialisation of football. It made many fans feel like if the DFB sees our national team as a product, they must see us fans as nothing but customers. The new branding also came with some other not well-received marketing and commercial initiatives (not getting into the details here). And so the new brand name had become a symbol of the commercialisation of our national team and of how far the DFB had drifted away from the fanbase.

The new name also felt artificial and forced. It's not a nickname that was established organically, it wasn't something that started somewhere and was picked up by more or more people until it became their nickname. It was a name that was chosen by a few DFB managers only.

Because we don't really have a nickname for our team and simply refer to them as "the national team", the change to "the team" also meant axing the "national", which made a lot of german fans feel like they no longer represented our nation (after all, it's only socially acceptable to be proud of this country every 2 years - for the euros and the world cup, so this is kind of a big deal for some).

"Die Mannschaft" is also a rather meaningless name that literally translates to nothing more than "the team". There's no identification or actual connection to our national team (unlike the nicknames of other national teams that refer to their colours, crest or style, ... Les Bleus, Squadra Azzurra, The Three Lions, Red Devils, La Furia Roja, etc).

It's actually such a featureless and mundane term that it almost makes it unusable as a name in a german sentence. Anyone saying something like "the team is playing tonight", "the team didn't play well" or "I watched the team" would mostly be met with confusion ("what team?").

Some have even argued that the name is disrespectful towards other successful teams in Germany as "the team" could be somewhat implying the men's football national team is the only team that matters.

So yeah, there was a lot of controversy. The DFB had hoped that we would get used to the name and that criticism would die down over the years, but that didn't happen. So, after 7 years of most Germans refusing to use the brand name, the DFB realised that there was no point in keeping it and decided to drop it in 2022.

[zot3-flopped]

“Man, I don’t think I’ll ever be as famous as the Rock,” Mr. Kelce said.

His co-managers looked at each other. “We’re like, Yes, you can,” André Eanes said.

This was a year even the Rock might envy. Mr. Kelce, a tight end, won the Super Bowl (his second) in February. In March, he hosted “Saturday Night Live.” He’s starred in seven national television commercials. The podcast he co-hosts with his brother, Jason, is among the most popular on Spotify. He launched a clothing line with his team.

And he’s dating the world’s most famous pop singer. Perhaps you’ve heard.

The Chiefs have spent the last few years as the most unstoppable force in football and, along the way, Mr. Kelce’s other team has grown to include a creative strategist, a community outreach coordinator, a Los Angeles-based publicist, a personal chef and a trainer. He has four football agents, led by Mike Simon at VMG. In the spring, he also became a client of Creative Artists Agency to feed his budding acting itch.

The Eanes brothers coordinate it all, managing the surging flow of incoming traffic for a piece of Kelce Inc. Film scripts have been shared among the team. Game shows are a consideration. Maybe a few less commercials.

“People say to me, ‘Man, it’s been a crazy year,’” Aaron Eanes said. “When I say, ‘Actually, it’s not that crazy,’ people look at me funny. It’s because it’s easy when you have a plan. We’re executing that plan.”

But while Mr. Kelce’s shift into a more mainstream form of celebrity was planned out before he met Ms. Swift, there is no question that the doubling of his prospective audience — from mostly men between the ages of 18 and 49 to a far larger group bolstered heavily by Ms. Swift’s female fans of all ages — has changed the calculus for where the plan goes from here.

“The awareness of Travis is much larger and with an even broader audience,” said Richard Lovett, C.A.A.’s co-chairman. “It’s accelerated that which was probably inevitable in terms of his level of awareness and appeal.”

But nothing was being rushed, Aaron Eanes said. That’s not Mr. Kelce’s style. And Mr. Eanes had already been laying the groundwork for his client’s path to the A-list. Throughout 2022, Mr. Eanes had targeted endorsement deals with companies that were not traditional N.F.L. partners — like promoting vaccines for Pfizer, for instance, or a new debit card from Experian. The purpose was to build out Mr. Kelce’s résumé as a stand-alone pitchman, rather than yet another interchangeable player in a commercial for one of the N.F.L.’s partners, capitalizing on a foundation built by the league.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Stop talking (Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner)

I thought I had posted this ages ago (it’s been on ao3 since may) but turns out I didn’t

Part of @tobias-hankel ‘s 2022 whump spencer reid challenge

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, transphobia, physical assault, hurt spencer

Word count: 891

Spencer wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Or what had happened, rather. The local officers had disliked him from the get-go, Derek and Hotch had given them all a warning glare, and that seemed to have shut them up - at least for a day or so. Spencer could not wait to leave, to jump on to the next case. He knew it was selfish but couldn’t bring himself to care, not really.

The comments started whenever Spencer was on his own, calling him a freak here and there. Nothing Spencer hadn't heard before. It then escalated to them bumping into him wherever and whenever possible. Again, nothing Spencer hadn't become accustomed to. What got to him was not the pushes, the glares, the laughs, jeers, comments, none of these bothered him, no. It was, in fact, nothing to do with him that riled him up so much. It was their mocking. Not of him, though, no he could deal with that. It was the mocking of the victims. Of course, the most homophobic, bigoted officers had been put on his case, a case where LGBT individuals were being murdered. It was just their luck.

The team had tried to make sure that one of them was with Spencer, or near him at least, when the others had caught on the officers’ dislike of him. But that wasn’t always possible, and Spencer found himself dreading those moments - that seemed to be when the officers’ pounced.

The most recent victim was a transwoman, she seemed to be a lovely woman, kind hearted, thoughtful, Spencer had immense respect for her

“We all know he was really a he,” The deputy laughed, “Why should we listen and play along with their delusions? They’re crazy.”

“Funnily enough, recent studies have found that-” Spencer began.

“Don’t!” The deputy groaned, “Just stop. Stop talking.”

The other officers laughed loudly as Spencer’s cheek flushed. “He’s so cute when he blushed,” One of them mocked, causing the others to laugh even harder.

“You’re being extremely childish and prejudiced about this case,” Spencer said, “You know, quite a few people who are homophobic actually turn out homosexual, internalised homophobia is very real and some people might then outwardly say these beliefs,”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying that statistically speaking-”

The first punch caught Spencer off guard, unprepared, he fell to the floor, head smacking against the floor as he fell. He blinked, before he could register what had happened, another fist flew, hitting him yet again in the face. The others, jeering, joined in, adding a variety of kicks to his torso. Spencer curled into himself in an attempt to reduce the pain. He suspected that most of these officers play football. Spencer wasn’t sure exactly how long this had gone on before it was interrupted by a very angry Hotch and a furious Morgan (who had managed to get a punch in on the Deputy). Spencer stumbled up when the hits had stopped, Derek immediately rushing to his side, assessing his state. Hotch stayed back, glaring harshly at the officers, who did not dare to move under his gaze.

“Morgan, is Reid okay?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer mumbled, drawing his arm around his ribs.

“Morgan, go get the others,” Morgan nodded, not wanting to leave Spencer, but knowing full well that one of them had to get the rest of the team.

Spencer glued his eyes to the ground when Morgan came back with the others, embarrassed. Morgan stood next to him once again, and Spencer felt a little more relaxed at the small gesture.

Hotch turned to Spencer and Derek, “We need to report this to the Sheriff,” He stated, Morgan nodded eager to report the bastards that had hurt Spencer. Spencer, however, was reluctant but nodded slowly nonetheless.

“We need to report an assault,” The Sheriff’s head snapped up, seeing Hotch, Morgan, and Reid, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Who was involved in the assault?”

“Four of your officers and Doctor Reid,”

“What happened?” The Sheriff asked, folding his arms, looking at Spencer - who still held his arms close to his ribs in an attempt to reduce the pain.

“Your officers,” Hotch answered.

The sheriff scoffed, “And where is the evidence for your claim?”

“Are you serious?!” Morgan found himself exclaiming.

“Morgan,”

“Hotch, look at him!” Morgan motioned to Spencer, his cheek bruising, lip bleeding, blood smudged under his nose. “And he’s asking where the evidence is,”

“Morgan, I will ask you to leave the room if you don’t calm down,” Hotch said, his voice stern. Morgan sighed, but did as told. “Now, there are two options here, either you fire the four officers involved or I will arrest them for assaulting an FBI agent.”

“We should do both,” Morgan muttered quietly, Hotch sent him a look, causing him to sigh, “Come on Reid, let’s go get some coffee,”

Spencer nodded, following him out. “You okay?”

“‘M fine,” Derek rolled his eyes at the younger.

“Kid-”

“What?” Spencer sighed, looking at Derek, “I’m fine, yes this hurts, yes I’m in pain, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it now, so can we both just get on with it so it can be done with as soon as possible?”

Derek put his hands up in surrender, “Okay,” There was a small pause, “Wanna go get some ice cream?”

“Definitely,”

[skylermadness]

Something To Be Proud Of (Ragh Barkrock TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: May 4, 2022)

Original Description:

A work written in collaboration with two friends of mine. This TF also comes with a sequence drawn by ArticulatedArtisan. He also drew the art that is used as the picture in the cover. The sequence can be viewed here: DeviantArt / FurAffinity Another Dimension 20 TF, and one that has been a few months in the making. Ragh is a really great guy and honestly needed TF into him- so we're here to provide! Admittedly I dealt more with the drafting, so all of this is written by my friend as they handled editing. I've never really done a second-person POV TF before, but I feel like I could go all in and try writing one myself some day. It'll just take some work- I'm also really happy as to how Artisan's sequence came out. It is so good! Just about everything about it feels perfect. Overall, I'm glad that he was a part of this!

   You drew in a deep breath, steeling yourself, and pushed open the door.

   It didn’t stop the wave of high school sport odor from assaulting your nose with enough force to make the tacklers jealous, but you managed to keep from gagging. You really wished you were used to this already, being the team’s waterboy and all.

   Waterboy, Coach’s assistant, whatever- all it meant was that you had to suffer all the drawbacks, like staying after school for practice and having to deal with the gunk and smell of the football team locker room, and none of the benefits- such as, well, being on the team. The coach just put you to work, setting up the equipment for practice, getting fresh towels and water to be ready on hand, and just about anything else Coach or the players needed, but were apparently too wrapped up to handle themselves.

   To Coach’s credit, you didn’t think it was necessarily intentional on his part to put you through all this suffering with no perceived payoff. Back when you first approached him in his office near the beginning of the year, you had wanted to ask about joining the football team yourself. You’d long looked upon these cool, hot jocks around school, joking and jostling each other around, and wanted to play with them, or have an excuse to hang out with them at the very least- maybe you could even be one of the Boys someday, if you did. 

   But Coach had taken one look at you, with your scrawny, somewhat shorter than average form, and completely misinterpreted your approach as you volunteering for the assistant duties. And here you were now, having never moved from the position, because you never had the gut to correct him.

   It wasn’t great- but it could have been worse, surely. You probably wouldn’t have been actually good on the team, anyway.

   You did try your best to make the most of it, though. Being often in relatively close proximity with the jocks and players on the team, and using it as an excuse to talk to them or hang out, was sort of what you had been after the whole time- so you took the opportunities to say hi, and talk to them on occasion longer than a question or two relating to what mess you had to take care of next. Your assistant work more often than not actually cut you off from being able to stay talking for long and kept you busy, regrettably. Even when you did find the time to hang out for a little while, your heart sank, as the Boys were certainly friendly to you- but you never felt it reached the point where you felt you could call it you being friends.

   The raucous sounds of laughter and football practice and buddies and bros being bros in the distance cut quiet in an instant as the door leading back outside swung closed behind you, and you stepped further in.

   You were out on a mission, once again: one of the players, a tall, dark haired one that you wanted to talk with for longer, had forgotten his playing gloves somewhere, presumably left back in the locker room. Coach wouldn’t allow him to let up his reps to go grab them, so he needed to    ask you- and did sound apologetic, very clearly aware that it was something he could go do himself. It didn’t force down the light disappointment of being cut off from talking to and getting to know one of the Boys better for longer, but you did appreciate the sentiment.

   You made to breathe in and retched a little, very quickly wishing you had not let out that breath of fresh-ish outside air so carelessly. Sure, the Boys were generally nice to you and plenty of fun to hang around when you got the chance to, but you couldn’t say you were a fan of their… low-standard sanitary practices. Loose football gear left strewn about the room, over the benches and on the floor. Shoes and socks that anyone could recognize came from an extremely active high school athlete left out on the floor as well, their ripe odors wafting throughout the stale locker room air. Empty bottles of awful 3-in-1 shampoo littered around the showers, collecting near the shower drains, having long since been used or touched.

   Your stomach roiled again at the smell. At least you had somehow convinced them to put their dirty laundry away in the communal bin on their own.

   You hurried around the locker room, eager to find the gloves and escape back into fresh air as soon as you could. It was taking longer than you were hoping for, there was so much gear left sitting around to sift through- where were all the gloves? Half the players out there weren’t even in full gear, surely there’d be at least a few unused pairs that the Boy in need could at least borrow for the day…

   Frustration was beginning to set in. The smell was probably starting to get to you. You were considering calling it quits and apologizing to the Boy back outside for it, when you spotted them- a pair of gloves, haphazardly tossed onto the end of one of the benches. You hastily snatched them up and turned to hurry back out, having had enough of the locker room stink for now.

   Your eyes fell on your prize as you walked quickly, relief suddenly giving way to curiosity as you peered a little more closely at them. These gloves were a hardy brown, made of tough, thick cloth with the sleeves extending past where the wrists would usually end, instead running further up along the forearm than typically. The gloves were HUGE, too- you usually weren’t paying attention to the size of most players’ hands, but you could swear it felt like these gloves in particular could fit three of your own hands inside just one of them, and have space left over to spare. Over the palms and where the knuckleheads would be, were layers upon thick layers of wrappings- having likely once been white, but by now have long since faded and worn out to gray from frequent, rough use.

   Were these… really the gloves that player was talking about? You really couldn’t find any other gloves in the entire locker room, so they had to have been if the Boy was sure he left them in there. But then again- these didn’t look like football gloves in the slightest, and didn’t even have the team’s colors. They almost looked like they were instead gloves for shoving, pummeling, or crushing opponents in melee combat.

   Your vision swam as you blinked away from the sudden thought, feeling a bit dizzy. You were close to further questioning where the thought came from, before you toppled into something and tripped, landing embarrassingly splayed on the ground. Gathering yourself up and looking around to survey the damages, you groaned. Your worst fears had come back to haunt you- you had knocked into the community laundry bin hard enough to leave dirty, smelly athletic clothes strewn all over the floor in front of you. 

   And it was your job to pick it all up.

   You were reminded of the great pains you had taken to avoid having to handle the laundry by the intense, pungent odor wafting up from the scattered pile. You quickly swallowed the bile in your throat before it could rise any further, and grimaced.

   There was no way in hell you were touching any of it with your bare hands.

   Scooting backward, you clenched a hand and felt rough fabric brush against it. You almost ripped your hand away in the fear that you had already touched something from this awful mess, before you realized it was just the pair of huge gloves you had come in for.

   Glancing down at the gloves, an idea came to mind- one that you immediately felt guilty for thinking of. You could use the Boy’s gloves to pick up all the laundry, that was an option… but then again, you wouldn’t wish this smell on anyone- especially something the player would be wearing as soon as it was returned. The odor would be sure to linger on the gloves, and you weren’t keen on giving him a reason to dislike you.

   Although, since the smell came from the laundry bin, which in turn came from the players themselves, maybe they wouldn’t notice if you used these gloves for this, just for a little while…? Nodding slowly, having successfully convinced yourself, you stood up and reached for the gloves.

   This act of handling player gear wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for you- but something about holding them with the intent to wear them had you shivering a little. Not to be weird about it- but just before you put them on, you felt a sudden sense of… proximity? Like wearing these gloves brought you and the football players closer together, somehow. 

   And in a sense, it was, you laughed to yourself as you slipped the gloves on. This really was the first and probably only chance you’d ever get of seeing what being a jock would feel like.

   You felt a bit silly for being surprised when the gloves didn’t fit, once you had them on. Your hands were pretty average in size, while the tough-fabric gloves were big enough to completely dwarf your hands when you wore them. Your fingers weren’t long enough for the tips to reach the end of the gloves, and the palms were too broad for your hands to really fit your fingers into each respective holes- you ended up constantly bunching up the palms of the gloves in your hands to really get a real grip in order to hold anything with them. 

You withheld a sigh. The huge gloves were a bit annoying and uncomfortable to use, but they’d get the job done.

   You crouched down to get to work picking up the dirty laundry- and were almost immediately assaulted by that disgusting odor again. Athlete sweat and untreated B.O. mixed together in one atrocious concoction of stench, having left to fester in the laundry bin all week. You swore under your breath at the unrelenting attacks on your nose- but you steeled your resolve, and proceeded with picking up the clothing and putting them back in the bin.

   As you’d anticipated, the gloves felt awkward and cumbersome, the most efficient method of picking up the laundry really just consisting of you smashing your gloved hands together around a clump of clothes like the world’s worst sandwich, and depositing it into the now upright bin. You found your frustration dissipating, however, after a moment or two of picking up the mess- the need to constantly hold onto the gloves felt less and less, and you found yourself letting go of the bunches you had been gripping and letting them hang on your hands loosely. It only clicked when you tried smashing another clump of clothes between two gloved closed fists, and paused for an embarrasing three seconds, dumbfounded by the sensation of the motion, and why exactly it felt weird. You had the hang of these gloves now. Your face heated up a little, feeling a bit silly that you’d been picking up the clothes so strangely when you could have just picked them up and grabbed them with your gloved hands normally. The gloves didn’t feel like masses of rough cloth covering your hands, they just felt like gloves- why had you been so weird about it?

   Despite the worn gloves starting to feel a bit tight on your hands, you shook yourself a little to focus and pick up the pace. Now that that weird mental block keeping you from acting normal had cleared, you started picking up larger piles of laundry to put away, some so big your arms burned and threatened to buckle under the weight. You really weren’t expecting a workout when you came in looking for the gloves, but damn if you weren’t getting one right then and there. 

   You made to reach for a jockstrap that you thought for a moment was too far away- your arms burned- and you picked it up, without any trouble. You dropped it on top of the newest colossal load you had gathered, carrying and depositing it all into the bin without any noticeable strain on your arms. You stretched your arms high above your head as a quick rest, finding the feeling of stretching your muscles particularly pleasurable in that moment for a reason you could not pin down, and took a sniff. It was getting easier to breathe, the smell feeling less noticeable than before.

   But it wasn’t gone, and it was still BAD- you could swear it was actually clouding your vision, what with the tint of green your skin had taken when you looked down at your arms. Yeugh, better get this over with quick.

   The short sleeves of your t-shirt were already feeling tight, but that sensation had spread to your neck- and, hell, now that you were thinking of it it was everywhere else, too. It was probably the fatigue setting in, but with every breath you drew in the shirt felt smaller, like you’d put on a size medium you thought you could fit it that day but after the barest physical strain showed exactly how constricting it actually was and how dumb you were for thinking it could fit you. 

   A surge of power erupted from your solid, heavy core and rushed up to your burgeoning pecs pressing so desperately against your shirt, and you fought the sudden urge to wrestle it off of your body. This was the players’ locker room, not yours, and you didn’t have an extra change of clothes here to fall back on if you tore this shirt. 

   Another embarrassing five seconds passed before you realized something was wrong with that thought. Since when had you ever been worried about tearing your shirt? You wiped your sweating forehead with a gloved hand, and the sense of rough fabric dragging along your skin gave you pause. You brought your hands to your face to look closely, and saw two gloves fitting perfectly, if a bit tightly, on two massive, powerful, meaty mitts in the shape of hands.

   It took you a moment to realize, but these were not the hands you had walked into this locker room with.

   You looked down at your body, your brain working overtime trying its best to grasp the situation. You felt around your neck with your huge hands, and felt a short, thick, solid trunk of muscle there, which matched your deeper sounding breathing, you realized. Your scrawny chest and torso were expanding as you watched, the pecs and musculature growing and filling out first, before fat filled in after, greatly softening your pecs and pushing your stomach out into a solid, firm gut. You gave it the smallest of pokes, just to tell if it was real, and your shirt jumped at the chance to survive a moment longer by riding it up, letting your gut touch the open air. The sensations were there, of course, it was there and real and huge- and the skin was the same green as your thick, powerful arms, and deepening in hue by the second. You almost fell over, when your new gut shifted your center of gravity, but you managed to catch yourself and widen your stance accordingly. The things that felt right for your new body felt… really different from what you were used to. But… it was still your body, right?

   You bent down over the remaining laundry, getting back to work- something that you didn’t have to think too hard about, and that was something you needed. Your poor brain felt sluggish, too tired to really understand the changes as they continued. You picked up more dirty clothes, now almost completely oblivious to the lingering smell that you vaguely remembered was still there. You distantly registered the sound of your shirt finally tearing from the strain, and the itch of chest hair pushing out in a smattering across your chest and down your gut. Just a few more rounds, you were sure you’d be finished… with the laundry. Finished with the laundry.

   The lump in your throat grew larger, and your ragged breaths sounded even deeper- even gutteral, a little. Something about your face was tingling, changing, as the changes rose even further up your body. Your head split into a headache from how fast you wanted it to go, you didn’t want to be left behind with everything happening so much. You realized all of a sudden that your face was wrong and out of place it was hurting your brain because of it- then your skull shifted, the bone thickening and squaring off into something tough and not really human, but your lower jaw pushed forward and locked into place and everything felt right again. It felt good, and it really felt good too when two of your lower teeth grew longer and sharper, into the proud tusks of a young adult half-orc poking out of your mouth. 

   The ground grew further away from you as your brain struggled to work things out. Some things were starting to make more sense, and some things were making less and less sense to you- so much so that it hurt to try to think of them now with everything else happening. Instead of trying to think about why it was all happening and why it was- or wasn’t- possible, you focused instead on your legs, as they were up next. They grew longer and thicker, powerful logs of mass you’d forged yourself from pouring countless hours on the Bloodrush field, to be able to carry the mountain of mass and meat you were wherever you needed to go. Even despite the splitting pain cracking your head, you couldn’t help the surge of pride or keep yourself from grinning like an idiot at the thought. 

   Your shorts were barely holding together, looking so small and much shorter on your legs than before, but why? Gears chugged along in your brain and it made the connection- right, your legs were growing, weren’t they? A bit dizzliy, your brain kept flip-flopping between watching the changes in excitement and accepting your new normal. You felt a thrill heave in your throat at feeling your now-tiny shorts ride up your legs and the seat of your pants filling out and pushing up against the shorts, like a bike tire you’d pumped too quickly and was about to pop. Everything was different, but you weren’t scared.

   Why would you be scared? These changes were amazing.

   Why would you be scared? This was just your body, nothing new- but still fuckin’ great.

   You heaved another mountain of dirty clothes into the bin, and clapped your huge gloved hands together once, eyeing the remaining stragglers. One more round.

   Each step you take feels like pounding, stomping on the floor without meaning to. Your footsteps sound heavy, and your feet feel way too tight to feel good. Like you put on the wrong size shoes, these ones way too small… which would be something your dumb fuckin’ ass would mix up, wouldn’t it? Putting on the wrong shoes and not realizing through the whole school day… your powerful lungs let out a gusty disappointed sigh. Typical.

   Your tiny, wrong shoes seemed to think so, too- and with a shrrrrp of cloth, your heavy green feet finally had space to breathe. You tried to kick as much of it off your feet as you can, and turn back to the laundry- y’know, channeling your shit into something productive instead of wasting time being fucking useless.

   Your stomach turned as you bent down to scoop the rest up. It’s… hard not to feel like that, like an idiot who could never get your act together. Struggling in school, making all these dumb decisions, always blowing your top and letting your rage get the better of you… it’s no wonder you could never make the… make the team…

   You stood back up, and the surge of something throughout your body followed by the loud SHRRRRPing of shirt and shorts got you out of your head. You tripped backwards into the line of lockers behind you in surprise, distantly feeling the dented metal under your arms. Your brain registered the tight pressure disappear and what was left of your clothes hanging off your powerful frame, and finally began to catch up with your body. 

   You started to realize and finally understand, just so much has changed about you- and while it’s hard to put them together, all the pieces were there.

   The reason you were wobbling and feeling so unsteady on your feet was because your center of gravity was different from what you were used to. The reason you dented the lockers this badly from punching and elbowing them when you tripped was because you didn’t know your own strength- literally. The reason why your clothes fucking hurt so much and were too fucking small wasn’t because you wore small clothes and put on tiny shoes this morning like a dumbass- because you’re not dumb, yeah you know you’re not smart like the wizards or artificers or whatever, but you’re not dumb- it’s because your body is different! You put on smaller clothes that morning because you were smaller!

   Your thick brow furrowed and your face scrunched up as you mulled it over, as you became more and more sure in yourself. You rubbed your chin with a gloved hand, feeling the coarse stubble smattered across your chin, while you were lost in thought- unflinching despite the rank odor clinging to the gloves after handling dirty sports laundry for like, gotta be more than ten rounds by now. Honestly, you were losing track.

   "Wait- shit, I need to get changed." You blurted out the thought as it bubbled up in your mind, without bothering to think about it first- like the gap between your thoughts and your tusked mouth was getting smaller.

   As soon as that clicked, you felt fabric rustling and moving as it stretched to wrap around your much larger body, covering everything up. The bulging and straining shorts grew down your legs and darkened to blue and hardened into weathered denim, not without its scuffs and tears but still a good, solid pair of jeans. Finally the right size and not feeling like your legs were being choked out, a belt slithered around your waist to complete the look. 

   Your socks and shoes repaired themselves too- the fabric of your socks worn and holey, standing no chance against your massive orc feet, and your shoes concealing the rest of it from view, cutting off the stench suddenly wafting up from them, too. 

   You involuntarily wrinkled your nose, but it honestly didn't smell that bad. Not really any of this did, anymore.

   Your shoes finished off with a splash of red that quickly weathered and darkened from wear- whatever Mending spell was fixing your clothes didn't seem to be able to fix that part of it, turned out. But you didn’t mind, you began to smirk a little as you waggled your now warm feet in a good 17 and a half size pair of sneakers. A perfect fit, for the pair of stompers you’re packin’.

   But the main event was just getting started- you rolled your broad shoulders and thick, muscled neck in anticipation. You could feel it, your brain following the patterns as it sensed the scraps that used to be your shirt shiftin' around, and making the connections. Your shirt was next.

   The cloth rushed around your body, turning stiff and thick as it repaired itself into a shirt sized much, much larger than the size medium tee you had on that morning. The sleeves stretched long and smoothed out into soft white that felt good on your bare arms underneath, topping off with striped cuffs hugging your wrists and sneaking inside the sleeves of your gloves. You couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction cross your face as you flexed, feeling even these large sleeves strain to contain the solid blocks of jockish muscle and mass your arms had pumped out.

   Your eyes followed the middle of your shirt split as buttons popped out into view, suddenly becoming the things holding your shirt together over your bulky chest and gut. The shirt neck pushed up further over your skin- well, more jacket neck than shirt, really. And that meant it made sense that the soft, striped thing around your neck was probably a collar, jackets had those.

   A rich red color washed over the rest of your jacket, over your torso, filling out between the white stripes on your wrists and collar. A bright red that your heart leapt in pride for, even though you didn't recognize it yet- or at least, your head didn't. Your body processing things and acting on them faster than your brain could was becoming a habit, at this point.

   But even at its snail's pace, it was still chugging along- and the pieces were coming together into something that had you excited. With a duly stretched out tank top appearing just underneath, you were wearing a letterman jacket- just like the kind the jocks wore. Laying a hand on your letterman and feeling the hard, solid mass bulging underneath, it wasn't hard to put two and two… er, maybe one and one together, and realize- you'd fit right in with the team, and maybe Coach would finally take you seriously about wanting to make the Bloodrush team. A brown letter "A" stitched itself onto your letterman's breast, like the jacket itself was in full support.

   You didn't think that the team you wanted to join started with an A- or your school, either- but you brain managed to squeeze out the name "Aguefort", and your body relaxed, as if that explained everything. Your chest swelled up again, almost overwhelmed with the pride and team spirit just thinking that name filled you with.

   You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Augh, gods, you really needed to let your brain catch up again. The idea that your tiny fit had just changed into something larger and tougher and more comfortable, was fucking with your mind. Like, you never had the smarts to really get into casting classes, but this wasn't even something you had thought someone could do with magic. Man, maybe you should try taking a spellcasting class or something, see if you could pick anything up before the school year ended- that is, if magic was… real… wait, that didn't sound right…

   You let out a deep, involuntary grunt as a headache pounded through your skull, just behind your eyes, and threatened to knock you off balance. You managed to steady yourself in time, quickly grabbing onto things for support, and your gaze fell onto your gloved hand.

   Once stable, you brought a massive mitt of a hand in front of your face. You snapped it shut into a huge, meaty fist, feeling the powerful grip in your long, thick fingers, and the tough material wrapped around it tight, and then relaxed your hand. The gloves fit perfectly. Everything fit perfectly.

   Everything fit perfectly on your body- holy shit, this was your body now, wasn't it? Your head jerked around, trying to get the best view of the huge orcish form you had found yourself in as you could. No way the Boys on the team wouldn't be jealous as FUCK of your sick gains. And damn, didn't you agree. There was this Pride pushing up in your chest, too- like you deserved a bod with this power and magnitude. Like after all the hard work you put into getting here, training and working out and putting on mass like crazy, there was no way you were going to get a body different from the one you wanted- this one.

   But even as proud of yourself you were, and how pumped and ready to RUMBLE you knew this body was, it…

   Your spirits fell. It still didn't feel like you were one of them. One of the Boys, the Jocks, even with your new varsity jacket, or your huge, jockish body. You weren't part of the team, you were just the… the, uh… well, you just worked there. Picking up nasty laundry. And there was a sinking feeling, that a part of you knew to be true, that told you that's the way it'd always be, wouldn't it.

   You looked over to the stuffed laundry bin, having finished picking everything up, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel happy about it. You sat down on the bench with a gusty sigh, and looked down at your open hands again, huge and strong enough to crush rocks. 

   All that potential, gone to waste from not being put to use on the team, just felt so crushing. 

   You'd be fuckin' great at it, too, you were sure.

   Your fists tighten, open palms snapped shut into that powerful grip. YEAH you'd be fuckin' great at it, you could probably take every game home by yourself if you had to, even without the rest of the team you'd be playing with backing you up! What was Coach thinking, not letting what had the potential be a star Bloodrush player onto the team? Was he out of his MIND?

   You were onto something, it hit you. You stood up from the bench, creaking in relief as your weight lifted off of it, and you began to pace back and forth to give your brain the time it needed to catch up, almost knocking over the laundry bin again. Why wouldn't Coach just let you join? Your face twisted as frustration and borderline rage bubbled up, trying to push past the ache in your head and think a complete sentence for once. Fuck, this train of thought hurt so much it was almost worse than biting glass on accident again.

   In an instant, your head snapped to attention and your eyes darted around the room, suddenly remembering the danger at hand. Glass could be anywhere, and you wouldn't even know if you were about to bite some- it was literally invisible! Your gloved mitt of a hand clapped over your mouth just to be safe, your orcish nose having almost fully tuned out the musky laundry smell the gloves still carried. 

   Your eyes landed on the locker room mirror. That had glass in it- at least, uh, you were pretty sure it did- but it was stuck to the wall, so it was probably fine. Mirror glass was probably different from regular glass, anyway, since it wasn't invisible. 

  You nodded to yourself, relaxing and feeling safer, when your eyes caught on your own reflection next.

   You slowly stepped over to the mirror, the tension of danger all but forgotten as you took in the half-orc standing there, facing you. Now that it was allowed to work on its own time, your brain was finally starting to catch up with your earlier thoughts- just in time for the final changes to make their way up your face.

   You wanted more than anything to join the team, and were probably one of the students at the Adventuring Academy most equipped to be really, REALLY good at it.

   You lowered your gloved hand away from your mouth to reveal it growing, bulking even further, squaring off into a strong, masculine jaw, skin as green as the field turf, with two thick, orcish tusks jutting up proudly from your lower jaw.

   Coach would be crazy to not let someone join the team if he thought they could help them win and play better, and Coach wasn't that crazy. Evil alignment didn't mean crazy, obviously.

   Your eyes clouded over and the colors went inverse as your vision adjusted to naturally see in darkness better, white piercing pupils in pits of black sclera. Your nose and ears grew in turn, ears a bit longer and tapering off into points, and nose wider to fit your orcish face better.

   But even though Coach was Evil- better than the last coach, anyway, Pit Fiend evil didn't turn your stomach as much as abusive homophobic evil did- he wouldn't force someone into playing for the team if they didn't want to. He was nice like that, you knew.

   And then your hair, from the roots up was darkening to a deep, dark green, so dark it was almost black. It swept back into a wilder, slightly unkempt hairstyle over thicker looking side fades, like you'd let it grow out a little after a while without a haircut.

   That meant Coach must not have known how much you wanted to play, even though it was obvious how good you'd be for the team. But why, then? How the hell could he not know? Something wasn't adding up, you realized.

   You took in the tough, proud face of the half orc reflecting back at you in the mirror. It was solid and imposing, but there was a softness to your expression, too- like it was getting more comfortable in wearing things that weren't a scowl or a snarl contorted in rage. The muscles and fat set in your massive jaw rolled at the even the smallest movement, and the whole jaw was sent shifting from the tiny clenches you made with your mouth as you thought. It was still hard to believe that this all only just happened, and you were so different a few rounds ago. The thought of a scrawnier human figure with a much thinner frame floated past behind your now dark orcish eyes, and all at once it hit you.

   Coach didn't know you wanted to play because you never told him you did!

   You clapped a gloved hand to your forehead in understanding as your brain finally made the connection. You remembered first visiting Coach back when you looked like a human, and you hadn't had the nuts to tell him you wanted to join the team- and THAT'S why you'd been stuck as the waterboy ever since!

   Sizing up the massive, half-orc jock reflecting back at you, already wearing the team's varsity jacket, you couldn't help your face splitting into a grinning smirk. That version of yourself felt so far away from you now, as the confidence of a half-orc AND a jock- who was not only centered and assured of who he was, but deeply and unwaveringly PROUD of who he was as a whole person- surged through you, your heart thrumming and shocking your back upright into better posture, only adding to your height even more. Looking how you did, with the huge new body and all, you wouldn't have trouble getting Coach to let you join the team now, that's for fuckin' sure. You even got a letterman of your own already, too! You turn around with your head craned to get a good look at the back of your letterman in the mirror. It'd be easier to just take it off and look at it there- but nah, no way you're taking this thing off anytime soon.

   Even with the added effort of having to read words backwards like that in the mirror, your heart leapt in pride and already knew what the big block letters spelled over the piercing gaze of a snarling owlbear.

   "BARKROCK."

   Your heart already knew, deep down, but now your brain clicked, too. That was- that was your last name. Your last name, Barkrock! Well- it wasn't before, but like- it felt good to hear it. And it definitely fit the kind of person you were now, and maybe it'd be good to sort of start over again with the Coach anyway, too? You weren't sure how you'd explain it all anyway, so just pretending you were a totally different person would be easier, even though you were still the same but you'd just changed a little. Well, a lot. 

   So yeah, you'll keep the name, no sweat. You could probably pass as a foreign exchange student, probably.

   You turned away from the reflection, and headed out the locker room door back outside to the field. You were PUMPED again and ready to go, feeling it in every part of your body- first steps into the new life laid out ahead of you.

   It was a beautiful, clear day with a few clouds about, and you almost didn't realize how different the field and bleachers looked from how they used to, with how familiar everything felt to you at the same time. It was a bit hard to remember what colors the uniforms of the teams on the field had been before, but the red and white they sported now- just like your letterman- felt right, y'know?

   You spotted the team on the field, and were about to call them over and ask them where Coach was- you had a lot to talk about- when one of them spotted you first and waved you over.

   "RAGH, my guy! Where you been, dude?"

   The gap between your thoughts and your mouth was too small to realize the jock had just called you by a name you were pretty sure wasn't yours before you were already hustling over, grinning like an idiot, huge tusks out and proud for all to see.

   "I'm comin', dude, I'm comin'!"

   And you hustled down the field to meet him and all the others, the fat and muscle of your beefy body bouncing up and down in a way that felt so real, so right, so familiar as muscle memory of your favorite sport seared its way into your body. You were a Bloodrush player, through and through- your heart knew that, your head knew that, and now your body knew that, too, which sealed the deal. 

   FUCK that felt good.

   The other players had headed to the benches, taking a quick water break before heading back out to practice. You saw the other players already had their waters and everything, and THAT got you grinning to yourself. You'd never be stuck as Coach's assistant again- at least, not in the way you used to. The faces of the other jocks lighting up when you arrived, and the growing familiarity you had with each of their faces and then names and then who they were and what they liked, told you that. 

   You were also pretty sure that some of the Boys here had changed too, like you did, with pointed ears or flaming hair or fuller beards where you didn't expect, but you didn't care about that, didn't you. This was the team you knew, and that was what mattered.

   The player who called you over clapped you on the back, getting your head in the game with a jump.

   "Jeez, Ragh, you took your time," he laughed, elbowing you in the ribs, sending something fluttering in your chest- something that you knew what it was but you decided you were fine with not following- for now, at least. You were at practice, not prom. "Your gloves that hard to find? Dude, we need you for practice!"

   You glanced down at your rough, worn gloves that’d been with you for ages. You could barely remember what that player who sent you in to grab them in the first place looked like, and looking around at your team and best friends at the Academy, you didn’t recognize anyone that might have used to be him among the humanoids there… almost like he was never there at all. Your head was starting to hurt again- feeling sluggish like it was running on empty when you tried to think about it further, and you made a decision. 

   You held the memory close for a moment, of that nameless player who gave you this chance thanks to his gloves- your gloves- thanked it, and then let it go. Your head felt clearer in an instant, and you shook away the headache, feeling yourself settle back into being comfortable with your friends.

   “Sorry dude, knocked over the laundry bin in there and had to clean up. And fuck, dude, I swear- it took me like, what, 15 rounds to pick it all up. There was so. much. shit in there.” 

   Everything fell into place so easily, the rhythm you had with your friends felt so natural, it really did feel like you’d known these guys and played on the same Bloodrush team for years at this point- which, as far as everyone else was aware, you had. And damn, when you weren’t thinking too hard about how different everything was, it just about had you convinced, too.

   “And honestly? Dude-dude-dude-dude, dudes, can I be real with you?” You directed it to the rest of the team, this time. “Y’all fuckin’ smell, dude.”

   A firbolg teammate in the back called out, “It’s just the musk, dude-”

   “Dude, no, I know the musk. I know the musk, dude, and that laundry bin was like- BAD, dude, even for me. Holy shit. Like, take a fuckin’ shower, guys!”

   Sitting back, laughing and joking with your team for the rest of the water break- you were one of the Boys, one of the jocks. 

   Just like you’d always wanted. 

   Just like you’d always been. 

   Your head wanted to pick one of those over the other to be right so bad, but your heart knew they were both true.

   You stood up, stretching. “Alright, back to practice. I got the scrimmage drills.”

   That confidence, that pride you exuded that kicked your teammates into gear stirred in you something fierce- and hot damn if you weren't fierce- but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. That sort of authority came with you being the most senior member on the team- even though you weren't the team captain or QB, you knew all the drills, all the exercises, probably even better than Coach did, so you could pretty much run practice on your own when Coach Gorthalax got stuck in a ruby again or something. Getting held back a year or two was crushing back then, but did have its good side, you guessed. You were so familiar with the Bloodrush training stuff from playing year after year, you could probably become a Coach yourself eventually, if you didn't land a job as a star Bloodrush player or bodyguard or something.

   It took for when your teammates lined up for the scrimmage play for it to really hit you- you realized the future you had ahead of you. Before, you'd just been a scrawny human without real friends who could never speak your mind, and now you were a huge half-orc jock who had a team of friends and was proud of who you were. That went to the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, too- training teens and high schoolers in magical or fighting stuff to become adventurers and heroes, or at least learn whatever the fuck Principal Aguefort wanted them to take out of all this- a far cry from the boring ass school you used to go to. You had career options you'd never even heard of lined up ahead of you since you're close to graduating. 

   Fuck, you're close to graduating, too, huh… yeah, that was right, ever since that adventuring party of bad kids you became friends with invited you on a quest and finished it with them, you were on your way to graduation. Fuck, dude, that was something you hadn't though about for a long while, afraid you'd just get pulled back again. Getting through all your identity junk thanks to the school's guidance counselor Jawbone probably helped with that, too, being honest.

   More and more memories of being Ragh Barkrock, the half-orc jock who got your whole life turned around after getting your ass handed to you by the Bad Kids and then meeting with Jawbone to work your personal shit out kept filling your head in that moment- and honestly, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more in that moment. You felt solid, grounded. You knew for sure in your big, thumping, orc heart, of who you wanted to- no, who you were PROUD to be.

   The Bloodrush captain called the play, clear and sharp that cut through your mind like a greataxe through warm cheese, and your body instinctively sprang into action alongside your friends, your teammates. You grit your tusks and teeth, and called up that white hot feeling- in an instant your head, heart, and body finally all in sync. Not so much thinking of anything, or even really being able to think anything other than being laser focused on the play at hand that you knew by heart. 

   You thundered forward, letting loose a snarl and calling up that white-hot rage as you charged the poor humanoid player opposite to you, squeezing the last few thoughts through your head before going blank.

   Your name is Ragh Barkrock, and you're damn proud of that.

[tartt9]

who is jamie fucking tartt, anyways? // a guide to the public's knowledge on richmond's #9, divided into three sections: non-football watcher, casual watcher, football fan

for the non-football watcher //

• you'd probably know of jamie as a footballer the way people would know of haaland or kane or saka. he's not beckham-level famous [ yet ] but he is a big deal in english football and very talented • if you're a reality tv watcher, your primary exposure to jamie would be his stint on the uk's number one show, lust conquers all. on lust, jamie very much played up a prick attitude, very much the smug sort of guy who knows he's sexy and will talk about it. he cheated on amy [ who he'd proposed to in a bathroom ] with denise by having jacuzzi sex, leading to his elimination from the show. • if you're from manchester, there's drama around him - he left man city two weeks into the 2020-21 season to do lust conquers all. united fans already disliked him, but jamie's abandonment of city led to pretty widespread dislike of him in his hometown. • if nothing else, if you find yourself around richmond with no knowledge of the team/jamie, he's loud, bubbly, bright - a very different person than he was on lust conquers all. you might see him kicking a ball around with kids on the richmond green, or chasing around a dog to wear it down for their owner, or training with roy kent [ who is a beckham-level big deal. you would know of roy kent ] and talking his ear off while he does names you'd know - roy kent [ current richmond manager, very fucking famous ], zava [ formerly of many teams, a striker, very fucking famous. played in america his last season (2022-23), with lafc ].

casual football watcher //

everything up ^^ there, plus... • jamie tartt is richmond's #9. he played striker while on loan with richmond in 2019-20 and is now a midfielder. he's from manchester and grew up in the manchester city academy system, making his premier league debut young. he plays for england and has begun to make himself a regular in the three lions' xi. • he played under pep guardiola for multiple years, and was a part of the premier league winning teams in 2017-18 and 2018-19. • he left manchester city to do lust conquers all, and was not welcome back to city. he rejoined the world of football with richmond while they were in the championship. they earned their promotion that season and returned to the premier league. • they were not expected to do well in the premier league, but after a shift of strategy after zava's departure from the club in 2021, richmond ended the season on a long win streak to finish second in the premier league, qualifying for richmond's first-ever run in the champions league. • jamie has won premier league player of the month twice and goal of the month three times. • jamie's got something going on with roy kent. he never fails to lavish praise on his manager when he's given the opportunity, despite kent's stubborn demeanor. • if you're an american, you may know ted lasso, richmond's former manager. he went viral for dancing in the locker room after leading his division ii wichita state shockers to the d2 championship game and winning the division ‎‎‎• ‎‎subnote to that^^ even more intense d1 college football watchers would probably only know him as the meme. d2 college football is not widely consumed in america - i'm an avid cfb watcher, and i couldn't tell you without googling who won d2 last year. names you'd know - sam obisanya [ richmond midfielder & nigeria international ] // isaac mcadoo [ richmond captain & centre back ] // dani rojas [ richmond striker & mexico international ]

football fan //

everything up there ^^ plus... • jamie has a lifelong hatred of manchester united. he will play harder in those matches, and he scored a hat trick against them at richmond in early 2023. • jamie grew up on a council estate, and was recruited for man city's academy when he was 8, starting with them when he was 9. • jamie wore 51 at city for all of the years he played there. • jamie's city senior debut was in 2015, when he was 17 years old, and he played with them from 2015 through 2020, when he left to do lust conquers all. • jamie was loaned to afc richmond for the 2019-20 season, where he made a name for himself. his chant is sung to the tune of baby shark. he scored 11 goals for richmond, keeping them solidly mid-table, until ted lasso's arrival. • his loan was cut short in february 2020, and he returned to city to play the rest of the season with his home club. • richmond was relegated to the championship after the 2019-20 season when jamie made an assist in stoppage time with man city to end the match 2-1, city. • jamie's return to richmond was not without controversy - he was hotheaded and kept the ball more often than he passed it while he was on loan. his relationship with his teammates was tumultuous at best, downright bad at worst. on the first match day of his return, afc richmond mounted a protest against their main sponsor, dubaiair. richmond lost that match, leading to the end of an 8-week tie streak. • jamie has publicly been very supportive of his teammates since then, especially in more recent years. he frequently ends games with an assist or more to his name, and is widely regarded as the central cog of richmond's team. • jamie wears 24 when he isn't starting for england, a tribute to sam obisanya. • jamie grew up a roy kent fan, and many of his plays mimic roy's from roy's prime. • jamie's england debut was in 2022, at age 24. • jamie is transitioning into playing more midfield for england, though their gaffer has commented in the past that jamie 'doesn't have the skillset to play centrally for england'. when in the xi, jamie typically wears the 7 or 8, though he has worn the 11 a handful of times, too - showing his dynamic ability to play just about any spot on the pitch. • as of october 2023, jamie has three assists and one goal for england, and is on the hunt for more. • jamie is a player with a mind for the game unlike most others', regularly seeing the game two to three passes ahead of where it is. he can play box-to-box incredibly efficiently, and has saved more than one goal from going in. he's a hard worker and always seems to be enjoying himself on the pitch during hard-fought games, though he has been publicly dismayed at hard losses before, such as a 5-0 loss to city in the fa cup semifinal in 2021. • he has a summer football camp in manchester named after him that he sponsors, providing free boots, shin guards, and other equipment to the kids who grew up like he did, without many resources but with a love of the game, and helps them get in front of academy recruiters. jamie is frequently seen training with these kids during his summer break. • as of present day, it's public record that jamie donates money to domestic violence, sexual abuse, and women's charities, as well as the nhs names you'd know - ted lasso [ former richmond gaffer ] // nathan shelley [ former west ham gaffer, current richmond assistant ] // the rest of richmond's regular starting xi, listed on my carrd // paddy o'gara [ former manchester city centre back, a mentor of jamie's ]

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Rob McElhenney & Ryan Reynolds: 1 - Meghan Markle: 0 by u/Chasmosaur

Rob McElhenney & Ryan Reynolds: 1 - Meghan Markle: 0 As part of QEII's Platinum Jubilee Civic Honors in 2022, Wrexham, Wales was granted city status by QEII. [wales.com] In honor of that, KCIII and QC visited Wrexham in early December, 2022, which included a visit with football (soccer) club Wrexham AFC.If you aren't aware, actors Rob McElhenney - one of the creators and stars of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" - and Ryan Reynolds - aka, Deadpool; owner of Aviation Gin, Mint Mobile, two marketing companies; and a million viral clips - jointly bought Wrexham AFC in 2020. You can follow their story - including how the team is wound into the identity and economy of the town - on the FX/Disney+ TV show, "Welcome to Wrexham." KCIII and QC toured several parts of Wrexham, but the most publicized part of their visit was when they visited the Wrexham Racecourse, the stadium where Wrexham AFC plays and where the business offices are located. They toured the stadium and also met with McElhenney and Reynolds, the team players, management staff, as well as the many volunteers that help support the club in day-to-day operations.So, did McElhenney and Reynolds sit back on their Hollywood charm and assume they could have a meeting with the King of the United Kingdom and his Queen Consort (as she was still called at that point) without any preparation? Nope - they hired an Etiquette Coach to make sure they greeted and interacted KCIII and QC without embarrassment. They briefly covered those etiquette coach meetings on the Season 2 premiere, which aired yesterday - here's a preview clip from the show's IG account:https://ift.tt/2oYUgiE [Instagram, Official "Welcome to Wrexham"]Now compare this to many self-documented efforts of Meghan Markle - whether they are true or apocryphal is really known to those who experienced them - meeting various members of the BRF. The standout encounters being the OTT bow to QEII she demonstrated in Harry & Meghan, and supposedly meeting the Cambridges for the first time while barefoot, wearing ripped jeans, and giving many "jarring" hugs. 🙄 (And speaking of those ripped jeans - both McElhenney and Reynolds wore well-fitted, camera-ready suits for their meeting! https://twitter.com/Wrexham_AFC/status/1601210048939687937 [Twitter, Wrexham AFC] )Also, it should be noted that while neither McElhenney or Reynolds graduated from college (they both enrolled and dropped out to act), Meghan Markle famously graduated with a double major in Theater and International Studies from Northwestern University. She also attended that brief internship at the American Embassy in Buenos Aires and attempted the FSO exam. (It has a very high failure rate, so I actually don't read much into the fact she didn't pass it, other than it's obvious she doesn't really understand how to behave like a diplomat, so it's unsurprising.)So two smart and successful actors with no specialized academic or job training knew that they needed to prepare for the particular rituals of meeting British royalty on a royal visit. But the actress who married into the BRF and has supposedly taken classes in how to deal with international cultures with aspirations to joining the diplomatic corps doesn't appear to have done any research at all for meeting her future family members. So that tracks... post link: https://ift.tt/4pTAEqb author: Chasmosaur submitted: September 14, 2023 at 08:21PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[calciopics]

14 famous footballers' sons looking to make it big

Want to feel old? The offspring of players that seemingly retired only yesterday are taking their first steps in the game

Poor Alfe-Inge Haaland. A competent Premier League player who won 34 caps for Norway is now most famous for being the dad of Erling.

The Manchester City striker has already had a better career than his dad, with all due respect to the former City, Leeds and Nottingham Forest midfielder. But what about other sons of famous footballers?

Here are 14 players aged 21 or under looking to follow in their fathers’ footsteps…

Etienne Eto'o

One of the greatest African footballers of all time, Samuel Eto'o enjoyed a magnificent career with the likes of Real Mallorca, Barcelona and Inter (Everton, less so).

Two of his brothers, David and Etienne, are also footballers, and Samuel has a son who is now taking his first steps in the game. Etienne Eto'o had a trial with Benfica in 2021, before signing his first professional deal with fellow Portuguese side Vitoria de Guimaraes this year.

Khephren Thuram

A World Cup, European Championship and UEFA Cup winner during his playing days, Lilian Thuram is France’s all-time record appearance maker with 142 caps. His first son Marcus clearly inherited dad’s talent: the Borussia Monchengladbach forward has an outside chance of being included in Didier Deschamps’ squad for Qatar.

Just over three years younger than Marcus, Khephren Thuram is a regular for France’s Under-21s. Born in Italy while Lilian was playing for Parma, Khephren is a key part of Lucien Favre’s Nice team.

Isaac Drogba

A Chelsea legend who won virtually everything there is to win at Stamford Bridge, Didier Drogba is widely regarded as one of the greatest strikers in Premier League history.

His son, Isaac, was part of Chelsea’s youth setup until 2018, when he joined French outfit Guingamp. The centre-forward spent a few months with Caratese in the Italian lower leagues last year, and is now turning out for Portuguese side Coimbra.

Harvey Neville

When Phil Neville joined Valencia as a coach in 2015, he brought his son Harvey with him. The youngster, who like his dad can play at full-back or in midfield, later spent three years on Manchester United’s books.

Neville Jr. again followed his dad to Inter Miami in 2021. After 18 appearances for the club’s second team, the 20-year-old was brought into the senior squad for the 2022 campaign.

Romeo Beckham

Playing his trade alongside Neville at Inter Miami is a man with an even more famous dad. Romeo, the second of David Beckham’s three sons, once spent a few months on the books of Arsenal, and he is now playing for the MLS club’s second team.

Inter Miami, of course, are part-owned by the former England captain. Romeo may one day feel the need to escape from his father’s considerable shadow.

Theo Zidane

One of the most significant figures in the history of Real Madrid, Zinedine Zidane will always be associated with the Blancos more than any other club. And although he stepped down from his role as Madrid manager in 2021, the Zidane clan still has representation at the Bernabeu.

That is courtesy of Theo, a promising midfielder who plays for Real Madrid Castilla. His two older brothers are professional footballers too: fellow midfielder Enzo is at Fuenlabrada and Luca is a goalkeeper for Eibar.

Andri Gudjohnsen

Papa Eidur Gudjohnsen is familiar to football fans from his successful spells at Bolton, Chelsea and Barcelona, plus short stints at Tottenham, Stoke and Fulham. But he hails from proper football stock: his own dad was an Icelandic international, too – Eidur made his debut as a substitute for Arnor in 1996 – and his brother came up through Swansea’s youth system.

Now he has three sons in the sport as well. Eldest Sveinn Aron plays for IF Elfsborg, youngest Daniel Tristan is in Malmo’s academy, while middle child Andri Lucas is a striker currently plying his trade at IFK Norrkoping in Sweden. He spent time in both Barcelona and Real Madrid’s youth setups, even making the senior squad for Real Madrid’s Champions League campaign in 2021.

Aged 20, Andri has 12 caps for Iceland and two goals to his name.

James Carragher

A boyhood Everton fan, Jamie Carragher became a Liverpool legend during a one-club career which saw him play 737 times for the Reds. His son James spent six years in the club’s academy but was let go in 2017.

Picked up by Wigan, Carragher Jr. made his professional debut for the Latics in August 2021. A 6ft 4in centre-back, the 20-year-old is currently on loan at Oldham in the National League.

Gio Reyna

A United States international, Reyna was also eligible to represent England due to his birthplace of Sunderland. His dad Claudio was playing for the Black Cats at the time; the midfielder also turned out for Bayer Leverkusen, Rangers, Manchester City and New York Red Bulls during his career.

His son Giovanni came through the New York City academy before moving to Borussia Dortmund in 2019. He has since made 86 appearances for the German giants and won 14 caps for his country.

Maurizio Pochettino

Mauricio Pochettino is known for his managerial exploits these days, but he had an excellent playing career with the likes of of Espanyol, PSG and the Argentina national team.

His son Maurizio spent time at the academies of Southampton and Tottenham while his dad was the first-team manager of both clubs. After spending last term at Watford, the 21-year-old joined Spanish side Gimnastic in the summer.

Maxim Gullit

Ruud Gullit was one of the best footballers of his generation. A title winner with three different clubs, the Dutchman also lifted two European Cups with AC Milan and Euro ‘88 with the Netherlands.

His son Maxim would do well to match his father’s achievements in the game, but the Cambuur defender comes from rich footballing stock: his mum Estelle is a niece of the late, great Johan Cruyff.

Daniel Maldini

When Daniel Maldini made his AC Milan debut in 2020, he was the third generation of his family to play for the Italian giants, after grandad Cesare and father Paolo. But unlike those two club greats, the youngest Maldini is not a defender but an attacking midfielder.

He has made 24 appearances for the Rossoneri in total but is spending the 2022/23 campaign on loan at Spezia.

Charlie Savage

Robbie Savage was on co-commentary duty for BT Sport when his son Charlie made his Manchester United debut in 2021. “What a proud day for my boy… what a day for me, his mother, his grandparents,” an emotional dad said as the young midfielder entered the Old Trafford pitch.

A Wales Under-21 international, Savage Jr. plays in the same midfield position as his dad - although the 19-year-old insists he’s less tenacious and more technically gifted than the old man.

Benjani Jr.

Benjani played for four Premier League clubs - Portsmouth, Manchester City, Blackburn and Sunderland - between 2006 and 2011. The striker went on to represent two clubs in South Africa, before hanging up his boots in 2014.

His son, known as Benjani Jr., signed a professional contract with Yeovil Town in October 2022, having previously been part of Portsmouth’s academy.

By Greg Lea - FourFourTwo

[mrcowboysmovieroom]

Shocker (1989)

Directed by: Wes Craven Genre: Horror, comedy

CW: Gore?? Mostly blood in excess at times but I can't really say it's that bad. Originally written 11/25/2022

So when this was originally written I had been in the process of watching this movie for the third time in two days. This film had and still does affect me. I love quoting it and sending this reaction gif from it.

GIF by vhs-ninja

Is it any good? Yes.... but it's complicated. A poster like this doesn't quite scream quality does it? I think Shocker boasts a unique experience, though I don't think its good by traditional standards.

So, part of the appeal for me with this film is it's issues. Not quite in the "so bad its good way" either, though that phenomenon has a bit of a roll to play here. There is this bizarre charm to it's wrong or weird choices. It has a sort of sincerity to it which I don't know how to explain without just sitting you in front of the movie and having you watch it.

The movie is absurd and self aware enough about this fact that the bizarre choices end up being very likeable. At the same time, parts of the movie's plot seem haphazard and confusing in their lack of sense. Silliness pervades every aspect of this film.

The movie is an intense cat and mouse thriller, but it's bad guy has electricity powers and says one liners like "Come on boy. Let's take a ride in my Voltswagon!"

And I think it's this strange combination of high angst and on the nose puns that has gripped me so much. There is a certain delight in giggling away as the main character gets attacked by the bad guy who is now possessing a chair. Or a scene the bad guy is making a deal with the devil and the devil appears as a pair of giant lips and says, "You got it, baby".

Shocker fills a niche role where its possible for all these things to coincide. I mean where else will you have a big epic punching match through a series of tv channels?

So, I'm trying to be fair here but there is difficulty in rating this movie because I am very taken with this movie. It's not a great film, but it offers you a great time.

So our movie begins on the football field. Jonathan Parker is your average college football jock.. But is he!?!? Well yes, but he’s got a sordid past that he doesn’t remember (yet). Upon receiving a concussion at practice, he is imbued with psychic powers that activate when he sleeps.

His dreams show him the murders of Horace Pinker, a serial killer who has been killing local families. No one seems to be able to track him at all as he leaves virtually no trace, but Jonathan’s visions give him a pretty precise depiction and even lead him to active crime scenes. Though, confusingly (though frankly it does not matter) it seems as though Jonathan can interact with Pinker in the dreams as well.

Since Johnathan's father's a cop, Jonathan quickly convinces him that he can help the police catch this guy, and that is exactly what they manage to do, though not without a few officers getting brutally murdered along the way.

Well, now that we've caught him- it's time for the electric chair BABY LETS GOOOO and thus begins the meat and potatoes of this movie- the cat and mouse chase between Jonathan and the body hopping electricity wielding Horace.

During all this we get some hilarious moments including my favorite chair scene. Horace posses a handful of people, including a little ten year old. She commandeers a bulldozer to try and kill Jonathan.

The goofiness is peak here.

But as I said, the movie lacks in other areas. Explanations are very short coming. There is no explanation for why Jonathan receives these powers from a concussion- after all this is football we're talking about. Surely every man out there has had at least one before.

Why is only Jonathan's dead girlfriend able to communicate with Horace? I think it's because of the power of love but there is no in universe logic that explains it.

And what about these visions? It seems unclear how much ability Jonathan has to interact with those within it. At some points it seems like they should think him legitimately there, and other times it feels like they couldn't possibly.

I must say though, while there are a plethora of inconsistencies and plot-holes, I was largely unbothered by them. Some how this is one of those movies that tickles my fancy in just the right way so as to get me to not care. It's immaterial and after seeing this movie a total of four times, I've never been left wanting more than I've already been given.

I think I am compelled to give this movie a rating in the 6-7 range, but closer to a six. That being said, I sort of wish everyone and their mothers would see it. That chair scene is a cinematic masterpiece.

[mariacallous]

A common feature at cemeteries outside many midsize Russian cities and towns is a separate necropolis of headstones bearing the names of (mostly) young men who perished sometime between 1991 and 2000. They died during the chaos that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union—victims of crime and violence, mainly, but also of disease, alcoholism, and drug abuse. While these graveyards and the wave of death they represent are the subject of morbid fascination for the rest of the world, in Russia itself they are reminders of an era of national disgrace and humiliation, which Russian President Vladimir Putin has condemned on many occasions. The idea that Putin pulled Russia out of that era is one of his most consistent political campaign messages; his official website, kremlin.ru, contains dozens of derogatory remarks about the chaotic 1990s in Russia. They regularly feature in his state of the union speeches, annual press conferences, and interviews.

Putin’s assumption of power on Dec. 31, 1999, bookended a decade which indeed contained many elements of collapsing statehood. Amid general destitution and growing inequality, criminal anarchy, shootouts between rival gangs, and revenge bombings were a regular occurrence. Life expectancy for Russian men rapidly sank. These and other factors, including mass emigration, contributed to a period of unprecedented demographic decline: Each year between 1994 and 2008, Russia’s population decreased by several hundred thousand people, reaching the nadir of almost 1 million in 2000, Putin first full year in power.

Today, there are fresh graveyard lots across Russia, some covering an area as large as several football fields. Instead of a few kitschy mausoleums, there are dozens and often hundreds of fresh mounds of earth with simple, identical crosses bearing men’s names. Their years of death are the same: 2022 and 2023. Some of them were born in 2000 or later, in the early years of Putin’s reign. The fatality numbers are astonishing: By even the most conservative estimates, in a single year of its invasion of Ukraine, Russia has already lost more men than in the 10-year Soviet-Afghan War and First Chechen War—combined.

The preponderance of death made visible at the country’s cemeteries isn’t the only way Russia is returning to the 1990s. Today’s Russians once again struggle with growing violence, economic instability, and a flood of mentally and physically broken veterans. They once again face a failed war, broken society, and national humiliation. For a leader whose signature claim to power has been the banishment of 1990s-era chaos in Russia—for which the loss of political freedom, in his supporters’ eyes, was a small price to pay—the return of the 1990s could well become a threat to his rule.

Some of the deaths on display at graveyards across Russia won’t be mourned by many people. Those recruited by the Wagner Group from prisons where they were serving sentences for anything from minor narcotics-related offenses to the most depraved murders are seen as politically irrelevant and thus expendable. Most of them have already been written off by society: young men from very poor or broken families, driven to low-key drug dealing and petty theft to sponsor an addiction, or orphans brutalized by Russia’s system of orphanages and foster care.

Those soldiers who have managed to return home alive—and their families—aren’t faring much better. Already, Russian authorities are struggling to take care of at least 750,000 veterans who have served in Ukraine, according to a leaked document from a charity led by a relative of Putin. This number, too, tops the total for Moscow’s most catastrophic and humiliating military defeats of the past 40 years: the Afghan campaign and the First Chechen War. In both, Soviet and then Russian armies were met with fierce resistance from locals who did not want to be conquered, and civilians bore the brunt of brutal retributions. Before the atrocities perpetrated by Russian soldiers in Bucha, Ukraine, there was the mass murder of civilians in Samashki, Chechnya, in 1995. Before that, there were many massacres committed by Soviet troops in Afghanistan. The Kremlin deployed around 600,000 soldiers to the two wars, and many of those who returned were physically and spiritually broken, conditioned to extreme violence, and prone to bouts of depression and suicide. Some found no place for themselves in civilian society and joined one of the many numerous organized crime groups of the early 1990s.

A similar wave is already bubbling up in Russia today. Every day, there are reports about Ukraine veterans engaged in violence—randomly attacking passersby, stabbing their wife to death in a drunken frenzy in front of their children, or other crimes. Others didn’t need a war to be introduced to wanton criminality: Some of Wagner’s most notorious outlaws, convicted for murders and mutilations of incomprehensible cruelty, have been released back into society as the promised reward for shooting Ukrainians, and a few have almost immediately gone on new killing rampages. Just like in the 1990s, there seems to be no plan for any psychological support for soldiers returning from an active war zone. Just like back then, they are mostly left to their own devices. A flood of firearms allegedly being smuggled from Ukraine back to Russia by returning troops isn’t helping to curb outbursts of spontaneous violence.

Many of the contract soldiers and the recently mobilized who perished in Ukraine were fathers and their family’s sole breadwinners, whose sudden, tragic disappearance leaves a gaping hole in the fabric of society. As the 1990s aptly demonstrated, the decline doesn’t stop with the deceased; as families are torn apart, the war’s wounds already transcend generations. Just like social, demographic, and economic decline begot each other in the 1990s, today’s Russian economy suffers, too, as its most active subjects perish en masse due to the war and its attendant socioeconomic factors. Male life expectancy has taken a hit, and the instability discourages childbirth.

Russian men of the generation currently being wiped out in Ukraine were born at the bottom of the previous demographic dip, when Russia’s fertility rate was at its lowest in many decades. Less than one year before the invasion, the demographers at the Russian Economic Development Ministry were already predicting the loss of more than 1.7 million people over four years. Today, the situation looks even grimmer. While Russian officials downplay it as merely “concerning,” independent demographers call it a “catastrophe,” predicting a return next year to a low in the fertility rate not seen since World War II.

Even before the invasion, Russia’s atrocious handling of the COVID-19 pandemic guaranteed that pandemic-era mortality already surpassed the worst demographic dip of the 1990s—the era of chaos instrumentalized by Putin to justify his rule. Add the devastating effects of the war, and Russia is already looking worse than the “wild” decade in many key areas. Except the 1990s, so consistently demonized by Putin, were also a time of great hope and political freedom unseen by many generations before. The Russian State Duma was a place of genuine political debate. A variety of national media mercilessly attacked the government and exposed the horrors of Russia’s wars; there was an explosion of uncensored art. All of these positive sides of the 1990s would be incomprehensible to an 18-year-old coming of age around 2020—when most civil liberties were already wiped out—just to be drafted into the army and killed in Ukraine in 2022.

This is one of many of Putin’s broken promises to Russians. Gone is the social contract between the Kremlin and Russia’s emerging middle class, which traded political participation for social and economic “stability.” Time and time again, Putin invoked the excesses of the 1990s and promised to lead Russians to a better future; instead, he is dragging them toward an unprecedented decline. His newest promise is to “return” Russia’s “historic lands”—but there are simply fewer and fewer Russians to populate them. And fresh grave lots keep growing by the day.

[f1]

Wolff praises Hamilton for really admirable approach to 2022 setbacks and makes Schumacher comparison

Mercedes boss Toto Wolff has heaped praise on Lewis Hamilton for the way he handled a challenging 2022 season, while comparing the Briton’s influence on the team to that of fellow seven-time world champion Michael Schumacher. With Mercedes struggling to adapt to overhauled technical regulations, Hamilton spent the early part of the campaign carrying out set-up experiments and ultimately experienced the first win-less season of his 16-year F1 career to date. BEYOND THE GRID: ‘We learn the most when we lose’ – Wolff hopes rivals will ‘regret’ Mercedes’ 2022 struggles Asked on F1's Beyond The Grid podcast how difficult 2022 was for Hamilton, Wolff said: “Extremely tough, because we have given him a tool that wasn’t capable of winning. On top of that, the drivers had a car that was unpredictable, unstable, good at times, not good at others – not really something you can work with and develop. “But as a personality, how he has gone through the season is really admirable. There were times when the team felt down because of the non-performance and this is where he picked the people up and motivated them, and that is truly management and personality traits that I have not seen with a professional sportsman before.” Wolff was then asked if he now sees Hamilton as part of the management at Mercedes, to which he replied: “I would say yes. Obviously there’s his involvement in developing the car, and his presence in the factory, but I think on the race weekends he has become such a senior figure. “[He’s] maybe a little bit like Michael was back in the day, or I think about Tom Brady in [American] football teams, that you become more than just a player or just a driver. You are emotionally part of the team, and he definitely is. HEAD-TO-HEAD: Which drivers came out on top in the battle of the 2022 team mates? “He’s not, like we called them in the past, a contractor – drivers come, get paid and they leave for the next better occasion. He’s been with the team now 10 years [and] he’s a team member.” Hamilton recently commented that he is targeting a new deal with Mercedes to take him beyond his existing contract through 2023, as the 37-year-old continues his quest for what would be a record-breaking eighth world title. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

[gvilla1-blog]

MUN 2-2 LEE: A Vertical Slice of Life Under ten Hag

…Low to De Gea's near post and it flies straight through his hands and intothe bottom corner. 1-0 Brentford.

A pout, an exasperated crossing of the arms. A wincing usually characteristic of a poor, beaten canine who beared witness to a raised fist.

It was at this point, a mere 100 or so minutes into the 2022-23 Premier League Season, that I was ready for the towel to be thrown. I‘d take my ball and go home, numb after the frustrations a ten year epoch of darkness following the retirement of Sir Alex Ferguson had brought on. I had heard this bothersome tune before under Moyes, Van Gaal, Mourinho, and finally Ole. As sterile City and Lilliputian Liverpool claimed trophies like Larry King claimed spouses, we languished in mediocrity. Last season felt like the the last bout of a once-mighty fighter‘s career; the fight that’d driven them to flee the arena they once dominated out of sheer embarrassment, not to mention a touch of brain damage.

What followed felt like football’s answer to the Shinkansen: in what felt like moments, the scenery changed at blinding pace. In the blink of an eye, we were so far from where we had boarded. And the bullet train conductor was none other than the Vibing Dutchman, Erik ten Hag.

MUN 2-1 LIV. Casemiro. MNU 3-1 ARS. Casemiro. MUN 2-0 TOT. Casemiro’s header to equalize at Stamford Bridge. Garnacho accelerating past Fulham’s defense to deliver the killing blow at Craven Cottage. Rashford unlocking the Ultra Instinct. Casemiro. Ripping out the mean blue hearts of our noisy neighbors, 2-1. Casemiro. Old Trafford a fortress once more. Casemiro. CASEMIRO. CASEMIRO!

The highs remind us of what the sun felt like on our pale, downtrodden faces. They reminded us that football is about passion, bringing out the best in oneself, and most essentially: it’s fun.

But could it be possible that, instead of watching this hero‘s journey through until its natural end, when the ring is thrown into the fires of Mount Doom, when the young Jedi resists the dark side and defeats the evil emperor, we might have wanted the protagonist to become the Legend before it was earned? Was winning the league ever really supposed to happen this year?

Ten Hag has done so much in so little time because he’s instilled a very tangible sense of standards among this squad. They press cohesively, like a white blood cell surrounding and obliterating a harmful foreign substance. The center-halves, Licha and Varane, have the same rabid intensity and methodical coolness (respectively) that we saw during the halcyon days of Vidic and Ferdinand and sadly took for granted. The midfield takes bold steps toward the penalty box and creates chances instead of a constant rotation of metronomic sideways passes. And our attackers finish those chances! Imagine that.

But Wednesday night versus Leeds showed us that there is much left in the hourglass of our hero’s journey. We lack quality and depth in midfield, our attackers aside from Rashford are inconsistent, and our goalkeeper, once the lone bright spot of a floundering club, has reached obsolescence in the modern game.

The shortcomings ring a louder bell, but there are positives to be found. Our spirit was bruised and battered at 2-0, but we showed grit and determination as we scored two in quick succession to equal their total. And that second goal, the one that sent the Stretford End into an animalistic fury, was from our star boy, Jadon Sancho, returning from a long hiatus masterminded by ten Hag. Of the many pieces of evidence to be used in the Court of Man Management, such as the handling of the Ronaldo Debacle, Garnacho’s habitual tardiness, and Luke Shaw’s wavering motivation on the pitch and in the kitchen, there is perhaps no greater show of ten Hag’s skill in dealing with these volatile personalities than his rehabilitation of Sancho. He seems a man made new, with a confidence that can highlight the natural flair and calm lethality in his game that we hope can continue for many years.

Wednesday night was a microcosm of the season so far. Many shortcomings that hopefully only take a summer to resolve. But many positives that ought to have Reds from all four corners of the world delighted for the daylight shining through the thick canopy of Liverpool and City success.

We are impressive. Most impressive. But we are not Jedi yet.

[martinkennedyguitarist]

Tour Diary; Sixties Gold Tour 2022 Part 10

Day 30, 24.11.22; St. Andrews - Day Off

A day off in St. Andrew started with a lovely brunch in the main house with the family of the people who own the cottage we’re staying in. Ches’ wife Krissy arrived, and their daughter who studies in the town.

Chilled afternoon (more football obvs) then off out for dinner in the centre. It felt like a proper end of tour meal; lots of laughing, lots of wine, great food and so many stories. It really has been a great tour.

We got back to the cottage and had a few more drinks before bed; seems to be a pattern emerging!

Day 31, 25.11.22; Glasgow

Quite the busy day; left St. Andrews after an excellent bit of brunch courtesy of Krissy Hawkes, then travelled up the road to Glasgow.

First stop was Blitzkrieg records in the Barras where we did an acoustic set for Record Store Day and the release of Ches’ remixed single on vinyl. Great little crowd and really fun to do; enjoyed it very much!

From there we went to the concert hall, unloaded the gear and got to have a look at the stage. Todays show had a video screen so we got to watch the video of Chip that was recorded before the tour along with a load of classic Tremeloes footage. Very special to be watching that on stage in an empty hall.

As England were playing, we went to find somewhere they could see it. There was something very surreal about watching England play in Glasgow!

Back to the venue and played to a sold out crowd. They brought all the bands out on stage for the final number which was fantastic; probably the last time we’ll all be together like that.

It really is coming to an end now but still 3 shows to go!

Day 32, 26.11.22; Carlisle

Started the day with a nice Scottish brunch then went in to Glasgow for a bit of shopping; apparently Christmas is on the way? We actually managed quite a good haul between us; good Black Friday deals!

As we were playing in a different country, we decide we best head off. Pretty strong winds crossing the border but made it safely to Carlisle, unloaded the gear then back to the hotel. After checking in, went to the pub next door for something to eat then a couple of hours to relax before heading back for the show.

A packed crowd tonight; really responsive and into the show. Felt brilliant on stage and Silence was one of the best. Luckily Tony from Herman’s Hermits caught it on video.

Back for our final nightcap at the hotel; we all our separate ways after the final show so it was good to talk about what an amazing tour it’s been. Hopefully not for the last time.

Back in my hometown tomorrow for the final 2 shows.

Day 33, 27.11.22; Edinburgh

Not too early a start to the day; checked out of the hotel and stopped off to get some gifts for the crew. Made our way to Edinburgh; always a special thing being back in my hometown.

Had a brief excursion across the road from the venue to get the final gifts and have a bit of a look around the memorabilia shop then back for the interval of the first show. I had quite a lot of family attending so went out to the bar to catch up with them briefly.

Matinee was busy and very responsive; we added in the audio of Chip from the video used in Glasgow and it worked really well; having him introduce the final song was great. Really emotional and exciting penultimate performance.

Inbetween shows we went for dinner with my family which was fun and excellent food; was touched to have so many of them there.

Back for the last performance via the pub; Ches managed to go over on his ankle on the way so he was icing that whilst in the bar!

Tried to see as many of the guys as we could to say goodbye before taking our final backstage shot; in our pants with flowers in our teeth. The funniest was when Barry from the Hermits walked in on us and didn’t know what was going on!

Took the stage for the final time; took a shot of whiskey on stage and had a group hug when we were done. A really emotional and fitting end to what has been an amazing tour.

We were all staying in different places so as each one of us were dropped off it highlighted it really was the end.

I’m so grateful and thankful to have had such an amazing time with the absolute best people; here’s to the next time.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I’ve decided that now is a good time for me to do something that’s been inevitable for a while, which is get into Gavin Osborn. It’s the sort of thing I should have done earlier, but there are lots of things I should have done earlier, and I can only do one thing at a time. For various reasons, however, this seems like the moment to be into a comedy folk singer with a penchant for the bittersweet.

I first learned Gavin Osborn’s name about six months ago, when I first found the greatest video that exists on YouTube. I realize I’ve already posted this video many times, but I will take any excuse to post it again, because it is the greatest video on all of YouTube and I’m still mad that I managed to go until six months ago without knowing about it:

I find it interesting that this game, which is described as being from 2000 or 2001 (though I think it might actually be a bit later than that), has a stark divide in the levels of fame that the people on each team would go on to achieve. Team Colours consists of Ben Norris, whom I have only very vaguely heard of as a comedian, and who narrates the whole thing. Then there’s Alun Cochrane, whom I’ve seen on a few panel shows and he did the Stewart Lee ACE thing, but not much else on TV. Steve Williams, who wrote for Russell Howard’s shows but that’s all I know about him. And then there’s someone named Bill and someone named Crosby, and I can’t work out who those two are (I’m almost sure that Matthew Crosby is too young for that to be him).

Contrast that to Team Red, which consists of Lee Mack, Russell Howard, Andy Zaltzman, and John Oliver. Three very successful TV comedians, and, okay, I might personally overestimate Zaltzman’s fame a bit because I’m a massive fan of The Bugle, but hosting The News Quiz is a big deal, and I think it’s fair to say he’s found more success than anyone on that other team. I guess it could be close between him and Alun Cochrane; Alun's been on TV more but Andy has toured America semi-regularly for a bunch of years. Depends how you define success, but in general, it’s interesting to me that at the beginning of that video, they said Team Red is made up of “mostly of Avalon acts”. Interesting that whether they were with Avalon back in the early 00s is such a strong predictor of how much I know about them in 2022.

There was one other person on Team Red, and I was initially annoyed that the one person on that team whom I hadn’t heard of and couldn’t immediately identify was the only person to be introduced without a last name. In this video, he was referred to simply as “Gavin”.

So I did a little Googling, and worked out that it was likely a guy named Gavin Osborn. Shortly after that I got properly into Daniel Kitson’s stuff, which references Gavin all the time, so that confirmed that that must be the guy in the video. But initially, the way I worked out who he was involved finding this article, which explains who he is and that he has quite a cool Chocolate Milk Gang origin story:

“In 2004 he was struggling on the London open-mic folk circuit when his old school friend, the comedian John Oliver (now a hugely successful talkshow host on America’s HBO) invited him to a regular Tuesday afternoon football match with a group of friends, mostly comedians, now almost all famous.

“Among them was the fanatically worshipped cult comic Daniel Kitson, who was impressed by Osborn’s warm storytelling and enlisted him as tour support. Kitson’s devoted fanbase took to Osborn straight away and he became a sort of accidental comic, appearing at comedy clubs and festivals, working with Robin Ince and Alun Cochrane and writing a series of acclaimed storytelling collaborations with Kitson, which the pair toured as support for Belle & Sebastian.”

So that’s pretty cool. There are lots of musical comedians/comedy musicians out there who fall in various spots on the spectrum between music and comedy, and he seems to be way on the music side. To the point of not really being a comedian at all, but because he went to school with John Oliver, he sort of became an honorary comedian. He clicked as a sort of double act-like thing with Daniel Kitson, and they’ve done a bunch of stuff together that combines music and comedy. It sounds like a slightly similar situation to The Horne Section, that Alex Horne went to school with a couple of guys, then Alex went into comedy and they went into music, and as adults they decided to combine that.

I’ve learned from my journeys into finding old pictures and videos of comedy festivals that Gavin Osborn has appeared at lots of comedy events through the years, even without other Chocolate Milk Gang people so it’s not like he’s just musical accompaniment for them, he’s basically considered a comedian. I think that’s cool, and from what I know of his work it’s not far off. His songs are funny; they’re occasionally actual comedy but even the ones that aren’t tend to have some amount of humour in them. I've been going to folk festivals all my life, and I've said before that my view on what music should be at folk festivals is anything that people will want to see when they go to a folk festival, even if it isn't strictly in the genre. Well Gavin Osborn is the sort of thing people will be in the mood to see at a comedy festival.

That was what I knew about Gavin Osborn before today. I also knew I liked his music, though I didn’t know it well. I’ve heard Roger and Grace, a 2006 show he did with Daniel Kitson, which is absolutely lovely. It was my first introduction to Kitson’s story shows, and before I bought it I wasn’t sure if it would be my sort of thing, but it ended up being so very worth the time and small amount of money (it’s on Bandcamp, if anyone else is interested). I’d also heard a few Gavin Osborn songs on Daniel Kitson’s radio shows. Here’s one that Kitson chose to play multiple times on one of his old radio shows, and rightly so because every time I heard it it sent chills down my spine:

Today, I heard a few more Gavin Osborn songs on another Daniel Kitson thing, and they were really really good, got my attention way more than I expected for something that was supposed to be incidental to the main event. Very soon after that I happened to find myself in the market for a new distraction to throw myself into, preferably in the vein of something with this level of emotional resonance, so I’ve now downloaded his discography. His albums from 2007, 2009, 2012, 2015, and 2017, and he has one in 2022 that I haven’t got yet but I will.

Right now I’m 1.5 albums into the process of listening to them all in order, because that’s what I do with things I like enough. On the subject of Daniel Kitson, he has a quote I love that says: “Falling in love is like hearing a new song then going straight out and buying everything in the band's back catalogue.” It captures such a specific experience, when you hear one thing so amazingly good that it makes you marvel at the possibilities in undiscovered beauty, makes you want to go back to the beginning and take the time to know everything that person has done. I’ve experienced that a lot with music throughout my life, especially at folk festivals, which I went to for all the summers before the world ended in 2020.

Since the world ended, I’ve gotten that same thing with my favourite comedians, sometimes seeing someone on one show and liking them so much that I’ll go through all their old content. I’ve done that with a lot of comedians over the last few years, and it has been something like a replacement for life. Well, if Daniel Kitson is right that that is in fact what love is, then I believe I have just fallen in love with yet another of his friends. Or at least have found in another of his friends that feeling that there are good things I haven’t discovered yet, and, yeah, good timing on that. This is definitely a night when I could use a bit of that.

Like I said, I’m already a ways into the process. Here’s my favourite example so far of his comedic stuff; this song is a comedy if you know he told us in the introduction that Jamie Cook was the name of a player on his team in a video game that let him play as a football manager, and that player did really well for them but then requested a transfer. 

And on the other end of the spectrum, here’s a song that made me cry. To be fair I was pretty close to crying before I started it, for other reasons, and I think just about anything could have done that at that point, so Gavin Osborn doesn’t exactly get full credit. But this is a really nice song.