#and the fourth is a guy who gave up 150 years ago

[grimaldiapologist]

Truly experiencing the joy of writing without a care this year around. Don't care if this is going to be worth a damn at the end (it won't be). Don't care if anybody is ever going to read it (they won't). Don't care about its artistic merit (it has none).

I'm having pure, unadultered fun with writing it. This is the most self-serving story I've ever written. It's so much for nobody else that I cannot possibly imagine anybody else giving a fuck about any of it.

But you know what? It's our party, and nobody else is even invited. Sometimes, if you're an insider, you'll get a text update on what's happening, or we'll tell you about everyone who's at the party, but that's about it.

Does it make sense? No. Is it FUN? YES.

[lucysweatslove]

Journal 8/15/22

I woke up a bit slow this morning with about 6.5 hours of actual sleep. Took me about half an hour to fall asleep, which is my usual. I’ve been trying out some new sleep hygiene tactics, particularly not forcing myself to stay in bed and “try to sleep” if I’m not feeling READY to sleep. Instead, I’m trying out planning at that time to help reduce my anxiety about the morning. I think it’s helping somewhat, but I’m still going to bed pretty late. I was talking with Husband about my sleep and how difficult it is to find a good time to workout now, and I think I may try to workout at night if I’m not too exhausted to drive to the gym.

For breakfast I had some protein cereal with a banana. I use the Darigold Fit 2% milk, which is my favorite because it’s so creamy and doesn’t upset my stomach at all.

I had to work today, just 10-2, but of course I needed coffee because of how tired I was. Work sucked less than normal because the doctor I was working for did over half the notes herself 🙃 I don’t actually mind because… I’m leaving in less than two months!!! I think I have 8 weeks left!! So it is coming up!

After work, Husband and I had our last marriage therapy session. Husband feels like we got what we needed out of it as a couple and has been checked out the last idk maybe 2 months; I’m still going to maintain biweekly sessions for myself though as I have a lot of anxiety that we could work through, and as I submit my applications, I’m worried about how we will handle the potential move. I like knowing that we can transition to a couple’s session if we need it.

Anyway, after therapy I had lunch, which was a turkey and provolone sandwich with plenty of red leaf lettuce and tomatoes. Blueberries added for color today. Look at that cross section! I know it’s not much/fancy, but I love sandwich cross sections.

I had to go drop off my Apple Watch today too. I had one for about a year, as I bought it as a graduation gift to myself. The EKG app stopped working in November, which was concerning because that’s when I passed out at my husband’s surgical center in his recovery room and the nurse thought it looked like a seizure. I was using the app to reassure me of my heart heath since I was worried that my syncope was cardiogenic. Anyway, I decided not to pursue repair because I didn’t want to be without my watch, but a week ago Husband gave me a new one (he bought one and then decided he didn’t want it anymore), so I decided to give my old watch to my sister… but I wanted to fix it. I had to discuss with Apple Support who made me drive 150 miles to our nearest apple support place (literally just a Best Buy’s geek squad)… only to have the employee/tech tell me it’s a hardware issue and I would need to send it in. Literally I spoke to him for 5 minutes.

On my way home I picked up Oreo from daycare. He’s a goofy little guy.

I did started some laundry, received my fourth (and final) LOR, and then Husband decided he wanted dinner. I left my dinner plans pretty open because it’s usually our only social meal, if we decide to eat together that day, but he wanted to just make himself a leftover wrap and eat himself. BUT, he also made a salad (spring mix, cucumber, green onion, and some cheddar cheese), and he made extra for me too.

Obviously, a basic green salad wasn’t enough for dinner, but it had only been 3 hours since lunch so I wasn’t too hungry. I cooked a Tofurky Italian sausage and added in some Italian dressing to make it more substantial, though if I had been hungrier I would’ve needed some additional carb. Note: photo taken halfway through.

Because my dinner was so light though, I did get hungry a couple hours later and wasn’t sure what I wanted..

And so when Husband pulled out the turkey jerky I forgot about, I had some turkey jerky and cantaloupe.

I’m now almost done in the tub listening to some podcasts and finishing up my digital planner for tomorrow. I’m hoping this will reduce my anxiety tonight and help me sleep better!

[anotheronechicagobog]

Rangers, Lead The Way - Chapter 3 - Kenny with Maggie

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, nudity, profanity, mention of school shooting, guns, weapons, I’m pro gun control (even though I’m Canadian) and this kinda reflects that, mention of PTSD, child neglect, also I fucking hate nazis

When someone called before seven in the morning it was work, a death notification, or one of his fellow trio of lovestruck fools. So when the annoying ringtone Hana installed as a prank and he couldn’t figure out how to remove started blasting on his nightstand at 2:17 in the morning, he was more annoyed than apprehensive. “Crosby.”

“Hey man, sorry to call you so late, but it’s about Maggie.”

“What’s going on?”

“One of her first arrests as an FBI agent just broke out of prison, and she’s been temporarily assigned to the unit being tasked with finding him. Yours. I expect you’ll be getting a call in the next five minutes or so. Maggie can take care of herself, I know that, but...”

“It’s hard when you’re not there to watch her back. Don’t worry, I’ve got her.” 

“Thank you. So much. I appreciate this, so, so much.”

“Hey, a couple of months ago I was you. I feel you man, don’t worry. She’ll be fine. Listen, I’d love to keep talking but I’ve got another call coming in and it looks like that work call you were warning about. Talk to you later.”

“See you on the flip side, man.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jess stood in front of everyone with that look on his face that vaguely reminded Kenny of his stern ex-navy fourth-grade teacher. “Everyone, this is special agent Maggie Bell, you may remember her from when we worked with her unit on a couple of cases, but this time it’s just her joining us. Is there anything you’d like to add, Bell?”

“I’m excited to work with you all, but please, call me Maggie.”

“Alright, let’s get to work, then. Maggie, Jason Anderson was one of your first arrests with the bureau, can you brief us on that case and highlight any details you think may be pertinent?”

“Definitely. Well for starters, Anderson is a cheating scumbag and it only gets worse from there.” Maggie’s bluntness broke through the formality that was stifling the bus, smirks and chuckles abound, and it seemed that only he didn’t have the sense to at least try and hid his amusement. An understanding but disapproving look had Kenny composing himself to speak up. “Well then, let’s jump down this rabbit hole.”

Maggie was sitting next to Hana, giving details about the fugitive they were currently after. He was one of Maggie’s first arrests as an FBI agent, so the bureau thought it would be beneficial to have her work with the team. So here she was, dressed in jeans and a sweater as opposed to her usual suits, combining her razor-sharp intelligence with Hana’s. They’d commandeered the top floor of a police station in Boston and were relying on Maggie and Hana’s wit to find out where he was. Jason Anderson, 42, was an illegal weapons dealer. He’d previously been put in prison for distribution and possession of prohibited firearms, and for giving an AK-47 to a school shooter. He was being transferred to a higher security prison because it came to light that he was continuing his business from behind bars, but the security team had been too small and unprepared for the escape plan pulled off by a team of eight. Those eight men were their biggest clue oddly enough, as they’d been dropping like flies since the escape. Michael Howard, 40, was Anderson’s ex-brother-in-law. And the connection between all the, now dead, prison breakers. Unfortunately, Howard’s sister, and Anderson’s ex-wife, had cut contact with both of them along with the rest of their families after Howard introduced Anderson to his mistress and encouraged an affair that created two children. The mistress, Bethany Karnstein, had gone AWOL hours ago when she left her job in the middle of her shift and didn’t pick her kids up from school. 

The kids were safe with Anderson’s parents, but they couldn’t answer their questions when they asked where their mother was. The kids did identify Michael Howard as one of their mom’s friends though, he’d come to watch them while their mother was in the hospital about six months prior. They didn’t look shocked that FBI agents were asking about their parents, but they still didn’t know anything. 

At the moment, they were splitting up. Jess and Barnes were headed to follow up with Bethany’s clueless boss, he and Clinton were about to go follow up on a possible sighting, and Hana and Maggie were staying on the bus. Thankfully, since Kenny was stressed out enough at the prospect of having to watch out for Maggie on top of worrying about Hana, them being assigned together eased his mind. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was around midnight when he and Clinton were finally able to rendezvous with the rest of the team. There was no sighting, Bethany had one of her affair partners call in a false tip, and when he and Clinton had quickly sussed that out it lead to a shootout and car chase. Jason, the dumbass stupid enough to commit six different felonies for a woman who has two kids with a violent arms dealer, was lying in a heavily guarded ICU bed. They’d managed to get his cell phone but he was beyond unconscious when they’d finally managed to get him to stop shooting at them. “Hey Hana, I brought you something.”

“Jason’s cell?”

“That too, but I was actually talking about this.” He held out a large coffee that she desperately needed if the way her eyes lit up was any indication. “Thank you.” Hana let out an over-dramatic groan as she downed the first sip. “Hey Crosby, thanks for my coffee too.” He looked at Maggie sheepishly, realizing that he’d only gotten two, one for himself and the other for Hana. “I was the one who drove to and then parked in front of the coffee shop while he went and got those, how do you think I feel?” Clinton’s playful jab caused a round of giggles but the knowing look from the older man made Crosby a little nervous. He was sure his feelings towards Hana weren’t super well-hidden, but he really didn’t need anyone on the team tipping Hana off. “Anyway, here’s Jason’s cell. Do you think you can crack it?”

“Normally with this many characters I’d say no... But, his password is seven characters long and his lock screen is Bethany, so... There we go, unlocked.”

“... That was a really poor choice of password.”

“And girlfriend.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After working for fourteen hours straight they were all spent and headed to the hotel that the FBI had secured rooms at for them. Jess, Barnes and Clinton were all in one car that was headed straight to the hotel to get everyone checked in. Kenny, Hana, and Maggie were in the other car that was making a detour on the way to pick up Thai food. Hana and Maggie were chatting amongst themselves, but Kenny was still kicking himself for the slip-up he’d made while placing the order over the phone. 

“Hi, can I place an order for pickup? Great. The name’s Kenny and the phone number is 123-456-7890. Okay, I’ll get two orders of shrimp rolls, one vegetable pad Thai, one pork Mee Khob, one chicken pad Keeng, and two orders of chicken Kao pad puk, hold on one second- Maggie you want green curry, right?”

“... Yeah, how did you know?” I’ve heard your partner talk about you almost non-stop since he met you because he’s head over heels in love with you, but I can’t say that, can? Especially because you, Hana, and Hailey don’t know that OA, Jya, and I know each other... For some reason, so sorry Maggie, Hana but I’m going to have to lie my ass off here. “Uh, sorry, I thought I heard you mention it earlier, plus you look like a green curry kind of person.”

“Ha, alright, yes I’d like some, thanks.”

“- Sorry about keeping you on hold, I’ll add one green curry to that order. Do you want me to pay over the phone or is it okay if I pay when I get there?”

“Kenny!”

“Sorry, what’s up?”

“Our exit is coming up in... 150 metres, you need to turn right.”

“Shit, thanks, Hana.”

“Are you okay? You seemed like you were in your own world there.”

“I’m fine, I was just thinking. Where do I go next?”

“Go straight for another 700 metres, it’ll be on the right.”

“Got it.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright everyone, the food’s here!” They’d all decided to gather in one of the meeting rooms the hotel had to the left of the lobby, Kenny had admittedly bellowed a little loud, but it brought all of his straggling coworkers into the room from their various spots in and around the lobby.

“Finally, what took you guys so long?” He knew that Jess was just hangry, and frustrated that they hadn’t caught the fugitive yet, so he let the snappy comment slide.

“Crosby almost missed the turn.”

“You let Crosby drive? Rookie mistake” He gave Hana a teasing look of betrayal before turning to Clinton. “I’ll have you know I am an excellent driver.”

“You’ve driven into a lake.”

“That was one time three years ago! And we were in a high-speed chase with a guy on a BMX bike who made a sharp turn near a kid’s birthday party, I didn’t exactly have many options.” He sounded more upset than he actually was. Moments like these were nice, where they got to hang around each other and just be friends, and Maggie was fitting in wonderfully with everyone but especially Hana, who sat in between him and Maggie as she started telling a story about OA with her face absolutely glowing.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason’s cell proved to be far more useful than he was. Bethany had been texting him from a rural address that turned out to be a cottage rental that was supposed to be vacant. The owners had a basic security system that had alerted them that someone was in their cottage, when the local LEOs investigated they immediately recognized the suspect but were able to play it off as having gotten a noise complaint, before going back to their vehicle and calling the FBI, while hiding their vehicle so that they could keep watch over the cottage. There was always a tense atmosphere when people were getting greedy for a raid, Kenny supposed the fresh air and appealing scent of pine trees eases tensions slightly, but not by much. Everyone knew that the worst could happen. That their loved ones could get an overly formal call at an unholy hour, telling them that the worst would happen. Everyone always did their best to try and prevent that, but there was only so much that they could keep out of fate’s unforgiving hands. His heartstrings pulled slightly as he flicked his eyes over to Hana. She was his special someone, even if she didn’t know it, and for a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like for her if he- No. Nope. You can’t think like that, especially not before a raid, and especially not about a woman who was only supposed to be your friend. The final preparations were complete and they were getting in position to breach. Hana still hadn’t been cleared for the field yet, so in the back of his mind, he was appreciative that there was one less person to worry about, with her wirelessly monitoring their body cams and coms. Although that was kind of moot point honestly, because Maggie was with them, in fact, Maggie had taken Hana’s position behind him. “You ready Maggie?” She put her hand on the back of his vest as the SWAT leader started counting down. “Always.”

The door was busted down and all the FBI and SWAT agents funnelled into the house through the three entrances. The sliding glass back door was where Jess was entering, the side door was for Clinton and Barnes, and He and Maggie were going through the front door. The front door went straight into the family room to the right, the eat-in kitchen was on the left, and directly across from the sliding glass door. Flashbangs went off as everyone started shouting, announcing themselves. There were screams and cries of panic, something not unusual in their line of work, what was also not unusual was finding Bethany naked on her knees with Michael Howard standing in front of her dressed in the same manner. Michael’s eyes went wide, and his thought process played out like an open book.

Shit. Feds.

Get gun.

... Gun is not in my holster because I’m not wearing clothes.

Run.

... Can’t run cause Bethany is clinging to my legs.

Kenny had to give the guy props for trying to tackle him linebacker style naked as the day he was born as he stood firm and checked him, sending him flying onto the ground. “Turn onto your stomach, now!”

He writhed around, trying to resist arrest, shouting “SUCK MY DICK YOU PIGS!” And trying to thrust his bare nether regions at everyone, Kenny in particular. “Howard Michael, you are under arrest, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you acknowledge that your rights have been read to you?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” One of the SWAT officers approached them with an itchy-looking wool blanket and took their suspect into custody. Maggie and Kenny shared a look before making their way to the two bedrooms that were to the left of the kitchen, they hadn’t been cleared yet and now they were trying to move fast to make sure that no other accomplices got away. Kenny took the right door, Maggie, to the left. “FBI! Freeze!” Kenny was met with the disturbing sight of a dead body on the bed. His throat and wrists had been slit and he was surrounded by lumped together blood-soaked sheets. He immediately recognized the dead body as the last remaining accomplice in the breakout. “Hey, Crosby? I need your help in here.”

“What’s up Maggie?” When he entered her room he stopped in his tracks. There wasn’t a bed, instead, there were two cribs for two babies, both of whom were in an equally freaked-out Maggie’s arms. “Here, let me help you.” Kenny helped lighten her load by taking a baby in his arms. “Hi sweetheart, what’s your name?”

“Kenny, these babies can’t be older than six months, you know she can’t respond to you, right?”

“I know, but they’re so little and scared, I want to at least try to comfort them.” The little girl hard curled up into his chest and nestled her face into his neck. “It looks like you’re doing a great job to me.”

“Who’s kids even are these?”

“I’m really trying not to think about it.”

“I’m praying to every deity there is that they’re not Bethany and Howard’s kids.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There had to be thousands of deities, gods, godlings, divine beings, and not one of them could come through for those poor kids? The six-month-old twins Baxter and Hazel were the children of Bethany Karnstein and Michael Howard, who had murdered a man in the room next to their children’s room. The social services department where they were was basically non-existent, so while they waited for a social worker to drive from four and a half hours away they were watching the babies at the local police station while Jess and Clinton were questioning Michael. Baxter was much more social, jumping between the FBI agents, SWAT, and local LEOs, but he was now babbling quite happily on Maggie’s lap, whereas Hazel had immediately taken to Hana and refused to be held by anyone but her and Kenny. He looked at her fondly, Hana was holding the baby close to her chest and humming the tune to a melodic song he couldn’t remember the name of. Hazel looked up at Hana with wide, enchanted, trusting eyes, and all Kenny could do was feel his heart melt. A stray thought placed itself at the forefront of his mind and before he could stop it, he was picturing Hana as a mom, and as captivating as that thought was Kenny had to shake his head to stop it from going too far, they were just friends, it wasn’t Hana’s fault that he’s in love with her. I need to look somewhere else, anywhere else. 

His eye-line shifted to Maggie and watching as she bounced an absolutely delighted Baxter on her lap. He knew that OA wanted a family, wanted a wife and a couple of kids, and looking at the tender way Maggie was holding and entertaining Baxter, he could see her being a mom too. Man, if OA saw this he’d have a heart attack, it’s his dream come true.

Kenny saw Hana shift positions out of his peripheral vision and turned to look at her and was immediately concerned. She had a look of discomfort on her face. “Hana? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her tone was tense and Hazel immediately picked up on it and made a scared noise. “Are your arms tired? Do you want me to take her?”

“No. We’re fine. Maybe you should hold Baxter instead.” She snapped and finally looked him in the eyes, she was clearly angry and upset, but she seemed betrayed as well. Kenny leaned back into his chair his shoulders sinking in tandem. He was silently thankful that since everyone was milling about and talking it didn’t seem that anyone heard the exchange, though Maggie did look at him with a raised eyebrow. He shrugged his shoulders in response, completely bewildered. Maggie shook her head sharply, rolled her eyes, and scoffed. ‘Men.’ She mouthed. Kenny was completely clueless, had either of them noticed him watching them at they were offended at that? He watches Hana work away on her computer all the time and it’s never been an issue, but then again that was always subject to change. His inner ramblings were cut off when Jess and Clinton came back from the interrogation room. “Michael didn’t talk much, but Hana decrypted his cell and he has incoming and outgoing calls to a recluse retiree Evan DeLuca who lives forty minutes from here. Crosby, Bell go check it out, Clinton and I are going to take a break from interrogating Michael for an hour or so, Gibson and Barnes, you two can interrogate Karnstein, see how much she knows and just how involved is she in all of this. We can watch the babies while you’re in there...”

“Admit it, boss, you want a break just cause you two want to hold the babies.”

“Get moving Crosby, Barnes is already out the door.”

“You got it.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were twenty minutes into the tense car ride when Maggie finally spoke up. “Just so you know, you’re an idiot.” Flabbergasted Kenny let his mouth fall open and close a couple of times before tightening his grip on the steering wheel only to release it after taking a breath. “You’re probably right, but can you please tell me why I’m an idiot? What did I do wrong?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why not? You were the one who brought it up.”

“Just... Focus more on Hana, okay?”

“Are you sure? I mean, I thought about it, and maybe that’s the issue?”

“Trust me, it’s not. Just focus on her, got it?”

“Okay... I’m confused as hell, but okay.”

“Isn’t that your usual state of mind?” He didn’t have to look over to see the teasing grin, he could feel it. “Woah, low blow, Maggie, low blow.”

“If you want to hear about a low blow, you should hear about how OA and I had to chase a clown fairy princess twelve blocks at two in the morning.”

“Please, go on.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well. That went terribly wrong. As much as Kenny could appreciate the peace and aesthetic of small towns and cottage areas, he hated working in them because there was never any backup! Forty minutes may not seem like a lot of time, but when you’re in a firefight against a man who has access to a seemly endless supply of weapons of war, that was an eternity. He’d literally fired a bazooka at them, how in the fuck did he get a bazooka?! So, the good news about this situation? They’d found Jason Anderson. Bad news? They’d found Jason Anderson with an arsenal large enough and powerful enough to take down a small army. They’d managed to take cover, but Anderson clearly had night-vision goggles because, despite the fact that it was past eleven and pitch black, he always knew where they were. Oh, and Evan DeLuca was probably a dead retiree, not a recluse. That’s just great, another body to add to Anderson’s growing total. Now, all that he and Maggie had to do was not become part of that number. If only it were that easy. They’d managed to get around the side of the house where there were only two medium-sized windows on side of the house facing them instead of a large doorway like at the front and, presumably, the back.

When Kenny got Jess on the phone it was nothing but panicked observations, and the notification that they’d found Anderson, as he and Maggie ran for cover. His phone wasn’t even near his face when he made the call, so he’s not quite sure what all made it through, only that they were still thirty minutes away from the address.

“We need a plan.”

“He can see our movements so we’re going to have to be sneaky about it.”

“I’ll fire on him, cause a diversion, do you think you can try to sneak around back?” 

“Are you crazy?! We didn’t have time to grab our vests, that’s suicide. Besides, how many rounds do you even have left?”

“I’ve got a mag and a half.”

“Really? I thought you fired a bunch of shots at him earlier.”

“I did, but I’ve been carrying extra ammo for this case, I figured I’d need it at some point considering we’re going up against a weapons dealer.”

“Smart-” She was cut off by another several hundred rounds being fired at the, thankfully incredibly thick, tree they were hiding behind. “We don’t have much of a choice Maggie. Head around back, I’ll try to distract him and not get shot.” He knew she’d argue with him, so he didn’t give her the chance to. He ran out from behind the tree and fired through the only window of the two that was open. There wasn’t any light on in the house, so Kenny really wasn’t sure what he was aiming for. After the sixth shot he heard “fuck! Fucking fuck!” And felt a wave of relief; he’d hit Anderson. Hopefully enough to keep him subdued. He ran around to the front of the house only to be met with the sight of Anderson pulling the pin out of a grenade. He ran back out faster than he entered and hugged the outside of the entrance just outside of the doorframe. “GRENADE!” The explosion went off where he’d been standing when he burst through the front door, shrapnel from the grenade exploded through the doorway seconds after he’d gotten out and he could hear some of it embed itself in the interior of the wall behind him.

When Kenny entered through the doorway, they were face to face. Kenny's gun was raised aimed at his forehead, and Anderson stood there weaponless. Pulling the trigger, Kenny made the mistake of thinking that it was over, that Anderson was done for. Click. Horror and vindication simultaneously coursed through Crosby and Anderson. The gun was empty. He'd spent all the rounds. Before he could lower his useless gun Anderson was on him like a feral animal. Despite the gunshot wound to Anderson’s right shoulder, he was just as lethal without a weapon as was when he had one. Anderson had him by the throat up against the wall and was pressing his thumbs into Kenny’s throat. Kenny threw two quick punches to Anderson’s jaw, releasing him and making them stumble away from each other. It quickly turned into a fight on the floor. They were biting, kicking, hitting each other, trying to get the upper hand. Kenny managed to land a solid elbow to Anderson’s head but that seemed to be the tipping point that only enraged him. The next thing Kenny knew Anderon had pushed him up and smacked him on the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs, and started to choke him again. Kenny tried to lay in a punch like the first time, but Anderson saw that coming, just dodged away from the fist and started pushing his thumbs into the centre of Kenny’s neck harder. 

“FBI! Put up your hands!” Anderson growled but did as he was told. Kenny lay there gasping for breath knowing that it was too easy, Anderson had another trick up his sleeve, and Maggie was too smart not to know it too. She stepped closer, her gun pointed to the back of Anderson’s head, one hand reaching to her waist to grab her cuffs... That’s when Anderson made his move, spinning around and grabbing her by the waist, Anderson pulled her to the ground, the force caused her to let go of her gun. She tried to reach for it but Anderson pulled her towards him by her hair and put her in a chokeholdJaytill hazy from the lack of air Kenny grappled at him from behind. Trying to do something, anything, to save Maggie. Whatever he did worked because Anderson turned back to face him only now he had a bruise on the side of his face that was already swollen. Anderson tried grabbing Kenny by the neck again, but it was clear he was low on energy and just trying to fight until his last breath. Too bad for Anderson that Maggie wasn’t going to let that happen. 

Crack.

And then Anderson was unconscious, lying on top of him, and Kenny barely had the strength to move the gun dealing scumbag off of him. “You good?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He looked at the gun in Maggie’s hand and Anderson on the ground. She was holding her gun by the barrel and there was some blood on the handle. “You cold-cocked him?”

“Yeah, I tried shooting him, but I mistook my gun for yours. I told you that you wouldn’t have enough ammo.”

“That you did. Thanks again, for saving my ass.”

“Any time.”

“I’m gonna call the team and let them know they don’t have to come in guns blazing... Especially because we are surrounded by improperly stored weapons and ammo. I’ll probably call for an ambulance too, to come to check you out.”

“What? Me?”

“Yeah, he had you in that chokehold pretty hard.”

“He strangled you, twice!”

“Three times actually, you weren’t here for the first one.”

“Even if you have to be dragged over by the ear, you will be getting checked out by the ambulance too.”

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“I’m going to preface this by saying Maggie’s fine, she doesn’t even have a concussion.”

“... That was the absolute worst way to start this call. Are you aware of that? Oh the heart attack you’re giving me? What the fuck happened?”

“Long story short, we found Jason Anderson and he tried to kill us.”

“And the long version? Actually, wait do I even want to know?”

“Probably not, but you want to know anyway because you think it will make you worry less, even though we both know it won’t, don’t you?”

“... Yes.”

“We got shot at a lot, got pinned down behind one of the massive trees they have out here, split up with me providing the distraction, I almost got blown up, my magazine was empty from providing cover so we went hand-to-hand, the door at the back was blocked by crates of uzis so it took her a while to get back, I got strangled three separate times, managed to land good hits, so did he, he threw Maggie on the ground when she showed up and she hit her head, he put her in a chokehold, I got her out of it by pinching his armpits really hard after punching wasn’t working, he tried to strangle me for the third time and Maggie cold-cocked him with my empty gun cause she couldn’t find hers. The paramedics cleared her, she’ll be fine. I think that Hana’s gonna try to drag us to the local clinic when we get back to town.”

“She’s okay?”

“Completely, she doesn’t even have a headache or sore throat, and she really saved my ass back there. She’s good. She’s with Hana right now actually. Hana was really off when everyone showed up, she’s been pretty worried and she won’t believe me when I say I’m okay but she’ll believe Maggie. You know you could probably call her, check up on her yourself? We were talking with the paramedics and she kept talking about this halal burger place you brought her to and she’d do anything for one of those right now... But from the look on her face when she brought you up, I’d wager she was actually talking about you. She misses you, even spent an hour talking about you when we all got Thai food in Boston.”

“Alright, thanks, man. I don’t know what I’d do if she wasn’t okay.”

“Gee, thanks for showing your concern for me. You know, your brother in arms-”

“Alright-”

“Fellow ex-ranger-”

“Okay-”

“Favourite blonde-”

“I’m glad you’re alright Kenny. I just can’t believe you two went up against Jason Anderson and walked away unscathed.”

“Actually my throat is pretty sore and the paramedics found some shrapnel in my right leg, all of it was shallow but some of it got pushed in deeper during the fight.”

“... Just go to a hospital, man. Seriously. Also, Hailey is my favourite blonde now. Sorry.”

“What?!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem, Hana?” Jess may have sounded cool, calm, and collected, but anyone who knew him was able to tell it was the opposite. Jess LaCroix likes for things to get done and stay done, according to Tali that’s why he hates doing the dishes, and this threw a serious wrench in everyone’s plans to escort the culprits, and children because children’s aid still hasn’t shown up, back to Boston and then go home to New York.  

“Anderson’s set up a buy, a big one. Everything in that house except for two AK-47’s, ten grenades, and eight rounds of ammo for the AK-47, is for a single buyer, they’re meeting at the base of a hiking trail in two days.”

“Fuck. There were uzis and bazookas, who the hell are these guys.” Anderson was just a weapons dealer, and he was dangerous enough, Kenny really wasn’t looking forward to meeting whoever the buyer was. “I don’t know, I couldn’t find out, but there is some, I guess, good news. They think that he blew up an FBI agent and that that’s who’s in the hospital under armed guard. They think he got away, want to do the exchange earlier than planned, they want to meet in two hours, the same location.”

“Hana, we have the opportunity to also take down some pretty dangerous buyers too, that’s great news, why don’t you think so?”

“Kenny, they don’t know his exact face but they have a description. Six feet tall, blonde, blue eyes, muscular-”

“You think I have muscles?” Kenny realized his attempt at lightening the mood wasn’t welcome when no one chuckled along with him, muttering a quick apology before looking back at Hana, whose face displaced what he could only describe as contained distress. “Kenny, you’re pretty banged up, you shouldn’t be going out there.”

“Hana, I’ll be fine. Everything’s mostly superficial, SWAT hasn’t gone back to Boston yet, and we may not get another chance to get these guys. It has to be done, and quickly. I’ll be okay.” She took a deep breath and looked down at the papers on the table in front of her. She did not like it, that much was very obvious, but she looked frustrated that his logic was right, and that they’d have to go through with his, admittedly not very well thought out, plan. “Alright, I guess I’ll go and get the tech set up.” Jess coughed to draw attention to himself, along with everyone else in the room they’d been ignoring, and Kenny felt his cheeks heat up. “Sorry, is this the plan we’re going through with and should I get the tech together?”

“While I get the local LEO’s to give us some info on the terrain?” Jess looked them both over before nodding. “Sounds like that’s what we’re doing, thanks for doing all the planning guys, everyone, go get prepared.”

“Kenny, can you come and find me after you’re done talking to the LEO’s? I’d like to talk for a sec.”

“Sure thing Maggie.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His talk with Maggie ended up just being a quick, and confusing, talk.

“I know that it’s been a rough couple of days, but I’m still you really need to be careful.”

“I know, it won’t be like back at the house, there’ll be back up this time, and I’ll have ammo in my gun this time.”

“This isn’t the time to joke but... Okay. And one more thing, be nice to Hana.”

“Aren’t I always nice to Hana? I feel like she’s upset with me but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” Maggie sighed before giving him a long look and was clearly debating whether or not to say something. “It’s not that you’ve done anything wrong, it’s just that... current circumstances have been stressing her out. Like me being your partner right now, it’s thrown her off a bit. And she said you’ve been acting strange so she’s worried about you for that on top of your physical safety, and Zadie has been calling and texting her quite a bit asking for updates about you, and it’s just been a lot for her.”

“Why didn’t she tell me any of this?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who isn’t directly involved in the issue. Look, all I’m saying is that you need to be careful, and maybe tell Zadie to not ask about you while you and Hana are working.”

“I didn’t even know she’s been doing that, it doesn’t matter that Hana isn’t in the field, her work is still crucial and she can’t afford to be distracted. Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good.”

Maggie was still pretty vague, but when Hana was wiring him up, he promised her he would be careful and cautious, that he was sorry if he worried her, the relief on her face made his heart twinge. He hadn’t meant to make her so concerned.

Two sets of headlights drove up the gravel road that leads to town, bring Kenny back to the present. Two men stepped out of each car and he immediately had to stifle a groan. He was now standing alone in a hiking trail parking lot alone, but with back up hiding in the trees, with four nazis. They were all in their fifties wearing blatant white supremacist clothes. He counted a trump shirt, a confederate flag, an all lives matter shirt, and a swastika shirt. “You Jason Anderson?” Confederate spoke first, and his voice was so loud and boisterous it shook his beer belly. “I am.”

“Is that FBI agent you blew up dead yet?”

“I really didn’t come here, when the feds are really pissed and packing heat, to make small talk. Are you buying or not? I’ve got them all loaded up in the back.”

“Can we see them first?”

“After I see the cash.” Trump shirt looked at confederate for confirmation before walking to the second pick-up truck, because of course, and returned with two stuffed duffle bags. Kenny unzipped them the second they were in front of him, and sure enough, stacks of $100 bills shoved inside in a disorderly fashion. Kenny pretended to count but he was really biding his time, trying to find ways to get them to spill their guts. “What do you guys want with this much firepower, anyway? It’s a bit much for hunting.”

“There’s an abortion clinic a couple of hours away in Boston, we’re going to teach those whores to respect life.” And here I was thinking that these scumbags couldn’t get any worse. Kenny sighed and popped the trunk, revealing the crates of guns, that all had the firing pins removed making them useless, but assholes one through four didn’t need to know that. “Alright, take a look. What do you think?”

“I think... That we just got an arsenal for FREE!” All four aimed their newly attained weapons and... Didn’t fire. “Really? Did you honestly think I’d put ammo in there? Whatever, FBI YOU’RE UNDER ARREST!” They didn’t even have time to start running before the most wanted unit, Maggie, SWAT, and LEO’s had burst out of the trees, guns raised.

Fucking morons.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey man, how’d the bust go?”

“Great, we arrested the head of the local faction of the KKK and his minions, apparently. You know, the second the guns were in their hands they tried to blow me to pieces. They thought we, or Anderson rather, would have them all loaded up for them so they could make away with the guns and the cash. You should’ve seen them when they were arrested, they were genuinely surprised that their plan didn’t work, and that no one wanted to hear their bigoted crap. And Anderson’s ex-wife decided to take in all four of Karnstein’s kids, those he had with her husband and brother, which is great because we were worried about what was going to happen to them, but she said she just wants to keep all the siblings together and that’s an example of sainthood if I ever saw one. And before you ask, yes, Maggie’s fine.”

“I’m getting a little predictable when it comes to her, aren’t I?”

“A bit, yeah- hold on one second... I’m back.”  

“What was that?”

“I got another call.”

“From who?”

“Zadie.”

“The girl you’re dating who happens to be the roommate of your best friend and the girl you’re in love with?”

“... Shut up.”

“Hahaha no. Look, we’re both idiots, all three of us were until Halstead figured out how to get off. I can’t talk to Maggie about how I feel, not yet and maybe not ever. Losing her husband left horrendous scars and she needs me to be her partner and her friend, she doesn’t need to deal with how I feel. But you and Hana? You could happen, you could talk to her, I know that you spoke with her about your PTSD and she’s told you about serious things in her life and herself. Both of you have a trust and bond that doesn’t need to be tested. It’s tried and true. You don’t deserve to be miserable, drowning yourself in distractions and being a distraction. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Okay, I will. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you and Maggie are as far away from each other as you think. She talks about you all the time, she told me so many stories about you two in the field. She trusts you implicitly, and the face she makes when she talks about you... There’s nothing platonic about that. So you need to think about talking to your girl and moving forward too, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Am I really not your favourite blonde anymore?”

“Haha, no you’re not, sorry.”

“You knew her for like three days!”

“Eh, still.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“... No, I don’t. But... Maggie told me about the clown fairy princess and I’m gonna tell Halstead about it the next time I call him, which we’ll be in an hour cause I want to catch him before he goes to work. So, HA!”

“Crosby!”

[lycanguts]

CALLOUT POST FOR A PAST ABUSER/MANIPULATOR

So this is definitely not my usual type of content, I don’t like causing unnecessary drama but this is inexcusable. It's probably weird seeing this in a fandom tag but these are his main interests and if it could be boosted in this communities it might save some people.

Tumblr user @yucee is a terrible person both in how he acts and how he treats other people, he’s manipulative, quick to deflect blame and never takes responsibility for his actions. As if that wasn’t bad enough he's also a pedophile.

This post will not only contain my testimonial but the testimonials of two others who also met him.

This one is a doozy but I recommend reading it, I want as many people as possible to see his true nature (especially anyone >22 years old).

I would like make it known that he loves to play the victim in any scenario regardless of whose fault it actually is (most of the time it’s his however, he has a real hard time accepting blame for anything).

While my trauma is not as severe as others who have come in contact with him he ruined what was supposed to be a fun weekend with my friends as well as our first meeting which should’ve been something amazing.

Unfortunately I deleted our conversations on Discord as I didn’t think when I did I would be making this type of post, thankfully his tumblr messenger is still open to me as well as a few text messages post-meetup. Most things that revealed his true nature were said during voice chat so most of these messages are only a small glimpse at what an awful person he is.

My Testimonial:

Hello my name is Anthony, I'm 22 years old and I had met yucee three years back when we had a mutual friend. While we didn’t have much in common he seemed like a nice enough guy and someone I’d like to befriend. We had similar tastes in pokemon as well as similar music tastes, and while we had known each other for three years we hadn’t really talked consistently until mid 2017. It was around the latter half of this year that I had developed feelings for him and after a few weeks of hesitation I asked him out and was excited when he said “yes”. Had third been months ago I’d say our relationship was a good one, he accepted me for who I was and I was just happy to find another trans guy with no interest in anything sexual.

However looking back now I realize not only was Yucee extremely self centered but he made sure to link me to his “coping” fic every other day expecting me to read he one sentence he had added while when I would send him my art it was a 50/50 chance I would ever receive good feedback if any at all (his comments were either “cute” or “gay”, sometimes he would just ignore it altogether).

Did I mention he also invited himself to the convention I attended this summer? Around mid March I had planned on asking him as I was going to test the waters and see if by describing my con experiences it would be something he would be interested in attending possibly next year, however as soon as I brought up I was going to a convention he chirped in with “I want to go too!”. He was excited, I was too, and we soon began to make plans to meet each other. During this time let me point out how he would say things like “are we going to be around your friends the entire convention?” and “since you always get to see your friends can I have you to myself?” And “next year, if you still like me then, I want to go to MTAC, just you and me I don’t want your friends there.” And other things of this nature. At first I thought he was just joking around but it became evident to me after the fact that he was becoming extremely possessive of me to the point he was already picking out what costume I would wear for MTAC. Not only this but when he learned me and my friends had already planned a cosplay group he became upset because we were dating so we should’ve had matching costumes. Again this was mid March and the convention was early in early June, I had been working on what costumes I had since December. He was dead set on cosplaying persona characters and while I liked persona I didn’t think I’d have enough time to throw a costume together. Eventually he seemed pleased enough I’d be cosplaying Akira Fudo while he cosplayed Akira from persona, but he still complained that me and my friend were acting more like a couple than he and I were because I had a matching cosplay with her, “we’re boyfriends we should be matching he’d say”. Again, my friends plan our convention going experience well in advance, Yucee had pushed himself into our plans and was upset that nothing was going his way 100%, and that reflected in his behavior at the convention (we’ll get to that shitshow soon enough).

So it’s planning time, we have a few months, I tell him what kinds of things he can buy in the vendor hall and he starts buying his costumes and he estimates he’ll be able to save at least $800 of his SSI checks up to the point, but him being the impulsive man he is he had barely $300. He didn’t even buy his own ticket, he had spent all of his check from May on even more akeshu prints and costume stuff so he didn’t have enough to pay for a preregistration ticket (these closed on may 31st), so I offered to buy his ticket if he paid me back when I came to get him.

When it came to the issue of how he was going to get to my home I of course offered to drive him as long as he helped with gas and such.

Many, many times I assured him I would come and get him, I even had my car worked on just so I could be confident it would make the trip, but every so often he would say things like “I shouldn’t even be planning this, none of my plans ever work out.”

Every time this came up I assured him that it wouldn’t be an issue, while I had never made a trip this long by myself before I was more than willing.

Whenever I picked him up he gave me $50 for gas when he should’ve given me $150 ($100 for gas there and back, $50 for the ticket). But if we wanna get technical he also owed me an extra $50 on top of this, money he said he’d pay me during the convention (he didn’t). I had bought him a pair of shoes for a costume he didn’t wear (because he was too busy wearing my Guzma shoes) and two face products he used twice but stopped using after it didn’t work fast enough for his liking.

The $50 he had given me however was money he had guilted his dad into giving him, his dad couldn’t meet me halfway because he had stomach issues and was worried he wouldn’t be able to make the trip, which I was fine with, but he had told me he would ask his dad for more money from his monthly check because it was “his [dad’s] fault” I would have to drive the whole way. Also when I first was introduced to his father he introduced me as his boyfriend when I had made it VERY clear that I wanted to be introduced as only a friend, so he outted me without even considering my feelings.

For most of the car ride back he complained constantly about the heat, I had warned him my A/C was on the fritz but he continuously brought t up ever few minutes that he was hot. It was a four hour car ride.

As for the convention itself I will condense it to bullets because there’s a LOT to dive into.

June 7th (Day Before Con)

-I had warned him that he would have to come to work with me when he stayed at my house, since he was unaccustomed to waking up early I offered to wake him twenty minutes before I left (8:00 AM). The moment he woke up he didn’t wish me a happy birthday, the first words out of his mouth were “what are we doing for breakfast?” When I offered him one of my protein bars he made he comment how that wouldn’t fill him up and how he needed something with sodium, he then proceeded to try to get me to cook him a can of soup. This was five minutes before I was supposed to leave to pick up my friend/coworker. I made him a peanut butter sandwich because peanut butter is filling and added a bit of salt because salty peanut butter is good. He didn’t even finish the sandwich, handed it back to me with two bites out of it and continued to complain about being hungry until lunch time.

-When my friend was talking about how shitty her parent was Yucee responded with “if that was my dad I would just stand up to him” without realizing that my friend’s parent is verbally and emotionally abusive to her, unlike his dad who I assume just doesn’t coddle him like his mom did. He would say often how his dad was a terrible person and then turn around and say he couldn't wait for his dad to get a settlement (which he intended to give Yucee a good part of). His dad is also accepting of him and supportive of him to the point he even is helping fund his T shots/top surgery. When I told him that my friend's parent was not his father he immediately fired back with "Oh well you can't compare suffering."

You're probably wondering why I referred to my friend's parent as her parent as opposed to her "mother", well about that...

This is in his about. We’ll get into this later.

-We’re short staffed at work, he offered to help. He refused to do litterboxes because of the smell, it took three times of asking him to sweep for me to eventually hand him the broom to sweep, he proceeded to wildly rock the broom back and fourth saying he didn’t know how to sweep, I then asked him to do dishes since he didn’t know how to sweep (he didn’t do the dishes).

-Asked me if he could wear my new pair of shoes because he didn’t have the foresight to pack a comfortable pair of shoes that weren’t for a costume ; whined when I said no because as I said these were my new shoes and a birthday present, continued to complain about how much his feet hurt in my old pair of work shoes I lent him.

-Did I mention he constantly stated that the government pays him to not know anything, and that was one of his many excuses on how he didn’t know how to do even simple tasks like sweep? Other excuses were “I didn’t know that” or “I’m autistic I can’t help it” or “I’ve never done this before.”

-Went into a frenzy when my friends went over a couple of aisles in a very small dollar store, “you guys were going to leave me!” he growled. We assured him we wouldn’t do that countless times after this, this would not be the first occurrence.

-we arrive at my Dad’s house where we would be staying for the convention. Yucee’s frantic squeaking of a toy he had caught the attention of my sister’s lab puppy, thinking Yucee wanted to play he grabbed the toy with his mouth earning a scream followed by a backhand from Yucee. He never apologized. While on the topic of animal abuse: Yucee is extremely neglectful of the three cats he owns. One is covered so badly in flea bites and scabs chunks of his fur are missing and the table on which they eat was covered in vomit and old food, plus they don’t have a litter box so they have to go outside to use the bathroom despite him living near a busy road. Yet he continuously says he wants more cats.

-Whined that his wig didn’t look -exactly- like the picture and proceeded to throw it on the ground, no one noticed him do this as we were busy with our own things. He came out after about a minute and shouted at us “Did no one see me throw my wig down?!” When my friend Seth apologized and pointed out we were all busy he verbally said “sigh”.

June 8th (Day 1 of the con)

-morning time, we’re all getting dressed in our cosplays, Yucee takes the longest despite having the simplest costume and demands that we show him how to apply makeup/put on a wig, after showing him a few times already the night before. he also asks us to do the tasks for him, including putting on his makeup and even partially dressing him (made someone put on his suspenders for him without him even trying beforehand) “I’ve never cosplayed before.” he would say. His outfit was a shirt, pants and a pair of suspenders, he wasn’t even wearing his wig.

-as for my birthday present from him: in the vendor hall he buys me three tiny buttons, $1 each, two buttons that have lgbt+ pride things on them, both of which I can’t wear in my daily life. He also buys me s hat that he didn’t ask if I wanted, especially since the only kind of hats I wear are baseball hats. You might think I’m just mad that I didn’t get presents I wanted, I’m usually the thought that counts type of guy, but he made it quite clear what he wanted for his birthday that was a month away while we were in the vendor hall, he kept making remarks how he wanted a commission done of his favorite persona character, he wanted multiple commissions, and he made it clear he wanted me to buy them. He still hasn’t wished me a happy birthday.

-me and my two friends have had a few pictures of us requested at this point , Yucee gets angry that no one recognizes his Ryuji cosplay and how no one had asked for a picture. Thirty minutes after this exchange someone asks for his picture, he declines saying he’s a “disgusting gross frog man”. Soon after he again complains about this issue.

-complained, constantly, every five minutes it was either asking me when we were going home or how there were no persona cosplayers (there were, plenty) or how he was so nasty and had to go home and shower/wash his clothes (he showered at least three times a day).

-pulled me away from activities with my friends because he wanted me to take him home to shower/wash his clothes (where we were staying was roughly 20 minutes from the convention center and it took him thirty minutes each time).

-straight up insulted cosplayers because they didn’t pick the outfit he liked for the character they were portraying or said he didn’t like the costume because they were acting “too straight”.

-got jealous because me and my friend were “acting more like a couple” than me and him were. My friend and I were Pipimi and Popuko from popteamepic, canonically they are girlfriends and the most my friend and I did was hold hands while skipping and playfully call each other “darling”. I didn’t want to hold hands with Yucee, I didn’t even want to touch him.

-reason I wouldn’t hold hands or even touch Yucee? He had broken many of my boundaries in a short span of time, while it was was wrong of me to not communicate this to him he still continued to push when I was visibly uncomfortable. A ten year friendship had lot less boundaries than a three year friendship/seven month relationship (that I had just met in person two days earlier). Yucee would constantly rub his hands over the back of my neck, he would constantly slap my arm and eventually did it in for me was when he snuck up behind me and angrily slammed his hand on my shoulder because me and my friends had “left” him. I nearly had a panic attack before I realized it was him. He never apologized.

-would go into a frenzy if my group travelled ahead without him, even if we were in sight and only a few feet away he would cry about how we were leaving him behind. Every time I assured him we wouldn’t leave him and he could call me should we get separated.

June 9th (Day 2 of the con)

-Morning routine similar to day one, complete with him still making someone else do his makeup for him

-Said “not all of us having living mothers” rather annoyingly when someone was complaining about their mom. This person didn’t know Yucee had “ptsd” and wasn’t even talking to him but rather to my friend. He sounded more annoyed than about to have a panic attack, he even said what was supposed to be his trigger word.

-Did have a “breakdown” however because we walked a few feet away from him, we were still in eyesight, he didn’t even attempt to keep up with us. Went to the nearest booth where he knew he’d get sympathy, a booth that he knew was run by someone’s MOTHER. Made the comment afterwards that he wished she would adopt him.

-Tried to guilt me should I be thinking about breaking up with him.

-Constantly says that he should’ve never of come and how he just wants to go home, even asks if I or my grandma can drive him home on day three.

So the convention dance party rolls around, which is basically just a clean rave, I’m hyped because this is the first time I’m actually going to break out of my comfort zone and attend it. Yucee wanted to go to as he said he had always wanted to see what a rave was like, the moment we step in he goes to sit in the corner by himself. I told him I’ll come check on him every few minutes, I left my phone with him to prove that would come back for him. A few minutes pass and I go to check on him, he says he’s going outside the door for a second to get some air, so I think nothing of it. I see that they’re selling light up face masks so I had to run to my car to get cash, a trip that’ll take me about ten minutes. I tell my friends where I’m going and that Yucee said he’d be right outside. Halfway on my trip back from the car I’m alerted that my friends can’t find Yucee. I start to panic and practically run back to where the dance party is, I meet up with my friends and we split up to look for him. It doesn’t take me long to find him because I look in the area where he said he was going: outside on the balcony. I look around and there’s a lot of people out there, none Yucee, but upon further inspection I see he’s all the way on the other end of the balcony where no one else is. I lose it because he didn’t tell anyone he was going over there, we all assumed outside on the balcony meant with the rest of the people taking a break, not wedged in a corner out of anyone’s sight line. That’s when I decide it’s time someone has a talking to with him. I ask my friend to tell him why what he did wasn’t okay while I go grab a cup of water, when I return to them my friend makes it clear it’s my turn to talk to him. That’s when I decide to break up with him, not because of his “break down” but because of his disregard of anyone else’s feelings that weekend. While I was considering it I was going to think it over after the convention and make my decision in the future, he twisted my arm for the last time though. 

-Yucee blames my friend Boo for the reason we broke up despite me clarifying that it was 100% my decision

-Also blamed her for being the reason he had a breakdown, because she didn’t coddle him like everyone else. Didn't even bother to apologize for the two breakdowns he had caused her, when I brought it up he would always go through me to do it.

-so after I gave him my two cents I let him stew in a safe space while I tried to enjoy the remainder of the day with my friends (it was 12 am at this point and the con center closed at 1 am). We went to the game room (which I told him about) and not ten minutes go by he’s spamming me with texts and calls to tell me this is why he has “trust issues”.

-We get home and he goes immediately to bed without a word to any of us

June 10th (Final day of the con)

-Stayed in my dad’s basement all day by request, barely paid me half of the convention ticket money he owed me because he had spent it all on merch

I didn't hear from him all day, didn't even acknowledge us when we returned to start packing up.

-when we arrived at my home after leaving my dad’s he locked himself away all night, I didn’t see him until the next morning when I drove him home. (which he didn't provide me gas for, didn't even say one word to me).

I was lucky that my friend Boo tagged along when I took him home because she is one of the best friends I have had or will ever have and despite Yucee's hatred of her he could actually learn a LOT from her about being a good person.

I did have some contact with him post convention which is outlined in most of these messages, but for about the past month I have not contacted him out of one anon (see end of this post).

So just keep in mind that when he says his convention experience was awful that he’s the reason for a good portion of it going bad, he didn’t even bother apologizing to my friends once for ruining their convention, a convention that we all look forward to a year in advance.

Now I believe my friend's deserve to have their voices heard.

Boo’s Testimonial:

(This one’s a bit messy thanks to tumblr’s image limit)

Seth’s Testimonial:

In summary: yucee aka Jamie/Mike McCarver is a lazy, manipulative, self centered man. He’s a 27 year old who acts like he’s a child and plays up his problems for sympathy, he refuses to ever take blame or apologize for anything because how could he do wrong when he’s autistic/disabled. If he ever does apologize he never says it directly to the person, rather he goes for a general apology. He also says he’s learned from his mistakes but it’s obvious that he’s just saying that in an attempt to placate those he’s wronged or save face.

He’s also known to twist words to garner sympathy, what a shocker:

I sent him an anon as bait because I knew he’d twist the words. But I never said he didn’t deserve testosterone, and he knows that’s not what I meant, by not publishing the ask he can twist the words how he likes, which he likes to do a lot.

The anon read “If you paint a piece of shit gold it’s still a piece of shit. I’m not sure what you think you learned from your experience but it doesn’t change that you’re a pedophile. You were old enough to know what you were doing was wrong, in the end you hurt someone and if your not man enough to just issue an apology to them you’re a coward and no amount of testosterone will make you a real man. Your mother and father would be ashamed.”

Oh, and don’t forget about him being a pedophile.

Yucee was/is a sexually aggressive pedophile who refuses to acknowledge that he’s mentally messed up someone so bad that it’s still affecting them to this day and doesn’t even bother to apologize to them because he thinks they’ve traumatized him too. They were 14 years old, he was 22. He seems to have made it his mission to demonize his victim when his victim has not even made contact with him in three years. He says he’s changed but continues to befriend people at least five years younger than him, while they still are legal adults it’s still creepy considering the past he’s had with younger individuals.

And Yucee if you’re reading this: Your victim has not sent you any anons, you know exactly who has because you’ve told me before you know it’s her. 

Please boost this, do NOT interact with this user to send hate, and PLEASE stay safe.

[johnark]

                                                   PROLOGUE

My name is cut into the sidewalk on the campus of the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. I am pleased and proud to say that other members of our family can say the same. When I graduated with a degree in engineering I went to work for a defense contractor with headquarters in Orange County, California. It wasn’t by luck that I went there. I had joined the military during the war with Korea and I spent a week or so in the area on my way to Korea. I discovered the moderate summer temperatures and low humidity and vowed to return after I got my education. So, there I was. As my company was a defense contractor, there were projects all over the country as well as business with sub-contractors all over the country. Family guys viewed these required trips away from family sometimes for a week or two as a hardship. However, being single I had no such reservations; in fact I sought these trips out, especially the longer ones. That way I could take a few days of vacation going to and from the business and drive. I would take one route to the work and another route returning to the plant. I was seeing the world. A sheltered young man from Arkansas was having his horizons expanded. This was Cold War time and we were awarded the contract to design, manufacture and install an air defense system for NATO to protect the West from a hostile air attack from the Soviet Bloc. Now there were opportunities to travel to Europe. I jumped at the chance. My horizons were really expanding now. I was now in European countries as often as I was at the plant in California. Flying back and forth gave me the opportunity to take a few days enroute to and from and visit Arkansas. On these trips my home base would always be at my grandmother’s house in Hope, Arkansas; but I would always spend some time with my mother and sister and her wonderful family in the Hampton, Arkansas area. This was the life – wonderful, enjoyable, adventurous, fun with ever expanding knowledge and possibilities. After 25 years with the company I retired. My wife and I settled first in Europe, then to California, then to Colorado, then to Utah, then to Nevada where we are now. I did not forget my roots, my home, during all this time and continued to visit my Grandmother, Ruth Gunter Johnston; my mother, Mary Frances Johnston McLeod Weisinger; and my sister, Frankie Lou Weisinger Means and her family. These wonderful visits home continued until my health wouldn’t support it any more. My sister, Frankie, and I continued our connection by telephone for quite a long time. Finally we reverted to the USPS, which is where we are now. It was during these letter correspondences that we began to discuss our mother, Mary. In a letter quite a few years ago, Frankie posed the question “I wonder what made our mother so mean and hateful.” I agreed with her assessment, but said that it would take a lot of thought to reach a conclusion. Both Frankie and I agreed that we should have asked both Ruth and Mary a lot of family questions that we did not. Now all the people who know the details are gone and our memories of that time over 80 years ago are fuzzy to say the least. We would have to concentrate on that long ago period and commit to paper whenever some memory was revealed. Then we would have to analyze the information and identify scenarios that could have happened, and then with research and deduction decide the most logical and reasonable scenario that we think could have and most likely did happen. We mulled that around in our minds for several years.  Last year, 2019, Frankie and I began to put it all together on paper. That’s the following narrative, THE MARY STORY. Most of the story takes place at locations on this map. 

I want to clearly identify the principle people named in this essay. The contributors to this narrative are John Charles McLeod, Frankie Lou Weisinger Means, children of Mary Frances Johnston McLeod Weisinger and Melissa Mohon Papineau, daughter of Vivian Jane Johnston Jackson Mohon. Ruth Gunter Johnston was one of ten children of James Henry Gunter and Martha Frances William Buffington who were prosperous farmers in College Hill, Arkansas. This was a sparsely settled area devoted to farming. Many family members, including James and Martha, are buried in Shiloh Cemetery, not far from College Hill. They provided their children with a good education, including arts and culture. Ruth was an accomplished pianist. 

She was teaching at Henderson – Brown University, as it was named then, in Arkadelphia, Arkansas when she married Medical Doctor Charles Bennet Johnston of Warren, Arkansas. They married in 1909 when Ruth was 23 years old and CB was 34. They settled in Harrell, Arkansas probably where CB already had an established MD practice. In 1912 they had their first child, Mary Frances. In 1917 they had their second child, TJ. Vivian Jane was born in 1921. Probably CB began to notice the symptoms of Parkinson’s disease in about 1928 or 1929 and he succumbed to the disease in November 1932.  

Alice Ann is mentioned on Page 13. Alice Ann is the first child of Frankie Lou and Allison Means. Cindy is mentioned on Page 15. Cindy is the fourth of seven children by Frankie and Allison. Ryan and Ty, also mentioned on Page 15, are Cindy’s children.  RE is first mentioned on Page 20. RE is the second husband of Vivian Jane and is the father of Melissa. Cindy and Melinda are pictured on Page 30. Melinda is the fifth child of Frankie and Allison. Frankie Lou and Allison’s seven children in order of birth are Alice Ann, Martha Kaye, Thom Allison, Margaret Lucinda, Melinda, Russell Paul, and Kevin Bradford. All except Russell are pictured on Page 32. 

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                                                                                                                                        THE MARY STORY

Let me start this off by stating what is officially recorded in my birth certificate and what we think to be true. When I was born on 21 September 1931 Frank McLeod was 40 years old and Mary was 19. Frank listed his residence as Banks and Mary listed her residence as Harrell. The doctor who completed the birth certificate was Dr. J.E. Rhine of Thornton. The birth certificate was registered by Ruth Johnston on 24 September 1931. Frank’s trade was listed as ‘ginner.’ Mary’s trade was listed as ‘housekeeper.’ The birth was listed as ‘legitimate,’ which should mean they were married at the time of my birth. 

During a summer visit to Mary and Frank Weisinger when I was in school I asked Mary if she knew where Frank McLeod was. She replied “you have waited too long for that. He is dead now.” I asked her how life was with Frank and she replied “wonderful.”

I asked her where they lived. She said “in the hotel” or maybe she said “in hotels.” I’m not clear on that point. I asked Mary didn’t he want to contact me, to see the kind of person I am? Mary replied “no contact. That was part of the agreement. He never broke it.”

I saw some pictures of Mary and me with Mary in her school graduation cap and gown. I was a toddler. I could walk. The top of my head was about up to her waist. I was maybe 2 or 3? 

These pictures  were taken at the Johnston home in Harrell, Arkansas in 1934 on the occasion of Mary’s Artesian High School graduation.                                                                             

On 21 September 1931, Ruth Johnston was 45, CB Johnston was 56, Frank McLeod was 40, Mary was 19, TJ was 14, Vivian was 10, Frank Weisinger was 19. CB Johnston died on 22 November 1932. The Great Stock Market Crash occurred on 29 October 1929. The country was in the Great Depression with 30% of the work force unemployed until the beginning of WWII in 1941. Mary and Frank Weisinger had their first child, Frankie Lou on 24 February 1935. 

So, on 21 September 1931, Ruth’s husband was dying, Mary was delivering John, TJ was 14 and Vivian was 10. The country was in the Great Depression with 30% of the work force unemployed. 

Those pictures and words are the facts as we think we know them now. I will now raise rhetorical questions, make comments and do analytical research in an effort to determine what the most probable, most reasonable, most logical situation existed at that time. 

Frank was 40, Mary was 19. This fact immediately raises a line of questioning that would be entirely different, if, say, they were both 19. OK? Was Frank married? Divorced? Widowed? Single? We don’t know the answer to any of that and a yes to any one of the four possibilities raises a different set of new questions. How did Mary and Frank meet? Frank was a ginner, the operator of a cotton gin. I don’t recall a cotton gin in Harrell. However, there was a railroad with a depot in Harrell. This would have been convenient for shipping bales of cotton. I do not recall seeing cotton bales at the Harrell depot. The depot was about 150 yards from our house. I searched the Internet for cotton gin locations in Arkansas and found very minimal information. I do know for a fact that there was a gin in Hampton. At that time cotton was transported to the gin in a horse drawn wagon. It was depression time and farmers were still in the horse drawn age for both transportation and work. In 1931 trucks were not a viable alternative. Railroads were needed to transport cotton to the textile mills of the north. Therefore, Harrell could very well have been a hub for shipping cotton. Harrell is 4.7 miles from Hampton. A horse drawn wagon’s average speed is about 4 mph. Therefore, a wagon full of ginned cotton bales could be transported from Hampton to Harrell in 1.5 hours. I notice on the birth certificate that two people using two different pens entered information on the certificate. One person was Dr Rhine. The information entered by the second person is the name of the child, the trade of the father, the middle initial of the mother, the name of the Registrar (Ruth Johnston) and the date the certificate was filed. Perhaps this second person was not familiar with cotton processing and knew only that Frank worked in the cotton business. He could have been in management at the cotton gin in Hampton and traveled to the Harrell Depot to organize and supervise the shipment of the cotton bales to the customers. It could be that travel to customer locations in large cities would be part of the job. The birth certificate lists his residence as Banks, Arkansas. Did he own a home there, or did he live there with relatives (such as mother and father) when there was no cotton to be ginned? How long did Mary and Frank  live together? Were they living together during cotton harvesting season as well as winter and cotton planting season? Where did they live together? Mary told me they lived in hotels or a hotel. How old was Mary when she began living with Frank? According to the Internet the average female in the 1930s was 5’6” and 124 pounds. I remember Mary as that, not small, not tall. So, if we say 5”6” and the top of my head is at her waist in the photo; then I would be about 2’9” in the photo. According to the Internet the average height of a 2 year old boy is 2’10”. So we can say that I am about 2 years old in the photo. (From analysis later in this essay, I am most likely 2¾ years old and Mary is unmarried and pregnant with Frankie Lou in these photos.) There is the nine months of pregnancy, one to two years for nursing inasmuch as formula was not widely introduced until the 1940s. After that Mary could then return to school to graduate, which is what we see in the photo. Her age on the birth certificate is 19. According to the Internet the average age of high school juniors is 16 or 17 and seniors 17 or 18. I was born on 21 September 1931; therefore, I was conceived in January 1931. Cotton is planted in early spring, depending on the weather and is harvested in August and September in this area. Assuming that Frank and Mary met during the harvesting season at the Harrell depot, they probably met in August-September of 1930. This would most likely have been prior to Mary’s senior year in high school. They could have been together from that time through January of 1931 and Mary could have returned home visibly pregnant about June-July 1931. Where did they live during this time? Mary said that they lived in hotels or in a hotel. But where? An alternative time frame would be from August-September 1929. This would mean prior to Mary’s junior year in high school, meaning that she had two years of school to graduate and about a year and a half living with Frank. I think this scenario is less likely. So if they met in August-September of 1930, prior to Mary’s senior year in high school, she would have been most likely 17 or just barely 18. Perhaps she had just turned 18, an adult, and thought she could do as she pleased. Mary said that life with Frank was “wonderful.” She also said that there was an agreement and part of the agreement was no contact from Frank. This tells me that there was a conflict and that the resolution was more or less dictated by someone against the wishes of Mary. If both Frank and Mary were in love, why didn’t they marry and live happily every after? I conclude that Mary was in love, Frank was not. When she became visibly pregnant, he most likely sent her home to have the baby. I think Ruth threatened him with possible incarceration and dictated the terms of the “agreement.” Some of the terms being to marry Mary prior to the birth of the child and cease all contact with Mary or the child. I think he quickly agreed to these terms and went happily on his way. I also think this disappointed and in fact infuriated Mary. She probably wanted Ruth to force Frank to marry her and to live with her. Her dream of life with Frank traveling the world as she knew it was shattered. When I finally got sense enough to ask about Frank, maybe in my teen years, she quickly replied with his status, meaning that she had at least maintained knowledge of Frank all those years. 

So, what do we think we know as fact? Mary dropped out of school and left home with Frank McLeod. She returned home pregnant. She and Frank were married prior to the birth. Frank agreed not to contact Mary or the child. Mary enjoyed her life with Frank and was happy during that time. Mary returned to high school and graduated. That brief summary can be embellished in many, many ways. 

 If cotton was shipped from Harrell on the rail road to market, the bales would not have accumulated on the station platform. Therefore they would not have been obvious to me. The bales would have been stored in a rail road car on a side rail until the car was full and ready for shipment. With the depot so close to the house and with lax supervision due to Ruth’s situation, it would have been easy for Mary to go over to the depot to observe the activity. Ruth was very busy caring for a dying husband, doing all the housework, cooking the meals and therefore attention to three children would most likely have suffered somewhat. The connection between Mary and Frank at the depot could have begun with a simple question such as “where does all that cotton go?” It could have culminated with “come with me and I’ll show you the world.” Or, “take me with you.” An unattached man of that age would have been flattered to have the attention of a young, pretty girl. And we know now that there was a promiscuous element to Mary’s psyche. If this scenario, or one similar to it, was true there would have had to be a great disagreement between Mary and Ruth about leaving. Otherwise, there would have been missing person reports, or even possibilities of kidnapping. When Mary became pregnant, especially visibility pregnant, Frank most likely explained that family life was not for him and that Mary would have to return to Harrell and to Ruth’s care. If this or something similar was the case, Frank would most likely have been elated to agree to marry to give the child a legitimacy with no further contact and no further responsibility. If this scenario or something similar is true, Ruth’s responsibilities and anxieties, cited previously, would have limited her analytical parenting. Therefore, in this case there would most likely have been harsh words at the time Mary left to live unmarried with Frank and at the time she returned still unmarried with Frank’s child. This surely would have been the source of conflict between mother and daughter for the remainder of their lives, and we have evidence that there was conflict. Vivian told me that Charles B. Johnston died of Parkinson’s disease. This disease is a progressive, untreatable, incurable nervous system disorder manifested with movement disorders, autonomic dysfunction, neuropsychiatric problems among others. The end stage of Parkinson’s is an extremely distressing situation. Today hospice takes over at that point. Family cannot provide or endure care at that point. CB probably suffered with incontinence, insomnia, dementia, hallucinations, severe posture issues with back, neck, hips and was surely bedridden. Just think of a bedridden heavy man, drooling, urinating uncontrollably, with diarrhea, depressed, and demented. It would have been impossible for Ruth to have cared for CB alone. However inexpensive, inexperienced assistance could have been available from the black community. Surely Ruth would have expected assistance from her children – Vivian 9 or 10, TJ 13 or 14 and Mary 16 or 17. The situation in CB’s room must have been hell. And probably smelled that way, too. Hell at that point and the future very bleak. The country was in the midst of the depression with 30% of the work force unemployed. Is this the reason that Mary dropped out of school, abandoned her family and ran away with Frank McLeod? What about family loyalty, personal responsibility, conscience? What did Ruth think when her oldest daughter abandoned her in the time of most need? Yes, abandoned. Fled. That’s the way it looks to me. Yes, living with Frank would have been “wonderful” compared to the hell that existed in the Johnston household. Had she stayed with Frank, as it turned out, it would have been a blessing for Ruth. But rather than escape from it, Mary returned just in time to add to that hell and responsibility for Ruth. I was born on 21 September 1931. CB was in the last, tortured year of his life. He died on 22 November 1932. So, in summary, the situation for Ruth at the return of pregnant Mary was: caring for CB in the direst and most demanding period of his declining health, supervising untrained CB care givers, caring for two high school children, managing a household, managing the family finances, and now Ruth has to organize the care of Mary and the child, deal with Frank McLeod and through legal or other coercion convince him to legitimize the child by marrying Mary. This situation would surely have overwhelmed a lesser person. That house in Harrell, still standing in 2020 (Page 25), is a small one and could not physically accommodate all the activity thrust upon Ruth. So, Ruth organized an unknown benefactor in Artesian, Arkansas (Map Pages 33, 34) to take in pregnant Mary and care for her and her child. Ruth organized for Dr. J. E. Rhine of Thornton, Arkansas to deliver the child. Today unmarried mothers is a common situation. In those days there was an immense stigma associated with this. Even divorce carried a stigma. Was the Artesian relocation for Mary to relieve her of the humiliation by her classmates, and perhaps relieve Ruth of the humiliation by her peers in Harrell? I don’t think so. I think it was just a byproduct of the situation; that the relocation was dictated by the turmoil in the Johnston household at the time. It was life and death “crunch time” in the Johnston household and Ruth did not have time for social contemplations. Probably Ruth did not have the time or the inclination to convince Mary that this was the best course of action. She probably just informed Mary that this is what we are going to do and it is not open for discussion. If this is the way it was, and this supposition is logical in this circumstance, then it very well could have been another point of contention and resentment Mary had for Ruth. 

John was born in September 1931, most likely conceived in January 1931. Mary most likely returned to the Johnston household obviously pregnant in June – July 1931 time frame.  Mary was then most likely relocated to Artesian in July – August 1931 to the home of the unknown benefactor. After the birth of the baby, there is the timeline between then and the time the baby returned to the Johnston household in Harrell. After puzzling over this time line for quite some time, the most logical (at least to me) scenario I could come up with has Mary nursing me for nearly two years in Artesian living with the benefactor.  The reason I have her nursing me for nearly two years is this: The scientific study of the human biology indicates that the human body is geared to a weaning time of 2½ to 7 years. In 1931 baby food had just been invented and was not commercially available on a large scale. When it came time to integrate “baby food” with mother’s milk, the baby food was made at home. At that time meat and solid foods were considered damaging to a child’s digestive system. Also, fruits and vegetables were avoided until about age four out of fear of disease. The World Health Organization advocates at least two years of breast feeding. UNICEF also recommends this. So, in 1931 with no commercial formula and no commercial baby food, two years or more of breast feeding for newborns would most likely be normal. So, I chose nearly two years for our timeline. Inasmuch as both Frankie Lou and I have good, strong systems within our bodies – good cardio vascular systems, good immune systems, etc., I conclude that both Frankie Lou and I were most likely breast fed for about two years. And immune systems are key here because biological science indicates that a strong immune system needs prolonged breast feeding. (I think that depending on formula rather than prolonged breast feeding has created so many people with all sorts of allergies in today’s society.) Here is the time line that makes the most sense to me: 

July – August 1931 – Mary is relocated to Artesian to the care of the benefactor. 

September 1931 – John is born.

The unknown benefactor in Artesian could have been a midwife. We just don’t know, but are grateful. The Johnston Harrell household just could not accommodate the needs of Mary and John with Dr. CB in the horrible Parkinson’s disease end of life period as well as all the other responsibilities being born by Ruth at this time. 

September 1932 – John is still in the nursing phase and one year old.

Late summer 1933 – John is relocated to Harrell and to the care of Big. Perhaps this is done to allow Mary to be free to concentrate on her final year in high school in Artesian. Mary told me that I could not stop crying when they took me away. 

I wonder if this separation had any effect on my psyche that I don’t realize even now in 2020.  

September 1933 – Mary enters Artesian High School for her senior year. She meets Frank Weisinger and begins to have casual sex with him. Frank was the most handsome guy in the class. I saw a photo of the Artesian school class that Mary had. 

Frankie Lou had this photo for awhile after Mary died. There were about ten people in this photograph. 

May 1934 – Mary conceives Frankie Lou.

June 1934 – Mary and Frank graduate from high school. We have the photos of Mary in her graduation cap and gown in Harrell with John which were shown earlier in this essay. Mary is pregnant with Frankie Lou in these pictures. John would be two years and nine months old at this time. Mary would be about 21 years, 10 months old. The most logical and reasonable scenario has Mary returning to Harrell to join the Johnston household and to be the mother of John. She soon discovers that she is pregnant. She goes to the Witherington farm to find Frank and to determine if he would marry her.  

July 1934 – Mary goes to the field to notify Frank that she is pregnant. Frank’s older sister, Molly, told Frankie Lou that Frank was working in the field and Mary came there to give Frank the news. Here is the reason that I think that Mary and Frank were having casual sex. If they were in a loving relationship, making plans for the future, Mary would have waited for a more intimate moment to give her lover the good news. However, going into the field to disclose the situation, means to me that Mary has just determined that she is pregnant and is alarmed and distraught, knowing that she is in big trouble if Frank will not agree to marry her. Frank does the honorable thing and they marry and move into a little two room house across the creek from the Oscar Witherington field where he is working and where he and Mary would spend their lives working.  

February 5, 1935 – Frankie is born. Mary, Frank and Frankie Lou live in the little two room house for several years and until the four room house on Highway 167 next to the Oscar Witherington farm land is vacated. This is where Frankie Lou grew up and where I came to visit on my summer vacations. Why wasn’t John returned to the care of Mary after Mary and Frank married? This is an interesting question and I have no answer for it. I have no regrets regarding my life with Big. I have had a wonderful life. I just wonder why the situation was that I lived with Big and spent school summers with Mary, Frank and Frankie Lou? I suppose we’ll never know. 

What was life like for Mary and Frank working the Oscar Witherington 80 acre farm and living in the little four room house on Highway 167?

Both Mary and Frank worked hard making their situation as good as it could be. Mary was much more than just a good and hard farm worker. She was smart, clever, intelligent. She really had a talent as an artist which became known late in her life. Her paintings were becoming commercial quality. She never smoked or drank alcohol except for one instance that Frankie recalls.  Frankie and I can be thankful for the good health and good genes she passed on to us. What contributed to her attitude that dominated her late life? I do not recall anything negative during my pre-teen and teen summer visits with Mary, Frank and Frankie Lou. I enjoyed those visits and had fun. I know I was a burden to both of them. I recall four errors that I made and Frank just laughed them off. I carelessly contaminated a large bin of picked cotton, I nearly wrecked the tractor, I started a forest fire and I flooded a part of a cotton field. They never complained and never criticized me for my errors. They were farming and farm life in that era was very hard. Frank plowed with a mule and horses for most of the time. Tractors came into the picture late. Cotton was the money crop. Picking cotton is hard work. I tried it. They produced all they needed to subsist. They grew fruits and vegetables. Mary maintained a beautiful vegetable garden. They raised animals – chickens, pigs, cattle. They produced food for the animals. They had a small barn for animal food storage. They had a smoke house for preserving food for winter. They slaughtered animals and preserved them in the smoke house. Mary canned and preserved food for winter consumption. They cooked on a wood stove. The house had no plumbing and no electricity. Nighttime illumination was by oil lamp. Water was brought in from the nearby well for cooking and bathing. We bathed once a week. Even a pump for the well came in late. Clothes were washed in a big, black, iron pot in the back yard and hung to dry on clothes lines in the back yard. Frank’s very dirty working clothes were boiled in the pot with a very harsh soap. The pot was heated by a wood fire. The toilet was in the usual small house about 100 yards from the home. Toilet paper was a Montgomery Ward catalog. Mary gave birth to me at 19. She gave birth to Frankie at 23, four years later. There was a nine year gap and then she had Barry Lynn in 1944 who lived six months and Kenneth Wayne in 1945 who was stillborn. Frankie was told that if they had carried Barry Lynn to the doctor immediately when he got sick, that he very well could have survived his illness. Perhaps they didn’t for financial reasons. We just don’t know. The little house was a ‘shotgun house’ with four rooms – a kitchen and living room on one side of the open ‘hallway’ and two bedrooms on the other side with one bedroom actually being the enclosed back porch. Heating was from a fireplace in the living room and from the kitchen stove. Those bedrooms could be very cold even in non-winter times. This was a hard and difficult life. But as I recall during the period of my summer visits there was a very positive, friendly, wholesome atmosphere in this household that was full of work by Mary and Frank every day. Of course I was only there during my school summer vacation. Frankie Lou experienced a side of Mary and Frank, especially Mary, that I never suspected. 

Here is what she says about that surprising (to me) experience:

“During the time when I was from about 12 to 16 years old mama and daddy worked the farm all the year except the winter. During the winter daddy worked in construction and mama worked in town. Daddy would be gone all week and returned home for the weekends. I remember a man named Henderson who would come to the house and pick up mama and me and we would go to El Dorado. They would put me in a double feature movie and would return in about 4 hours. He was not from Hampton. Later on she became less secretive about seeing other men. When mama was working at the Drug Store she began to see Gerald Cook. I would wait in the truck while they would go into the bushes south of town. I remember one time we went to a dance in Harrell and mama got drunk. This was the only time that happened. It got really bad when she was working at Clanton’s Café. She would stay out all night somewhere leaving me at home alone. She was gone a lot. When daddy did not come home on the weekend, she did as she pleased and would be gone. One time there was a big snowfall and you couldn’t travel on the roads. Mama did not come home for four days. Thankfully there was butane for heating, but by the end of the four days the food was almost gone. This was scary. All this came to a point one weekend. One time daddy said that he would not be coming home on the next weekend. Mama told me she had to go to Hope to see about Big who was very sick. But daddy did come home and wanted to know where mama was. I told him what mama had told me. He had me call Hope to find out. They said that Big was OK and they had not seen mama. Daddy beat me really bad thinking that I was lying to cover up for mama. My friend Mary Lou Means called me and I told her about the beating. She had her brother, Allison, come and get me. I stayed with Mary Lou then. The police came to investigate, but I didn’t press charges. Mama did not try to see me or to get in touch with me. Allison asked me to marry him and we married in 1951. We moved to Warren where he was employed as a surveyor. We had a good marriage and he provided well for us. Mama or daddy didn’t contact me. I don’t know why mama thought she was so much above the Means but she did. By then we had a baby girl who was Alice Ann. This was in May of 1952. Finally I went to see them and we got along for awhile. Then daddy got sick and he lived for about a year. During the time he was sick and especially near the end, I helped as much as I could. Mama was so hateful and bitter and after daddy died she told me she hated me. I asked her why and she said she didn’t know why, that she just did. I just let it go and still went to see her and drive her places. She told some terrible lies to people that I learned about after she had passed away. Daddy never said a word to me about what he did to me. And to this day I still have a dream about it. I thought he told mama he beat me but she said he did not. I’ve never got over it. I am sorry to say that I do not look back with love for my parents. It has been a hard thing to live with. It seems I was not wanted and you were not either.” 

Now that I know the story, I vaguely recall a couple of hints to this activity that I experienced during my summer visits:

One summer I looked in the magazine rack that was in the living room and was shocked and astounded to find several magazines with naked people in social situations. I was so stunned that I quickly put them back into the rack and never said anything about it. Thinking about it now, probably they were nudist colony magazines. 

Another time on one of my summer visits, we had all just retired for bed and sleeping. Mary said in a voice loud enough for everyone in or near the little house to hear “Oh, Frank!! Your hand is so cold!”

The indiscretion by Mary is a real shocker to me. I never imagined such a thing was going on. And I am really surprised, shocked and dismayed that Frank abused Frankie Lou. I always thought Frank was a very hard worker but an equally gentle person. Maybe Frank was just discovering that Mary was unfaithful and that he was losing her. That sort of thing can drive a loving husband to irrational actions that are out of character and reason. His resort to violence, even out of anger and despair, is deplorable. And against his own child!

Late in my high school years I came to the farm for my summer vacation and Frankie was not there. Mary tried to explain why Frankie was absent. She had a story about a skating rink in Hampton where kids gathered after school. Mary said that she told Frankie not to go there and not to mix with the older boys. She said that Allison Means was one of the older boys who frequented the place. We know now that Mary did not know at that time about Frank’s abuse of Frankie causing Frankie to leave home. Mary just told me that Frankie ran away with Allison, a boy 10 years older than Frankie. Mary ran away from home with a man who was 21 years older than she was. Frankie was born on 5 February 1935. She and Allison married on 3 June 1951. Frankie was 16 at that time. Eleven months later on 2 May 1952 they had their first child, Alice Ann. 

After Frankie left home and married Allison, Mary and Frank continued to work the Witherington farm for quite a while. At this time Frank knew that Mary had not been faithful. Whether Mary continued with her infidelity or had a change of heart is not known. Finally growing cotton on an 80 acre farm was insufficient as a principal cash crop. As I recall, TJ helped Frank get a job in construction with Brown & Root in Texas. Mary also worked in town in the winter. The next significant event was the death of Mr. Oscar Witherington, the owner of the farm and all the property associated with it. It is not known if he had a will, but it is known that Frank received the 80 acre farm, the little house on the highway and all its associated buildings. Thomas, Frank’s brother, received the Oscar vehicles and some money.  Oscar’s wife, Clara, received the big house on the hill and half the big barn and the associated property . She sold her interests  and moved to Hampton to live with her sister. Finally Frank and Mary gave up farming as a livelihood. Frank took a job at Calion Lumber Co. and Mary began to work in Hampton. They also began to raise cattle as another income. This life style continued until Frank began to suffer severe head aches. After suffering for quite a while, he finally was diagnosed with a brain tumor. There was surgery to remove it, but it was malignant and Frank was given six months to a year to live. Mary kept this information from Frank and he thought that he would recover. I did not agree with that decision but did not violate it. It was about one year later that the cancer returned as hundreds of mini tumors throughout his brain. As he lay terminal in the little house by the highway he remarked to me “John, I thought I was going to get well,” and fell into a coma from which he never recovered. 

After Frank died Mary continued to live alone in the little house for several years. Frankie Lou and I exchanged a lot of letters over many months trying to jog our memories about these events, most of which happened about seventy years ago. Here is part of a letter I wrote to Frankie in this regard:

‘I have some questions concerning the situation during and after the time we were young and Mary and Frank were living in the little house on the highway. How is it that Mary and Frank ended up with the 80 acre farm and property that we had always lived in and half of the big barn at Mr. Oscar’s place? It seems that Mr. Oscar’s house and half his big barn and the property it was all on went to someone, and the rest went to Mary and Frank. Was it in the Oscar will? Or was Frank a relative of Mr. Oscar and the land and property went to Frank in that way? The division of the property must have been contentious because as I recall there was a line or fence down the center of Mr. Oscar’s barn meaning that half the barn went to Frank and half went to other family members. Do you know or recall anything about that?’

And here is part of Frankie’s reply to that letter.

‘You asked about Uncle Oscar. There is a story there. He had an affair with daddy’s mother and she got pregnant with daddy and then Uncle Tom. Her husband, Onnye Weisinger finally caught on and left her. So daddy and Uncle Tom were really Witheringtons instead of Weisingers. It was a well kept secret. I did not know it until after daddy passed away. More on this saga later.’

Frankie wrote the continuation of the Witherington – Weisinger saga over several letters. I paraphrase Frankie’s information and combine the several letters into this one paragraph.  Frankie provided the information in her letters to me in 2020. It also repeats previously included information. 

‘Oscar Witherington was a gentleman farmer, meaning he was the owner of the land and he had other people work the land and derive a profit from it. His wife was named Clara. They lived in what was a big house in those days on top of the hill with a big barn adjoining. Onnye and Margaret Lucinda Weisinger lived in the area. We know now that the Weisinger family consisted of the Father and Mother and the children, Bernice, Gladys, Lucille, Mollie, Frank and Thomas. We now know that Margaret gave birth to Frank and Thomas, but Oscar was the father. Onnye discovered Margaret’s indiscretion and left her. It is not known if Clara knew about the indiscretion. Margaret died when Frank was about nine years old. Mollie and Jim Grant, who did not have children of their own, then raised Frank and Thomas. This could have been with the assistance of Oscar and Clara. Oscar and Clara did not have any children. There is much we don’t know here, but we do know that as an adult Frank was working on the Witherington farm and most likely still living with Mollie and Jim. Mary came to the field where Frank was working to inform Frank that she was pregnant (with Frankie Lou). Frank did the honorable thing and they married. At first they lived in a small two room house across the creek from the Oscar farm where Mary delivered Frankie Lou. They eventually moved into the little four room house on the highway bordering the Witherington property when it became available and were the principal workers/managers of the Witherington property. When Oscar died the 80 acre farm and the little four room house and associated buildings went to Frank and Mary. Clara had the big house on the hill and half of the Oscar barn, which she sold and went to Hampton to live with her sister. Thomas and his wife, Dorothy, received the Oscar vehicles and some money. Cotton lost its value as a subsistence crop and both Frank and Mary began other work. Frank began to complain of severe headaches and was diagnosed with a brain tumor. There was surgery, but the tumor was malignant and Frank was given six months to a year to live. In about one year Frank’s brain became riddled with hundreds of mini-tumors and he died at the age of 58. Mary continued to live alone in the little house on the highway for many years. Finally Frank’s half-sister, Dorothy, convinced Mary to move into the Cove Apartments in Hampton. She was living there when she died of a stroke on 31 July 2000 at age 88.

Cindy, Frankie’s daughter, lived in the house with Ryan and Ty for a short time, but the deterioration in the house became so severe that repair was unfeasible and they moved out leaving the little house vacant. The repair and expansion of Highway 167 spelled doom for the little house and its associated buildings. All buildings near the highway like that had to be eliminated. So, finally it and all the buildings associated with it were destroyed. Now there doesn’t seem to be a trace of the joys and sorrows, sadness and happiness, and difficult lives lived in the little house by the highway.’

I don’t know when it started, but Mary developed a very serious negative attitude about most everything later in her life. She could find something negative to say about most everyone and everything. There was a contrary side to her nature which we noted first in this narrative when she didn’t go to Mary Lou Means’ house to discuss Frankie Lou’s situation. She sent the police over there. She never went herself. I encountered a similar contrary attitude, not as serious as this, but certainly contrary. I was just out of high school, one semester in college, when I joined the Air Force and went to the Korean War. This was my first time away from home. I was lonesome and homesick. I wrote Mary weekly with my news and at first asking, then pleading for her to answer with her news. This went on for quite a while and finally I wrote that if I didn’t hear from her I would conclude that she didn’t want to correspond and that I would stop writing. She didn’t write, so I stopped writing. She did not write to me, but wrote to the base commander and complained that I was not writing my mother and got me in a lot of trouble. Also, after graduating from college and traveling the world, I would often send Mary a postcard with my news and return address hoping to hear from her; but I never did. I don’t recall a negative attitude from Mary when I was visiting on my summer vacations. However after I relocated to the US from living in Europe for many years, I would take a trip back to Texas, Arkansas and Kansas every year including an open ended stay with her in her little house on Highway 167 and it was then when this attitude really manifested itself. The visit would be very enjoyable for both of us for several days, but soon she would begin to say negative and derogatory things about people we knew and some I didn’t know. This would also include news events and even news trivia. She would most often start off with Allison, Frankie’s husband. She never had anything positive to say about Allison and would not accept anything positive about him. I reminded her about the time she was in the contested and rotting Oscar barn and fell through the rotted upstairs floor onto the ground below. Allison found her and got her to the hospital. She would not give him credit for helping her, perhaps saving her life. She just said, “well, I would have finally got out.” Mary had some very good friends, Betty Jo (Stringfellow) and Rodney, who lived in a little prefabricated house nearby. For many of my summer visits we enjoyed an evening or two with Betty Jo and Rodney chatting around the kitchen table. It was fun. Finally she gave her thoughts on them directly to Betty Jo rather than behind the back to me – that was the end of that friendship. During my visits, finally her derogatory remarks would get around to me. I would listen to what she had to say and the next day I would be on my way.

Again, I never noticed this attitude when I was a youngster on my summer school vacations with her, Frank and Frankie. There was an emotional conflict between Mary and her mother, Ruth,  that lasted their entire lives probably beginning with Mary’s runaway from home in 1930. There is clear evidence that this conflict existed, but it was from Mary toward Big. Big never indicated anything other than love and care for her daughter, Mary. The first time I became aware of this conflict was after we (Ruth, TJ, Vivian and me) had relocated from Harrell to Hope and a new life for all of us. Mary, Frank and Frankie lived on the farm.

It was a Sunday morning. Ruth, Vivian, TJ and I were living in the Hope house. Ruth was very active in her church, Garrett Memorial Baptist. Ruth played the piano during the service and taught a Sunday School Class. It would be an inconvenience for many people for her not to attend Sunday service. Ruth, Vivian and I attended that Sunday. TJ was not around on that Sunday for some reason. The front door of the house was always left unlocked in those days. We returned home from church services and on the front door was a note. As I recall Ruth uttered a mournful statement and sobbed a bit. We went inside. Later I asked Vivian what had happened. Vivian said that Mary and Frank were coming to visit that Sunday and when Ruth was not there to meet them, they wrote an unpleasant note and left. Vivian also said that they knew Ruth was very active in her church. Vivian also said that they could have and should have just went in, made coffee or something and waited for services to end. Later on, maybe next day, I asked Ruth why we didn’t call Mary and ask why they didn’t wait. Ruth replied something like “ Ooooh! She has a temper!!” I never experienced in person Mary’s temper. Maybe she had it only for Ruth.

Big was in the nursing home in Hampton. I was visiting from Europe. 

There had been a very big disagreement between Vivian, Mary and TJ. I had always thought that it was over the ownership and disposition of the Hope house. However, now that we have been thinking and contemplating about all of this stuff, I think there was more to it than that. Anyway, Ruth was no longer able to take care of herself after suffering the second stroke. So for someone legally to take care of her and her finances, she had to be declared incompetent by the court. The court put Vivian in charge of her finances and put Mary in charge of the person (Ruth). Mary moved her out of the Hope nursing home where she had her church people often visiting her as well as her brothers and sisters and their children. When I heard about the move, I thought it was a mistake, but I had no say in the matter and besides it was done when I heard about it. Mary and I were sitting in her flower shop in Hampton, waiting for closing time with Big in the nursing home. Mary said to me “I told Big ‘you have ruled the roost for these many years. Now you are going to do like somebody else says.’”

On another visit, I found Big without her dentures. I asked Mary about it. She said that Big wasn’t careful with them and they probably were carried out when the sheets were changed. That didn’t sound very likely to me, but I didn’t contradict her. I said “Let’s get in touch with the dentist who made those dentures. He surely has the mold for the dentures and can make another set.”

I asked what a normal set of dentures would cost and gave Mary a check for that amount with the request that she get those dentures for Big. When I was there about a year later I noticed that Big had no dentures. I asked Mary about it. She said “well I didn’t get them. She would have just lost them like the others.” She had the check in her purse and handed it to me. I told Mary “you cash that check and use it to get Big whatever she needs to be more comfortable.”

On another visit, Mary and I were in her flower shop waiting on closing time. Mary was behind the counter. I was sitting on a stool on the customer’s side of the counter. Mary said to me “I told Big that you told me that she taught you not to love me.” The statement hurled me off the stool. I shouted “That’s impossible!! Such a thought has never entered my mind!! That’s a lie!!” Mary drew back her hand to slap me, but didn’t follow through. She just said “well, it’s your word against mine.” I said that I was going over to the nursing home. Mary said that they wouldn’t let me in because it was past visiting time. I said that I would get in and I did. Big was still awake. I tried, in an indirect way, to communicate to Big what had happened. All she said was “She’s my daughter and I love her.” That night Mary had her vehicle and I had mine. I drove to the little house on the highway, collected my things and went on my way. I continued to visit, of course; but that was all that I could take on that visit. 

MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY

At one point in our family narrative, the Harrell property was owned by me, Vivian and Mary. This came to be in the following way. Big had a stroke which put her in a nursing home in Hope (briefly discussed on Page 18). In order to take care of Big and Big’s property she had to be declared incompetent by the court and people designated by the court to take care of all that. There was contention regarding the real and legal ownership of the Hope house and this created severe animosity between TJ, Vivian and Mary – especially between TJ and Vivian. The court put Vivian in charge of the estate and Mary in charge of the person. TJ had paid for the house. The house deed was in Ruth’s name. The court declared that the house was part of Ruth’s estate. Vivian put the house up for sale to pay Ruth’s bills. TJ bought it because that was where he was living, effectively paying for it twice. That is at least one of the contentious points. The Harrell property was by law owned equally by the three children. TJ gave his one third title to me, saying that he did not want to have any further dealings with Vivian. We took turns paying the property taxes due each year, Vivian, Mary and me. One year Mary announced that she no longer would pay her share. Neither Vivian nor I could convince Mary that someone had to pay the taxes or we could lose the property. Finally, Mary gave her one third share to me. So, at that point I owned two thirds and Vivian one third. Events occurred that caused Vivian to want to sell the Harrell house. TJ agreed. We asked him even though he had no legal say in the matter. Mary was vehemently opposed to selling. We offered to give the house to Mary if she would live in it, but she ridiculed the offer and continued vehement opposition to selling. Logic, reason and circumstances would not budge her. Vivian and I owned, so we sold the house and the lot the house was on, retaining the remainder of the property. This was a very contentious point between Vivian and Mary. I wanted to sell all of the property. We had what I thought was a decent offer. However, completely closing the Harrell chapter of her life was too much for Vivian and we retained the remaining property. After the sale was complete in Harrell, Vivian and I got a cool drink at a fast food place there in Harrell and sat on a bench in the shade nearby. Vivian began talking about Mary and suddenly she began to cry and just could not stop. Finally the emotion was overcome and we returned to Hope. I think reflecting on all the difficulties she had had with Mary and the emotion of selling her childhood home just overwhelmed her. 

Some years later, Mary told me on one of my visits that the USPS had inquired about purchasing the lot on Main Street on which Dr CB’s office had stood. At that point RE was the one third owner, so I contacted RE to see if he would agree to selling. He thought we should keep the entire package together to obtain the best price. So I gave a negative reply to the USPS. 

Later Mary criticized and ridiculed me for not selling. She said that she thought it would be nice to sell with the stipulation of placing a plaque or notice of some sort that Dr. C. B. Johnston’s medical office had been on that site. I said “You should have said something at the time. I think that’s a great idea. I’ll contact USPS immediately.” She said that it was too late now. She was right. It was too late. They had all the land that they needed. 

Finally after paying the taxes all those years on the property, RE and I decided to sell. We had great difficulty finding a buyer, but finally did and sold. Regretfully we did not even get enough to cover the property tax and insurance payments that we had made and a survey of the property which the buyer required. When Mary heard about the sale, she demanded one third share in the sale. I told her the sale did not begin to cover the taxes and other expenses that we had paid over the years. She still insisted on a one third payment. So, I gave her a bill for the taxes and insurance she didn’t pay and one third of the survey cost and told her that when I received her check for that I would send her a one third share of the sale. She wrote me a really nasty letter following that. I replied that if she had something positive to say, I would reply, but that I was not going to reply to any correspondence of that nature. I also asked Frankie to relay the message to her in person. I never heard from her again and never saw her again. 

Mary and Vivian traveled together to the site for the wedding of Melissa and Bill. After getting there and helping in the wedding preparation, Mary refused to attend the wedding ceremony. This behavior is bizarre and it distressed Vivian. Melissa recalls Mary complaining about Bill’s ‘bachelor party’ prior to the wedding and a dish Melissa prepared. This shows pettiness as well as contrariness. 

RE was upset with Mary for coming to visit Vivian only once when Vivian was terminal with cancer. Surely RE thought this was not proper conduct for a loving sister. I would speculate that this supports the theory that their relationship had become strained. Could the sister’s alienation stem from Mary’s treatment of their mother after the court’s decision to name Mary as the “guardian of the person?” At this stage of Mary’s life she could always find something negative to say about anyone and everyone and nearly everything, as well. 

The Gunter family wanted to bury Big in Shilo Cemetary at Lamartine, Arkansas where the mother, father are buried. They said they had a plot for Big, putting the family in a row. Mary buried Big in Dickerson Cemetery near Harrell, Arkansas beside her husband, CB. I was there at the cemetery once with Vivian and Mary when we noticed a mistake with the date on one of the headstones. It was decided to leave it as it was. Both Vivian and Mary seemed satisfied and in agreement with this location for Big. 

CONCLUSIONS

Melissa: She was probably a negative person, ready to take offense at anything or anyone. She was probably more cooperative and likeable with non-family people. It is suspected that she had at least major depression recurring. She most likely had a mental illness. 

Frankie Lou: She was hateful and bitter. She told me that she hated me. She told many lies about me that I discovered only after she died. 

John: I would agree with hateful and bitter and add mean. She was definitely hateful and mean to her mother in the nursing home as if seeking revenge. 

FURTHER COMMENTS

While Big was in the Hampton nursing home I tried several times to comment to Big about negative comments and negative actions Mary (the court appointed guardian) had made or taken regarding Big, but Big always cut me short with the simple phrase “She is my daughter and I love her.” I never actually realized and accepted the fact that this wonderful, loving, compassionate woman was tormented by her own daughter in those final times. This makes me so very sad. Big accepted and accomplished without complaint the extremely difficult task of care giving in the final stages of both her husband and her mother. For her to have to endure what she did in her own final stages is a tremendous injustice. One I cannot forgive or forget now that I have thought the entire situation out. I fault myself for not recognizing the situation when it was active and at least trying to do something, although it would have been difficult with Mary having legal guardianship. Did CB and Ruth have big plans for Mary? She was the first born. Ruth’s mother was named Martha Frances. Ruth named her first daughter Mary Frances. So she was Mary Frances Johnston McLeod Weisinger.

Did Mary have redeeming qualities? She was smart, clever, intelligent. She really had a talent as an artist. Her paintings were becoming commercial quality. She never smoked or drank alcohol except for one time which Frankie recalls. Frankie and I can be thankful for the good health and good genes she passed on to us. What contributed to her attitude that dominated her late life? I do not recall anything negative during my pre-teen and teen summer visits with Mary, Frank and Frankie. I enjoyed those visits and had fun. I know I was a burden to both of them. I made errors and mistakes that required extra work by them, but they never complained and never criticized me for my faults. They were farming and especially in that period, farming was a hard and difficult life.  

There is no question that Mary could be a very difficult person late in her life, ostensibly after Frank and Frankie were gone leaving her alone in the little house by the highway. But as I  previously said, I recall during the period of my summer visits there was a very positive, friendly, wholesome atmosphere in the household that was full of hard and difficult work by Mary and Frank every day. 

After both Frank and Frankie Lou were gone and Mary had time to contemplate, rather than being thankful for the wonderful family that she had through Frankie Lou, did she ponder what life could have been if she had not fled the hell in the Johnston household back around 1930? Of course both Frankie Lou and I (and a lot of other people) are glad that it transpired as it did, otherwise we wouldn’t be here. But did she ever think about what life could have been for her if she had pitched in and worked with Big in that household rather than fleeing with Frank McLeod? Surely she did. And what could that have been? In 1939 she and the rest of the family would have been on their way to Hope where many new avenues could have opened up. Would medical school for Mary have been one of the avenues? She was the oldest and that usually meant the greatest opportunity. Could she have become a doctor? Was that what Dr. CB and Prof. Ruth envisioned for her? Vivian did become a registered nurse and had a very successful career. TJ became a saw filer which was the top sawmill technical job. Yes, surely she did contemplate this sort of thing. Did this possible sort of contemplation affect her mentality? What about her promiscuity? Seeking some undefined, illusive happiness? We’ll never know. A lot of this essay is purely speculation. I do not hold any animosity or hate for my dear mother. I see her as a tragic figure, tragic in her own making. Of course, I cannot forget or forgive her for what she did to Big, but I do not hate her for it. I am just so sad and disappointed that it happened. I am also sad and disappointed that Mary could never bring herself to reconcile with Frankie Lou. Mary told Frankie Lou that she hated her. What a terrible statement. Mary also hated her brother, TJ. Part of this could stem from the very contentious situation between Mary, Vivian and TJ revolving around the Big incompetence hearing. On another occasion, I don’t recall the situation, but I do recall TJ’s remarking to Mary “….if you knew how to keep your pants on.” That remark infuriated Mary. Mary also hated Frank’s sisters, probably because they knew too much about her. I seemed to get along with her better than any other member of the family although we had our contentious moments and our relationship did not end well. I recall one time Mary and I were in the field between the Oscar barn and Mary’s house, Mary gave a grand sweep of her arm and said “Some day all this will be yours.” I replied “I don’t want it. Give it to Frankie Lou.” She was stunned and shocked. It showed on her face. As I recall, at her death, she did not have a will and had my name as beneficiary on some of the estate and the rest of it was divided between Frankie and me by law. I signed all my interests over to Frankie. So, finally that loop was closed back to Frankie. I felt that she had earned it. She had lived right there at the Lion’s mouth all those years. So, in the end, it did come back to my dear, little sister, Frankie Lou. Yes, she earned it. Our dear mother, Mary, did suffer. Life on that farm with Frank was extremely difficult. Surely far from what she envisioned for herself before running away with Frank McLeod. I suppose another way it could be said is that Mary suffered so that we could prosper. 

John and Mary in the little house by the highway, Mary in later life, Ruth as a young person.

 The Johnston Family home in Harrell, Arkansas as it is today. Note the blue and white ‘Johnston Avenue’ street sign. 

The Johnston Family home in Harrell, Arkansas as it was in the 1935 to 1939 period. Note the disrepair of the front steps leading onto the porch. This appears to be from years of neglect, attesting to the family financial situation in that period. This is significant. With labor cheap and available, still funds could not be committed to this repair. Times were indeed dire in the Johnston household. The people in the photo are Ruth, Vivian and John. The woman with the hat is unknown.

This is the Johnston family home in Hope, Arkansas. The family moved here in 1939 from Harrell with the aid of Ruth’s brothers. This was then the home of Ruth until she was placed in a Hope nursing home after having her first stroke. She was subsequently moved to a nursing home in Hampton, Arkansas where she died at the age of 93. This continued to be the ‘family’ home until the death of TJ in 1983. 

In the top left photo are Ruth, Vivian, Melissa and Ruth Ann in the front yard of the Hope house after returning home from church. In the top right photo are Ruth, Ruth Ann and John inside the Hope house. In the bottom left photo are Mary, Vivian, Ruth and Melissa in Vivian’s home in Emmet, Arkansas. In the bottom right is John taking a bath in the front yard of the Harrell house about 1933. Yes, in those days everyone took a bath in a tub like that, only not in the front yard. Frankie Lou, John, Mary and Frank, in that order, took a bath in a tub like that in the kitchen of the little house on the highway, all in the same water! Yes. Water had to be brought in from the well and heated on the kitchen stove. No plumbing or electricity at that time in that house. 

Mary was 87 years old, to be 88 on 7 September 2000. She was returning to her apartment in Hampton early in the evening of 9 July 2000 when she suffered a cerebral thrombosis near her front door where she fell striking her head on the concrete sidewalk, injuring her head but not fracturing her skull. She bled profusely from the wound. She lay there undiscovered until about five the next morning. She was rushed to the hospital where she was experiencing paralysis on the right side, had a blank stare in her eyes, could not talk, did not recognize anyone or anything. I do not know when she regained consciousness, but she was conscious at the hospital, but unresponsive. She did not require life support systems, other than the round-the-clock personal care. There was swelling of the brain, but no surgery was done to relieve the swelling. She did take nourishment in the form of food similar to baby food that was spoon-fed to her. She required help with elimination. After a few days she sometimes would slightly move her head to one side (only one side) in response to sound or speech from that side and would sometimes slightly squeeze one’s finger on request. 

The type of stroke that Mary had was a cerebral thrombosis where a clot, or thrombosis, forms in the artery of the brain blocking the blood flow to a portion of the brain. A stroke of this type sometimes begins with a sudden loss of consciousness. This is probably what happened to Mary and she fell to the sidewalk like a rag doll. Probably the head struck the sidewalk in this situation with a whip-like force, making the contact the most severe possible. In the case of a stroke if emergency aid is administered in the first thirty minutes to one hour and if the stroke is not too severe, a high degree of recovery is achieved in about 90% of cases. Otherwise the recovery rate is very low. It is necessary to administer clot breaking drugs and blood thinners in those crucial early minutes to restore blood flow to the deprived brain area. Of course Mary’s treatment was about 9 to 10 hours after the fact and the trauma to her brain was extensive and severe.

The true extent of damage to Mary’s brain is unknown to me and family; but it is known that brain swelling occurred, she was partially paralyzed, she had to be hand fed and helped with elimination, but she was capable of breathing without support. She was not connected to any life support machines. Her level of responsiveness was very low. 

On 18 July, after nine days in the hospital at El Dorado, Mary was moved to the nursing home in Hampton. She continued therapy which was begun in the hospital. The brain may have begun to recover some of its alertness and responsiveness. Also this “recovery” could have been only wishful thinking on the part of the family and care-givers. No clinical repeatable tests and analysis over time to measure this were attempted. It was thought that she would sometimes give a slight smile, a slight curve of the corner of the mouth to something that was said in the room. She also continued to sometimes turn her head in one direction toward sound or speech from that direction, and also continued to sometimes slightly squeeze a finger on request. However, she continued to have to be spoon fed and helped with elimination. 

On Sunday afternoon 31 July 2000 Mary’s lungs filled with fluid and she could not breath. This was a pulmonary edema. The Funeral was on Wednesday 2 August 2000. She is buried in Pickett Cemetery in Calhoun County not far from the little house on the highway with Frank and the two infants. 

Mary Frances Johnston McLeod Weisinger, 7 September 1912 – 31 July 2000, is buried with her husband, Frank W. Weisinger, 5 November 1912 – 7 February 1979, in Pickett Cemetery near Hampton, Arkansas. Their two infant boys are also buried there; Barry Lynn, 9 October 1943 – 9 April 1944, and Kenneth Wayne, 27 August 1945, stillborn. The cemetery is located 7 miles south of Hampton, West of Highway 167 at the junction of Roads 146 and 27. Antioch Church is nearby. 

This is a photograph of many of the family members on the occasion of the 90th birthday of Ruth (Big). The photo is taken in Big’s family home in Hope. From the left: Ruth, Vivian, Mary, Kristie in front of Vivian & Mary, TJ, Melissa, Cindy, Melinda, Frankie Lou, Ruth Ann, Amy in front of Ruth Ann. Melissa and Ruth Ann are the daughters of Vivian. Frankie Lou is Mary’s daughter. Cindy and Melinda are Frankie Lou’s daughters. Kristie and Amy are Ruth Ann’s daughters.

 Some of the Means Family is celebrating a Special Occasion with Mary. Pictured left to right standing are: Tory Walker, Jimmy Wilson, Shannon Means, Melinda Means Wilson, Frankie Lou Means, Alice Ann Means Hicks, Ashleigh Ann Means, Winkie Temple, Margaret Cindy Means Franklin, Kevin Bee Means, Terri Johnson Means. Pictured left to right kneeling or sitting are: Kaye Means Hurst, Derrick Means, Mary Frances Johnston McLeod Weisinger, Andy Jo Hurst, Bradley Cole Means, Thom Means.  

[junker-town]

The Giants’ draft picks, all made by Joe Judge’s very good dog

Photoshop by Morgan Moriarty/SB Nation

Let’s pretend Joe Judge’s dog, Abby, was the one drafting for the Giants this year.

New Giants head coach Joe Judge will have 10 picks to work with in the 2020 NFL Draft. So far, Judge hasn’t revealed much publicly about who he will be targeting. But someone who might know is his very good golden retriever, Abby.

Before the draft, Judge said he’s been prepping with Abby in his basement, and that she probably has the most intel of anybody on what the Giants will do. Look at what a very good girl Abby is being during Judge’s draft prep:

Coach Judge and Abby: Work from home vibes pic.twitter.com/DZpmCn2cur

— New York Giants (@Giants) April 15, 2020

The Giants should just let this very good dog make these draft picks for them, honestly. She probably wouldn’t do worse than Giants general manager David Gettleman.

If Abby got the chance to draft players, who would she pick? Well, probably guys who have names that will resonate with her canine sensibilities. Let’s pretend this adorable golden retriever was making picks for the Giants to see what might happen if so.

Round 1, pick No. 4: Chase Young, Edge, Ohio State

Not only did Abby pick a Chase — given that her favorite activity is chasing squirrels — with the Giants’ first pick, but she selected arguably the best player of this draft class. The Giants are in need of a pass rusher this offseason, and getting Young at No. 4 overall would be an excellent pick. Young, who led the nation with 16.5 sacks in 2019, is a versatile defensive end who can line up anywhere on a defense.

It’s a long shot that he’ll still be available at this spot, but still an A+ start to the draft, Abby.

Round 2, pick No. 36: Trevon Diggs, CB, Alabama

This golden retriever’s favorite activity outside of squirrel hunting is digging massive holes in the backyard, so you can’t really blame her for taking Diggs. Besides, the Giants could use cornerback help, and if a talented player like Diggs is still on the board, it’s an easy pick.

Diggs will be an excellent complement to DeAndre Baker in New York. Diggs, who’s the younger brother of Buffalo Bills receiver Stefon Diggs, had 37 tackles, four interceptions, and 21 passes defended for the Tide last season.

Round 3, pick No. 99: Ben Bartch, OT, St. John’s (Minnesota)

Judge’s dog was sure when she overheard him say Bartch’s name over a phone call in the weeks leading up to the draft he actually said “bark.” Not only is this something that Abby does frequently, but chewing up tree bark in the backyard is this retriever’s favorite way to unwind when it’s a nice day outside.

The good news for the Giants is they desperately need a left tackle to protect quarterback Daniel Jones. The Giants allowed Jones to get sacked 36 times in just 13 games as a rookie. At 6’6, 309 pounds, Bartch already has an advantage size-wise. While he is a prospect that likely won’t come in and start right away, he has some solid fundamentals that can be built upon at the next level with the right development.

Round 4, pick 110: Antonio Gandy-Golden, WR, Liberty

Thinking that Abby could have yet another golden retriever to play with around the house, the Giants get Gandy-Golden in the fourth round. Golden accounted for 3,000-plus yards over his final three seasons, and set a single-season school record in receiving yards in 2019. Golden was a former gymnast, which translates well to the gridiron in terms of body control and footwork. The Giants need to get Jones all the weapons he can get so, sure, good pick, Abby.

Round 5, pick 150: Dane Jackson, CB, Pitt

Judge’s dog met a Great Dane on a walk a few weeks ago she instantly bonded with and was hoping to have the same connection with Jackson. The former Pitt corner totaled 148 tackles, 43 passes defended, and four interceptions during his career. Jackson will add some more depth at the position for the Giants.

Round 6, pick 183: Tyler Huntley, QB, Utah

Abby’s favorite offseason activity is duck hunting, and she kept hearing players from some team called the “Oregon Ducks” being selected. Naturally, it gave her the idea to pick Huntley. The QB threw for a career-high 3,092 yards, 19 touchdowns, and just four interceptions last season. He set a school record for completion percentage (73.1), too. Now that Eli Manning has retired, the Giants could use Huntley as a third-string or practice squad addition.

Round 7, pick No. 218: Eli Wolf, TE, Georgia

Abby heard from a neighborhood dog that wolves are basically dogs that live without human owners and was intrigued to learn more. Wolf accounted for 194 yards and a touchdown during his lone season with Georgia as a graduate transfer. The Giants do have Evan Engram at the position, but he has yet to play a full season in three years thanks to various injuries. Wolf would add solid depth at the position.

Round 7, pick No. 238: Mason Wolfe, OT, Kentucky

After she learned that wolves travel in packs and she could get even more friends, Abby stuck with the wolf trend for the team’s second pick in the seventh round. Wolfe was mostly a backup for the Wildcats, but he appeared in 37 games and didn’t allow a sack throughout his career. Sounds like someone the Giants would benefit from!

Round 7, pick No. 247: Qaadir Sheppard, Edge, Ole Miss

Abby’s friend next door is a German shepherd, and the two get along great. Naturally, the Giants select Sheppard with their third seventh-round pick. Although the former Rebel played outside linebacker at Ole Miss during his senior season, he played two years at defensive end. In 2018, he led the team in tackles for loss, with 10. The Giants can use all the pass rush help they can get, so this is a smart pick by Abby.

Round 7, pick No. 255: Chase Harrell, TE, Arkansas

For the Giants’ 10th and final pick in the draft, Abby got very distracted late into the evening and began chasing her tail to keep herself entertained. So she ended the draft by selecting another Chase since it was fresh in her mind. Harrell had 37 catches for 396 yards and six touchdowns throughout his career, which initially started at Kansas. He would likely make for a decent practice squad tight end for the Giants.

Tired from a long night of drafting, Abby earned herself a brand new bone as a reward for her successful drafting.

The Giants' coaches - and Joe Judge's golden retriever, Abby - are eager to begin the team's virtual offseason program. https://t.co/C0yq2vGPv1 pic.twitter.com/8L5PvwvIag

— Michael Eisen (@giantseisen) April 15, 2020

A very good dog indeed.

[dhofberg]

Where does the money go? 11/26/2027

If you have been following the blog, you have already heard some of the stories of the refugees we meet in the clinic. And a bit about the meetings I have been to for Interagency Communication. So by now you probably get it that the flow of money from the EU to the Greek government for the shelter and protection of refugees ( I have heard the number 400 million Euros), is not a stream that is easy for volunteers or refugees or most NGOs to follow.

There are Greek agencies that are set up to help refugees get registered, have health assessments, set dates for asylum interviews. But they ate woefully understaffed. The office in Lesvos that awards asylum seekers an AMKA ( like a social security number), is open a few hours of the day and can process about ten applications a day. There are between 70-150 new arrivals on Lesvos a day, so we are not even counting arrivals to other places in Greece. The medical clinic run by ERCI in Moria can see about 40 patients a day, and if you don’t yet have registration papers, you might have to wait weeks to be seen in a clinic, unless you are deemed an emergency case. Pretty much everyone who has just been through the traumas of fleeing a war torn country, paying smugglers to put them on a perilous journey across the sea, feel that they have some urgent needs. And most of them have some unrealistic expectations about what life will be like when they reach Europe.

Yesterday we finally went back to Moria camp where we had worked in January 2016. You might remember that that was immediately before the transition camp became a detention center because of the Shengen rules applied to asylum seekers when the borders in Europe were closed. We had been told we would never get in there, they no longer allow small NGOs to walk in, so I devised a plan to get in. Because I have been communicating with a dental relief program from U.K. and also a Palestinian dentist at One Happy Family to develop a small dental education program for the children at OHF, I thought she might be able to get me in to the camp the week that her team was coming to Moria to provide emergency dental care there (toothache=extraction).

It turns out the way we got in, was by walking straight in he gate, right in front of three or four Greek policeman, without hesitation, so basically got in on chutzpah. They didn’t stop Michael either who was walking right behind me, so I suppose we looked like we knew what we were doing?

One doesn’t take photographs in the camp as it can endanger refugees, and also probably the reputation of the Greek police and government. It was shocking to see that this place we felt was grim in 2016, was now holding more than three times the number of people ( between 6-7,000), built up with more ISO boxes ( container housing would be a stretch, especially compared with the ones pictured last year in Bremen), small family tents lining every pathway. Some of the areas were orderly and relatively picked up. But many were on a muddy gravely hillside, hopelessly studded with the refuse of living. The cyclone fencing is where clothes drying happens, of that I did take a few pictures.

We made our way through people living their lives in tents, some smiling kids, women carrying basins of water from the bathrooms to wash clothes. We have heard that the water only runs for certain hours, and the shower is usually cold. I can’t think why this is, there is a lot of water on this island. After a quick walk around the camp, we made our way up to the “fourth level”, where the medical clinic has an office. We were able to speak with one of the volunteers there who explained their triage and appointment process. Communication between the health care agencies is really important. We need to know, in Doc Mobiles clinic for instance, if we can refer a patient to a specialist or not. If Doc Mobile is here long enough, and makes the right connections, they might be recognized enough for KEELPNO to accept their referrals. They do accept some from ERCI, so at present, we might refer someone back to the ERCI Moria clinic to be seen and then referred to KEELPNO, who might then be able to do the needed referral. Can you imagine in an American or British health care system, you go to a doctor and they say, yeah you have terrible psoriasis, I’llrefer you to another clinic, where you might have to wait two months to get in, and then they see you and say, yeah, true you have REALLY bad psoriasis, and we will refer you to KEELPNO and they might give you an appointment with the specialist in a few more months.

I use this example, because the fellow I saw with really bad psoriasis, had arrived here a few weeks ago. But he had no medication, and though he had been seen at Moria, they gave home some ineffective low potency steroid creams, which did nothing, and he was near to be kicked out of his tent because his tent mates ( none of them his family or friends, men traveling alone are often forced to share a four person tent with men they don’t know), thought he was contagious.

Doc Mobile has limited funds, but we are seeing 40-50 patients a day and there are times when we can make something work out for a patient like this man. We bought him some of the medication he needs, and on Monday when the pharmacy opens I am hoping to find him the rest. We are trying to find contacts in Kara Tepe ( the camp for more vulnerable persons), and see if there is any way to facilitate his transfer. He needs to be able to bathe his skin regularly to keep it from becoming dangerously infected. I don’t know if we will be successful in getting him relocated, but I know he will get some help from us, and the day after I first saw him he came back to One Happy Family community center and gave me the warmest smile and thanks. There is a gesture that these people use to thank you, the hand over the heart, that is unmistakable in its meaning. And that afternoon I saw him hanging around the construction of the new greenhouse at the center, and by the end of the day he was helping the crew.

One Happy Family Community Center is run and built by and for refugees with the help of Swisscross, Israid, The Hope Project and others. Yesterday they allowed some journalists in on a Saturday afternoon to do some filming and interviewing. There was a photographer from Hamburg, Where Doc Mobile hopes to do some fundraising. I met for the first time in person, Kai Wittstock, the man who conceived and is the main director of Doc Mobile. A gentle, middle aged German guy, with no medical background ( the story of how he started docmobile included in an earlier entry),he successfully persuaded me to stay and see patients on a Saturday when I had planned to stay home to avoid the film crew. The journalist-videographer also put me at my ease when she assured me no patients would be filmed unless they agreed to be and had this explained to them through a translator. I was also interviewed by a journalist from Chicago, I have no idea what paper he works for. He said he’d send me an email letting me know what he wrote, but so far I haven’t heard from him. It will be great if this results in money for Doc Mobile, One Happy Family, Israid.

For my friends and community who have donated money for refugees, this is where it has gone so far. Doc Mobile for medicines I bought in US at Costco and brought with me . Wish I had brought more Prenatal vitamins, melatonin, throat lozenges, things that make people feel cared for when they don’t really need prescriptions. Humans For Humanity for their work bridging the gaps in feeding and clothing new arrivals before they are registered asylum seekers and for being a happy pleasant place for refugees to come and help. To the independent carpenter gang of three who built the Hope Project’s medical clinic at OHF , self funded and now on their way to Serbia to do more ad hoc construction. As more money has come in from home, by Bob’s report, I will also make some donations to OHF especially it applies to the school and dental education, and perhaps to Bashira for contraceptive information. I am honored that I was trusted with these funds, and I feel certain it will all be put to the best use for the benefit of the refugees. ( Okay, the carpenters might use it to fill their truck with petrol to get to Serbia, and maybe a few beers, but that money came out of my wallet anyway).

So that’s where your money goes, wish I could be more clear about where the 400 million Euros goes. Hope you are enjoying your Thanksgiving weekend and giving thanks for the roof over your head, a warm bed, a hot shower, and your loved ones close by.

[biofunmy]

Bianca Andreescu Wins the U.S. Open, Defeating Serena Williams

If you have been considering active visualization, this seems a fine time to start.

The technique certainly has worked wonders for Bianca Andreescu, a 19-year-old Canadian tennis player, who for years has been closing her eyes and envisioning herself winning the United States Open against Serena Williams.

On Saturday afternoon, with her eyes wide open and her shots so often bold and true, Andreescu went out and did just that.

“For it to become a reality is so crazy,” Andreescu said, breaking down in tears in her post-match news conference. “I guess these visualizations, really, really work.”

Her remarkable 6-3, 7-5 victory, which capped her first appearance in the U.S. Open, thwarted the 37-year-old Williams’s latest attempt to match Margaret Court’s record of 24 major singles titles.

Much more significant to Andreescu’s compatriots was the fact that her victory gave Canada its first Grand Slam singles title in a sport where Grand Slam tournament play began with Wimbledon in 1877. Shortly after Andreescu’s victory, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau sent her a congratulatory message with the hashtag #shethenorth.

“So many Canadian athletes have paved the way for me when I was young,” said Andreescu, born in the Toronto suburb of Mississauga. “Hopefully I can be that person to them.”

It was the latest Grand Slam setback for Williams, who is beyond question the greatest player of this era. But against Andreescu, she made too many unforced errors (33 in all), double-faulted on break points three times to lose her serve, and put only 44 percent of her first serves in play. That was by far her lowest percentage at this Open.

“I love Bianca; I think she’s a great girl, but I think this is the worst match I played all tournament,” Williams said. “It’s hard to know you could do better.”

Williams, who was also complimentary of Andreescu’s game and mentality, has shown remarkable drive and resilience in her comeback to the tour after giving birth to a daughter, Olympia, in September 2017.

She is back in the top 10, back in contention for tennis’s biggest prizes. But for a proud champion who has had long stretches of dominance and has won 23 major singles titles, only one result is cause for genuine celebration.

The bottom line for now: Williams has yet to win a tournament since her comeback and is 0-4 in major finals without managing to win a set in any of them.

She alluded to her struggles at the award ceremony as she thanked her team for being supportive in “the ups and downs and downs and downs and downs and downs and downs.”

“Hopefully,” she added, “we’ll have some ups soon.”

Andreescu has had no shortage of ups and downs in her short career. Her rise has been astonishingly swift. She lost in the first round of qualifying at the U.S. Open the last two years and was ranked outside the top 150 when the season began.

But she has long believed that tennis greatness awaited her. After winning the prestigious Orange Bowl junior title for the second time in 2015 at age 15, she wrote herself a mock check as if she were champion of the U.S. Open and then updated it each year, with the new prize money total.

“Every year,” she said.

But she has been prone to injury, including back problems, and said earlier this season that she had weaknesses in her core that needed to be addressed. After deciding last year with her new coach, Sylvain Bruneau, to focus more on using the full range of her shotmaking and tactics, she broke through in earnest this March by winning the prestigious hardcourt tournament, the BNP Paribas Open, in Indian Wells, Calif.

But she then was forced to miss nearly all the clay-court season and miss all the grass-court season with a torn rotator cuff. Since returning to the tour last month, she has resumed dominating her elders.

Andreescu is 8-0 against top 10 players this year and has not lost a completed match since March 1. She has prevailed twice against Williams in the last month: winning the Rogers Cup in Toronto when Williams retired with a back problem in the final after just four games and defeating Williams on Saturday in the biggest stadium in tennis.

The sellout crowd pulled hard for Williams and occasionally applauded Andreescu’s errors and missed serves, prompting the British chair umpire Alison Hughes to turn “Please” into a mantra as she tried to keep the crowd under control.

Andreescu could so easily have cracked. She started out superbly, striking the ball cleanly even though she admitted feeling intimidated by Williams. “Of course,” she said. “Before the match I was super nervous.”

And yet she danced and sang to herself, headphones in place, in the tunnel leading to the court and then matched Williams’s power and intensity from the start, returning aggressively and breaking her in the opening game as Williams double faulted twice in a row.

Andreescu came up with well-placed serves and groundstroke winners on key points in her own service games and gradually built a 6-3, 5-1 lead and served for the match.

“The game plan right from the start was to make her work for every ball, to get as many returns in the court as possible,” Andreescu said. “I think she was intimidated by it.”

But Williams fought back in that game, saving a championship point with a forehand return winner and then breaking Andreescu’s serve to get back to 5-2. With the crowd a factor again, Williams reeled off the next three games to get to 5-5 before Andreescu steadied herself to hold to 6-5.

She then broke Williams’s serve for the sixth time in the match, closing out the victory with a forehand return winner of her own.

“I know you guys wanted Serena to win, so I’m so sorry,” Andreescu said to the crowd after the match. “Obviously it was expected for Serena to fight back. She’s done that so many times in the past. That’s why she’s a true champion on and off the court, but I just tried my best to block everything out.”

Andreescu, the self-assured daughter of Romanian immigrants, won the U.S. Open in only her fourth Grand Slam tournament. The only other woman in the Open era to have required so few majors to win one was Monica Seles, who capture her first title at the 1990 French Open.

“Bianca played an unbelievable match,” Williams said in her post-match remarks to the crowd and to Andreescu, who was standing calmly beside her. “Congratulations. So proud and happy for you. I wish I could have played better. If anyone could win the tournament, outside of Venus, I’m happy it’s Bianca.

After giving birth in September and enduring potentially fatal health complications that year, Williams returned to competition in 2018. She has had undeniable success since her comeback, reaching four more Grand Slam singles finals, but she has lost all four to much younger opponents and has yet to win a title at any level of the tour during that span.

Andreescu’s victory was a flashback to 20 years ago when Williams won her first major singles title as a teenager, sweeping through a brutal draw at age 17 to win the U.S. Open in Ashe Stadium.

But Andreescu’s victory was a flashback, in some ways but hardly every way, to last year when Naomi Osaka, a 20-year-old playing in her first major final, defeated Williams to win a tumultuous U.S. Open marred by Williams’s clash with chair umpire Carlos Ramos.

Happily, there were no boos in this award ceremony, no tears of dismay from Andreescu. But like Osaka in 2018, Andreescu won the first title of her career in Indian Wells, and then went on to win her first major title at the U.S. Open against Williams.

After shaking Williams’s hand, Andreescu put both hands to her head and then dropped to the blue court and lay on her back, arms and legs spread wide with the last ball used in the match resting nearby. After rising, she quickly climbed into the stands to celebrate with her team, including Bruneau and her parents.

“I’ve always believed in you,” Bruneau said as they embraced.

Andreescu, seeded No. 15 at Flushing Meadows, will break into the top 10 in the rankings at No. 5 on Monday. Williams, the oldest women’s Grand Slam singles finalist in the Open era, will be No. 10 and will turn 38 later this month.

But the number that matters most remains 24, and it remains quite a barrier.

“She needs, on her own, nobody else, to just ask herself: ‘What do you want from the next year and a half, two years of your life?’” said Billie Jean King, the former champion who has mentored Williams. “If she still wants to stay in this and still wants to go for the record, then there are certain things she needs to do. But if she wants to, she can still do it”

David Waldstein contributed reporting.

Sahred From Source link Sports

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[ecotone99]

[SF] Panopticon

Twenty-three hundred days in hell is exactly what you’d think. Well, unless you anticipated screaming, and praying, and begging, and wailing and gnashing of teeth no…hell is nothing like the Old Testament. Hell is an eight-foot-tall, six-by-six cell. Three walls and a ceiling, all made of concrete. That fourth wall however, now I’m betting you anticipate “bars,” right? Seeing as I’ve described hell as a cell? Well here I am to burst your bubble ‘cause hell isn’t a cell per se. The fourth wall is just…open. Completely open to a four-story drop for me, even higher for the boys above me. And if you were to drop, you’d land and shatter your fucking femurs for one, but you’d land on the sandy bottom of a tall, dark, enclosed, circular building in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

The floor of this place is about the size of a football field in all directions and in its center…in its heart. Is the Panopticon. I can still remember the metallic voice over the unseen speakers as we each awoke, drugged, in our cells. It started off with a factoid. The man who first proposed the idea of the Panopticon described it as “A mill for grinding rogues honest.” We were to be the, “First ever maximum-security inmates to be housed within the ULTIMATE STRUCTURE OF SURVEILLANCE!” Like we were supposed to be goddamn excited for it. Like they were selling us something that we should be chomping at the bit to buy.

360-degree view from the tower in the center with about 150 open cells surrounding. No human face though, scowling out at us from behind it’s dark, cold plexi-glass. No human faces EVER. See that was really the thing about hell. I hadn’t seen another human face since the moment that screeching, tinny, robotic voice woke me up to tell me what I’d won, twenty-three hundred days and counting, in hell. The point of the “open cell concept” as I like to call it, is this, we all assume we could be the one being monitored at any given time so now, we self-discipline. No need for bars when we’re met with a bone crushing fall and motion-activated machine guns mounted on every curve of that tower. No sir-e. We’ll be the good little boys our mechanical overlords know we’ll be, because we have no other fucking choice.

Now how can a maximum-security prison operate without any human beings? Much like most things in this brave new, robotic world. Our three-square meals a day are delivered to us through a perfectly fucking sealed square hole in the wall and I know that it’s being delivered on a conveyor belt, assembled and maintained by machines because for the past 6 months my meals have been coming to me with the exact same mistakes, day-in-and day-out. If that doesn’t sound like a malfunctioning robot, electronic, or machine to you than you haven’t spent a lot of time depending on one. My breakfasts used to be nice and portioned off on the tray. The scrambled eggs had their square, the toast had his, and my orange slices had theirs. Now every single morning the eggs are no longer scrambled, they’re runny as hell and I hate runny. But what’s more is my orange slices are placed right in the center of that disgusting, thick soup o’ eggs. Like two orange, radioactive islands floating within a sea of yellow shit. And my dinners no longer include any meat, just the gravy for the meat. So, I’m just getting potatoes and steamed veggies every night for the past 6 months with nothing but the idea of meat.

It used to be that once a month a palm-sized touch pad would come through the food slot and you could make selections on any malfunctions or problems you’d been experiencing under certain categories and then back through the slot it would go and within a day or so the problem would be resolved. So, once upon a time I could rectify these mistakes or at least be given the illusion of having a voice. But I haven’t seen a touch pad come through the wall in well over 3 years and I don’t expect I’ll be seeing one ever again. I mean my lunch no longer even comes at all but from the feedback I’ve gotten from the fine gentlemen around me, everybody’s lunch stopped coming about 2 years ago so a certain programed protocol has obviously kicked in. What we all want to know is what it means…

Here’s what I think it means. The people running this place, the human beings meant to give mind to this machine of hell, are all gone. Something very, very bad happened out there in the world and we’re in here completely unsupervised, by man. But now we’re so dangerously supervised by the machines that this really is a hell, and we’ll all spending eternity in this place as more parts and pieces of it fall apart with no human beings coming to put it all back together again, and call the devil back to bed. Plus, the water has started to taste a little like battery acid.

We figured out I want to say two-and-a-half years ago that we could call out to one another and have conversations without anything happening. The first guy to finally shriek out into the abyss was Bluie my neighbor. He’s a totally innocent man and one night right as I was finally beginning to drift off into my version of sleep, I hear the first human voice I’d heard since before my incarceration. It was Bluie. And Bluie yells out,

“Aye, aye RoboCops! Why ain’t ya tuck us in no more!?”

The silence that followed…whew! Could have heard the drip, drip, drip of a robot taking a gasoline piss a football field away. But then…nothing happened. I mean absolutely nothing happened for one minute, then two minutes, then seven. In the hour that followed the event that I’ve so affectionately named, “Bluie’s First Contact” it was truly as if we were in hell, yet this time, we were the demons. The screaming and shrieking, swearing and cursing, the absolute thunderous, bellowing shouts of rage and sound that erupted from all 150 inmates after Bluie’s First Contact was the most hell-ish thing I had ever known. Myself, I just yelled every horrible thing I had ever heard or thought of throughout the entire course of my life until I tasted blood in the back of my throat and no longer had any voice to speak with.

But this ushered in great change. There were conversations for a few weeks. Men confessing, mostly men declaring innocence. Men sharing jokes, men telling stories of all the best and all the worst pussy they’d had before waking up in this place. We were a tribe. But with so many conversations happening all at once we couldn’t keep track of the fractures. The fissures, the silences. And soon there were indecipherable clicks with the tongue, and combinations of words which meant nothing. High and low shouts which gave away no inflection or intention. We all developed our own secret language to communicate with the men we really trusted. We’re split now, divided. Sound is all we have so we use it as secret forms of communication. The acoustics are fantastic in our Panopticon and so each level has developed their own secret means of communication so no other level can understand them. The highest level of cells, near the ceiling are rumored to still be receiving lunch, spring water to drink, and meat with dinner so of course it goes without saying that every level hates them. The bottom level, my level is rumored to have successfully gotten some of our boys out—escape. I know this is bullshit because several months back another guy, real quiet guy likes us to call him G, kicked his pillow right out the opening in his cell. You may have wondered how I knew the machine guns mounted on the Panopticon were motion-sensitive? At least three machine guns locked onto it and shot it as it was falling through the air, and completely eviscerated it once it hit ground. So began the escape rumors. We also know that if we come to close to the opening of our cells the machine guns lock onto us and follow our every move until we step back far enough. Once, I daggled a piece of cloth over the side and a machine gun fired and nearly blew my fucking hand off.

What I’ve been trying to get my guys on this level to understand, is that there aren’t enough machine guns to handle all of us. If only we conducted more “experiments” really figured out the way they work, even if just one of us could escape that one could go find out what happened to the world. Bring help. But Bluie says this is part of the Panopticon. This is how we’re meant to be kept here, in hell.

“Men built this,” he said, “men want this.”

G thinks what I’m suggesting involves sacrificing one of “ours”. Even if we got the rest of the 147 inmates in on it everyone would scream the same thing:

“The cocksuckers on the bottom have the lowest fall! They should be the ones to distract the guns while others try an escape!”

I think G is probably right. But no one has spoken a real, human sentence in so long, I don’t intend to be the first to break the “silence” and find out. But what I haven’t told you, or told anyone for that matter, is that I’ve been pissing blood for the last 4 months. I got to get up and take a piss at least 12 times a night. I knew I was terminal before they condemned me to wake up here, but I think I must be getting to the end. Yesterday morning I woke up to blood in my underwear, which is new. Bluie’s also changed, he talks about God a lot now and what he’ll do in the Kingdom of Heaven when he finally goes “home.” G hasn’t spoken to us in over a week. I think he may be dead but it’s real hard to cut through the smell of myself and 149 other poorly washed prisoners to detect the scent of death. Plus, I never really knew what cell was his anyway, it’s not like I can crane my neck out with a, “Yooohoooo! Still alive in there?!” and find out. I wonder how hard it would be to convince Bluie to let his body drop to that warm, sandy floor…let him get on “home” then. Or me, what about me? Smear myself in my own dirty blood and go screaming over the side the same way I screamed my lungs out a few short years ago when I knew for certain that this, this was hell, this was going to be the place in which I became a demon. This mill has finally ground me down. I am a demon of the Panopticon.

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[olivereliott]

Continental Racer: Sinroja’s Royal Enfield Drag Bike

A couple of years ago, Sinroja Motorcycles were one of the first workshops to join Royal Enfield’s new custom program. They built a couple of bikes, and the relationship went well. So when Sinroja were looking for a brand partner for their latest project, they knew just who to call.

The Leicester-based custom shop wanted to enter the European Sultans of Sprint race series in the ‘Factory’ class. All they needed a factory to collaborate with.

Royal Enfield and their Industrial Design boss Adrian Sellers came to the party with a brand new Continental GT 650, but there was an unexpected twist. By the time everything was singed off, Sinroja had just four weeks to prep the bike.

“Usually we can do aesthetics or performance in that time,” brothers Rahul and Birju Sinroja tell us, “but this project needed both. It had to look good and go fast.”

It certainly needed to be fast. Sinroja’s Continental would be competing with a nitrous-powered BMW 1250, a nitrous-powered Indian Scout ridden by the legendary Randy Mamola, and a supercharged 200-plus hp Harley.

The brothers already had a concept in mind: they would loosely take inspiration from a drag racer Royal Enfield themselves had previously built, ‘The Lock Stock.’

With help from Tamas Jakus at Jakusa Design, they quickly mocked up the design and graphics for ‘Two Smoking Barrels.’

But sharp looks alone weren’t going to cut it. With just 47 hp from its 648 cc parallel twin motor, the Continental GT 650 was seriously outgunned. “The project direction was clear from beginning,” the guys tell us. “We knew we had to go as lightweight and as powerful as we could.”

“When the already naked Continental GT (which weighs 205 kg) was delivered, we were worried. There weren’t any big body panels to strip to lose weight quickly.”

Luckily for Sinroja, performance experts S&S Cycle were in on the project from the word go. They’d previously worked with Royal Enfield and Harris Performance on ‘The Lock Stock,’ and filled the brothers in on exactly what sort of numbers were achievable. That info also helped Sinroja set a competitive target weight for the Continental GT—150 kilos.

S&S Cycle sent over custom pistons and sleeves to bore the twin out to 750 cc. They also supplied new injectors, cams, and an ECU, and built a straight-through twin exhaust system.

That gave Sinroja a great naturally-aspirated base to work from, but they still needed an extra boost. So they called on Trevor Langfield at Wizard of NOS to help them set up a unique dry nitrous system. The system’s neatly packaged underneath the seat, where the GT’s air box and wiring used to be.

With performance sorted, Sinroja started plotting the Continental GT’s diet. Everything was stripped off the bike and weighed, so that they’d know what to keep and what to ditch.

They needed a tight front end, so they dug a modern sportbike front end out of their parts bin, shaving off one of the brakes to keep things light. Danny at Fastec machined up a set of billet aluminum yokes to work with the stock headset. The lighter forks and yokes accounted for almost 10 kg of weight saving.

The rear end received a more radical treatment. Sinroja ditched the rear suspension entirely, then fabricated a new hardtail from Reynolds tubing to save weight and extend the wheelbase. They wanted to swap out the wheels as well, but couldn’t get a set of 17-inchers made up in time. So they kept the stock 18-inchers, wrapping them in Continental rubber.

Weight saving became an obsession. Rahul even recalled a lesson from university, where his professor explained how Toyota shaved 10 kg off a sports car just by reducing the weight of all the fasteners. So Sinroja swapped every last nut and bolt for lighter versions, and trimmed another 2 kilos off.

With the rolling chassis done, it was time to piece everything together. Chris Walton helped the brothers out by shaping an aluminum dummy tank, the tail end of which actually forms the seat pan.

Three fasteners hold down the entire arrangement. Underneath it, you’ll find a two-liter fuel reservoir, a Lithium-ion battery from Antigravity, and most of the electronics. (Towza from Towzatronics built a custom wiring loom at the last minute, trimming a further three kilos from the bike.)

The last few mods included a super-minimal cockpit, and a carbon fiber front fender made from the same mold as the one found on ‘The Lock Stock.’ Glenn at GD Design handled the paint, showing off the English flag on one side, and the Indian flag on the other.

Then Ian Tam, Constantinos Panayides and Tommy Butterworth helped Sinroja setup and tune the bike, along with Royal Enfield’s tech center staff.

On its first outing, ‘Two Smoking Barrels’ took gold at the Punks Peak hill climb at Wheels and Waves. And it came fourth at the last Sultans of Sprint race, narrowly missing the podium.

Not too shabby for a last minute rush-job.

Sinroja Motorcycles | Facebook | Instagram | Royal Enfield product page | Images by, and with thanks to, Marc Holstein

Sinroja would like to thank Royal Enfield, along with sponsors S&S Cycles, Bell Powersports, and Contimoto UK.

[hamiltongolfcourses]

Canadian becomes first Monday qualifier to win PGA TOUR event since 2010

Corey Conners earns first PGA TOUR victory at Valero SAN ANTONIO -- At Kent State University, Corey Conners majored in actuarial studies and as the PGA TOUR media guide points out, he "is a bit of a math genius," the type of guy who kept his own stats long before his strokes gained were recorded by ShotLink. But don't ask Conners to explain his final-round scorecard, one of the all-time rollercoaster rounds you'll ever see, at the AT&T Oaks Course at TPC San Antonio. "It was crazy," said Conners, who made 29 birdies for the week. "I couldn't even tell you what I shot on the back nine." The number geek inside him is going to love looking back and seeing 10 birdies circled, four squares for a string of bogeys on the front nine and just four pars en route to shooting 6-under 66 and a 2-stroke victory over Charley Hoffman for his maiden TOUR title at the Valero Texas Open. The pride of Listowel, Ontario, was the last man to enter the field, surviving a 6-for-1 playoff in a Monday Qualifier to become just the fifth player in TOUR history to go from earning a spot in the field on Monday to champion on Sunday. When Conners arrived a week ago, his clubs didn't make the flight and so he didn't get to play a practice round at The Club at Sonterra, where 73 players attempted to earn one of four spots into the field. It was just another manic Monday for Conners, who for the third time this season made it through the pressure-cooker that is Monday qualifying in six attempts. All he had to do was drain a 20-foot bender for birdie on his final hole to shoot 67 and make the playoff and then can a 6-foot birdie putt to advance. But as his good friend and fellow TOUR pro Mackenzie Hughes noted, "It's not like he's a Cinderella story. He's got TOUR status and had nearly won this season out here." Indeed, Conners had. But he finished No. 130 in the FedExCup standings in 2017-18 as a rookie, and was relegated to playing this season out of the No. 126-150 finishers (category 32a) on the prior season's FedExCup points list. It made it difficult to find any rhythm. Until this week, Conners's season could best be summed up as feast or famine. He finished second at the Sanderson Farms Championship in late October, a week after getting married to Malory, and T3 at the Sony Open in Hawaii in January. But he also had missed the cut in four of his last five starts. With an attitude of nothing to lose, Conners capitalized on his opportunity, opening with 69-67. He chipped away at a 4-stroke deficit at the midway point of the tournament with a 66 on Saturday to trail overnight leader Si Woo Kim by one stroke entering the final round. He also impressed his fellow playing competitor Jordan Spieth. "I thought his game was fantastic," Spieth said. "He came out firing." He continued to do just that on Sunday. After a two-hour weather delay, Conners bolted out of the gate with birdies in four of his first five holes to claim a four-stroke lead. He looked unstoppable, but there was still a lot of golf to be played and by the time he walked off the ninth green with his fourth straight bogey, he trailed Hoffman (15 under) by one. Conners made only one par -- at No. 2 -- on the front nine. "I'm usually pretty good at making pars," he said. But there is a long distance from the ninth green to the 10th tee. It's so far, in fact, that players are required to take a cart. Sitting next to his wife, he used the time to hit the reset button. "I just tried to think back to the last few days," he said, "all the great shots that I've hit and just say, 'Hey, you can do it, just stay aggressive and trust yourself.' " Afterwards, his wife reminded him that she'd given him a pep talk too. "Stay confident," she said. Conners reeled off three birdies to start the back nine, including a 34-foot birdie putt at No. 12. "At that point, I thought, 'We're going to do this, just keep your foot on the pedal,' " he said. Up ahead, others were charging too. Kevin Streelman got hot and made birdie at four of the final five holes to shoot 8-under 64 and post 14 under. His sixth-place finish is his best result this season. But he was soon eclipsed by Ryan Moore, who started birdie-eagle and matched Streelman's 64 for the low round of the day and the tournament. Moore signed for 17 under and finished alone in third. Kim was unflappable for three days but came unglued after his 9-iron splashed in the water at the par-3, third hole and he lost the lead. He carded an even-par 72 and finished T-4 with Brian Stuard at 15-under 273. Conners tacked on birdies on Nos. 14, 16 and 17 to shoot a tournament-record 20-under 268, but noted that the 10-foot par save at No. 15 was critical. TV cameras caught the look of relief on the face of his wife, which soon went viral on social media. "I know her emotions are pretty crazy," Conners said. "She was cheering hard for me. It was awesome to see." Fortunately for her, Malory Conners had James and Kristen Steele of Boise, Idaho, to keep her company. The Steele's originally were the host family for Hughes when he played in the Albertsons Boise Open on the Web.com Tour. When Hughes graduated to the PGA TOUR, Conners took his place. The Steeles flew in for the weekend to watch their two favorite Canadians play. It was only fitting that Hughes, who first met a 12-year-old Conners at the CN Future Links before becoming teammates at Kent State, was waiting at the 18th green with a beer for his friend. Fellow Canadian Nick Taylor and his wife and honorary Canadians Joel Dahmen and Adam Schenk joined in the celebration. Conners finished with a par, just his fourth of the day -- "That's got to be the fewest pars I've ever made," he said -- as he toured the second nine in 30. "I thought shooting 3-under par on the back nine with a one-shot lead might be good enough, but I got beat today and it just happens," Hoffman said. "My hat's off to him. He played his butt off." As soon as Conners pumped his fist in jubilation as the final putt fell, Hughes gave Malory the cue and she dashed on the green and leapt in her victorious husband's arms. "I think the first thing she said is, 'Is this real?' I said, 'Yeah, it's real. We did it,' " Conners said. Conners became the fifth international winner on the PGA Tour in as many weeks and the first Monday Qualifier to win since Arjun Atwal at the 2010 Wyndham Championship. As PGA TOUR Commissioner Jay Monahan said at the trophy ceremony, "This is a life-changing moment for you and it was really great to witness it in person." Instead of heading home, Conners is now headed to Augusta, Ga., the last man to punch his ticket to the Masters, where he competed as an amateur in 2015 and missed the cut. He also has a TOUR card through the 2020-21 season, which means no more manic Mondays. "Which is pretty awesome," Conners said. "I won't be feeling as much pressure on Mondays, I'm sure."

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/news-despite-more-leadership-zeke-still-having-fun-now-in-his-third-nfl-season-ezekiel-elliott-dallascowboys-com/

news Despite More Leadership, Zeke Still Having Fun Now in his third NFL season, Ezekiel Elliott - DallasCowboys.com

He is only 23 years old, but already heading toward the latter part of his third year in the National Football League.

Already he has won an NFL rushing title with the third-most rushing yards of any rookie running back in league history, and currently after 11 games in 2018 is in hot pursuit of yet another crown.

He’s already been to the Pro Bowl, just the fourth rookie all time and but the second as a rookie running back.

But deep down, one Ezekiel Elliott, the fourth pick in the 2016 NFL Draft by the Dallas Cowboys, is a kid at heart. “Zeke” still bounces around the Cowboys locker room as if he’s a 12-year-old, causing most around him to roll their eyes. But that’s just him.

He has a grin as wide as that Mississippi River he grew up adjacent to in Missouri.

And get this: For this past Halloween, Elliott, a highly-noticeable personality around the Dallas-Fort Worth area, dressed up as Eeyore, the grey stuffed donkey from Winnie the Pooh, and actually passed out candy to the trick or treaters in his neighborhood.

“I was never really a big Halloween guy, but I decided to pass out candy and dress up a little bit, have my buddies come over. We were Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh,” Elliott admitted during the Cowboys’ bye week that included Halloween. “We had a good turnout, probably had like 100 kids come out.”

And what did he pass out to the kids for Halloween?

“I didn’t have king-sized candy bars, but I let them take however much they wanted so I made sure I had enough,” Elliott said. “And, you know, kids were taking big handfuls.”

Kids will be kids, and Zeke knows that only too well. was

But still, in this his third NFL season, Elliott has taken on more of a leadership role for a Cowboys team void of the likes of Tony Romo and Jason Witten and Barry Church and Anthony Hitchens and Brandon Carr and Doug Free – guys he looked up to when arriving in 2016.

Evidence of that arose right from the start of this year’s training camp. Not only did he jump to the front of the running back line for every drill, he would even suggest to position coach Gary Brown for group do-overs if the drill didn’t seem to go smoothly.

Brown was only too happy to oblige.

Then there was practice. Seemingly on every handoff taken, and no matter where he was touched up – there is no tackling of a Pro Bowl-worthy running back in practice – he would sprint the entire length of the field until reaching the end zone.

He was engaged. He was becoming a leader.

And even more so after Pro Bowl center Travis Frederick was diagnosed and wound up on Injured Reserve with the rare Guillian-Barre syndrome. Other than quarterback Dak Prescott, a leadership void arose on the offense, especially since Witten, the guy Elliott playfully referred to as “old-man Witt,” traded in his cleats for a comfy television booth.

Suddenly, we started seeing Elliott showing up in the middle of the pregame huddle, replacing old-man Witt in pumping up the guys jumping all around him with emotionally fired-up words.

Why, before the Cowboys game at Philadelphia just a few weeks ago, when a little brush-up with the Eagles players occurred on the field near the Dallas bench, of all people, there was Elliott trying to calm things down.

“I’m not a guy who talks a lot of smack, man,” he would say after the Cowboys surprised the defending Super Bowl champions with a 27-20 beating at The Linc. “I don’t do all that talking. We talk with our play, we talk with our pads. We’d just be wasting our time, wasting our energy, yapping before the game.”

A week later in Atlanta, Zeke made sure do a little bit of talking at the end of the game. Just after the Falcons had tied the score at 19 in the final two minutes, the running back found kicker Brett Maher on the sidelines and gave him a quick pep talk to get his confidence back up. Maher had missed an extra point and nearly another one in the fourth quarter but Elliott knew he would get another chance.

He tapped Maher on the chest and helmet and pointed towards the end of the field that he predicted the offense would be. And sure enough, thanks to big runs by Elliott and some timely throws from Dak Prescott, the Cowboys were down there for Maher to drill a 42-yard field goal as time expired.

“As a leader, I’ve got to go out there and do what I’m capable of doing,” Elliott said. “But it’s really the other 10 guys around me who give me the opportunity to go out and do what I’m doing.”

Well, he has certainly let his pads do the yapping, pushing the Cowboys record to 6-5, tied for first in the NFC East with the streaking New Orleans Saints coming to town this Thursday night before again facing the rival Eagles the following week.

Elliott erupted for 151 yards rushing in that win at Philadelphia, just 1 yard short of his season high against Detroit and the fifth time in his three-year career he has topped 150 yards rushing. In addition, he caught six passes for 36 yards.

All told against the Eagles, Elliott produced 187 yards from scrimmage, the fifth most during his short career. And his high of 240 came earlier this season in the 26-24, last-second win over Detroit with 152 yards rushing and 88 receiving. He also became only the sixth Cowboys player during the franchise’s 59-year history to total at least 175 yards from scrimmage and score two touchdowns, joining the likes of Bob Hayes (1965), Tony Dorsett (1977), Tony Hill (1979), Herschel Walker (1986) and Emmitt Smith (1995).

His streak continued, though. He then followed that up with 122 rushing yards and 201 yards from scrimmage in the win at Atlanta before earning 121 and 143 yards, respectively, in the victory over rival Washington on Thanksgiving. His effort after 11 games this season had seen his receiving totals increase to 47 catches, which was already a personal best, for 363 yards and two touchdowns.

 “As a leader, I’ve got to go out there and do what I’m capable of doing,” Elliott said. “But it’s really the other 10 guys around me who give me the opportunity to go out and do what I’m doing.” place

A dose of humility or reality?

“I owe the game I had [against the Eagles] to that offensive line,” said Elliott, knowing not only were the Cowboys still playing without Frederick, but were also missing starting left guard Connor Williams, along with Pro Bowl tackle Zack Martin being sidelined for 13 plays while having his already nicked up left knee braced up again.

But not only that, Elliott of course knew that this line had been taking a lot of grief for a perceived lack of pass protection as well as the brunt of the blame for the Cowboys averaging just 81 yards rushing in their three previous losses.

“I think those guys are jelling up front,” he said. “They were doing a great job getting the plays started and giving me holes.”

Ah, but there was one more memorable play in the game against Philadelphia, one that definitely went viral:

The Leap!

That’s right, Elliott rumbling up field deciding that instead of trying to run through a would-be tackler, he might as well just go over him, knowing he was a decorated track guy in high school at St. Louis John Burroughs, actually winning four first-place medals in a two-and-a-half-hour span at the Class 3A state championships, which included the 110-meter high hurdles and the grueling 300-meter hurdles. There definitely is jumpin’ in his genes since his mother, Dawn, ran track at the University of Missouri, hurdles of course.

She immediately Tweeted out after his hurdle, It runs in the family.

After all, mothers do know best.

At the time, the Cowboys led 3-0 over Philadelphia, facing a second-and-10 at the Eagles’ 40-yard line. The Cowboys ran a zone-read run play, Prescott deciding to give Elliott the ball at the 43-yard line. There was a massive hole, and off he went, the only player between him and the goal line being Eagles safety Tre Sullivan.

Once Elliott reached the 29-yard line, he began preparing to leap over Sullivan, clearing him at the 27. Sullivan was standing up, just bent over from the waist at about a 45-degree angle, and barely grazed his helmet on Elliott, who came down at the 24 on his right foot and bounded forward.

Unfortunately, all of that momentum from the jump caused him to eventually stumble at the 12, then lose his balance at the 10 before he was touched up sliding to a stop at the 8-yard line.

“That could have been one of the coolest plays of my career,” Elliott said, “and it turns out to be one of the goofiest toward the end, tripping on the 10-yard line, yeah.”

And he laughs heartily, you know, that kid in him.

Maybe so, but when he competes, there is no kidding around.

Said Martin, “The more we get him the ball, the better,” and not a bad philosophy to follow. Especially since adding wide receiver Amari Cooper to the offense, who already in his first three games prior to the Cowboys playing Washington had commanded attention away from the line of scrimmage.

As for Jason Garrett, he can’t say enough about his energetic running back.

“He’s a great football player,” said the Cowboys head coach, “and more than anything else it’s his spirit, it’s his competitiveness, it’s his fire. He loves to play. He loves to be in the big moment. He loves to be the guy who’s carrying the load.

“He’s really an inspiration to his teammates and everybody on the football team.”

And so far this season, the fun has returned for Elliott, on the field and off the field. Last year’s suspension, appeals, court cases and further legal appeals became an overwhelming drag. Most weeks he was unsure if he was playing or starting his suspension. He retreated from the media’s attention, knowing anything he said could be held against him in the court of law and public opinion.

And you could tell the ordeal weighed heavily on his soul. Even on his face, that fabulous grin narrowing by the day.

So this season’s Game 10 against the Falcons brought that whole ordeal full circle, since his six-game suspension in 2017 began when the Cowboys went to Atlanta, their playoff hopes starting to unravel that day without Elliott on the field. His suspension commenced then, as did the Cowboys’ three-game losing streak, a 5-3 team looking up three weeks later at 5-6.

“I was home watching it, tough time for me, but I’m glad (I was) out there this year,” Elliott said. “But that’s all behind me.”

He would excuse himself from further discussion of that lost period in his young career, saying, “I don’t want to dwell on last year.”

And why would he?

The suspension he likely feels to this day he did not deserve took something away from him he dearly loves – the game, the joy.

“The one thing you knew about Zeke, right from the start through the draft process, we knew once he got here, he loves football,” Garrett said. “He works hard at it, cares a great deal about it. He wants to be a great player, he wants to help our team. … We feel really good about him, where he is and where he’s going.”

Of course, they do. After those first 11 games, Elliott was atop the NFL in rushing yards, his 1,074 yards slightly ahead of Todd Gurley’s 1,043. Elliott had scored eight touchdowns, six rushing, two receiving, and was on pace for 1,562 yards and 12 touchdowns to lead this Cowboys offense.

And you could see, just in the little time around him in the locker room, that he sure was having fun again, the kid in him resurfacing.

Along with that great, big smile.

Source: https://www.dallascowboys.com/news/despite-more-leadership-zeke-still-having-fun

[goarticletec-blog]

Saints stay atop NFL with win over Falcons, who continue free fall

New Post has been published on https://www.articletec.com/saints-stay-atop-nfl-with-win-over-falcons-who-continue-free-fall/

Saints stay atop NFL with win over Falcons, who continue free fall

Drew Brees threw four touchdown passes to inexperienced receivers and the New Orleans Saints won their 10th straight game Thursday night with a 31-17 victory over Atlanta that eliminated the Falcons from contention in the NFC South.

Tommylee Lewis and Austin Carr each caught their second career touchdown pass, and rookie tight end Dan Arnold grabbed his first, as did rookie receiver Keith Kirkwood. All four entered the NFL as undrafted free agents within the past three years and had combined for zero touchdowns this season before Carr caught the first of his career last Sunday.

“It says a lot about them. It says a lot about taking advantage of the opportunity, and stepping up when we need it,” Brees said of his latest touchdown targets. “It’s fun to watch them grow and gain confidence. We’re building chemistry, which typically takes time, right? But they’ve been thrust into this role.”

Meanwhile, the Falcons (4-7) lost three fumbles inside the Saints 20 — something no team facing streaking New Orleans (10-1) can afford this season.

“The defence played tremendous today against a really explosive offence,” Brees said. “They got four turnovers. That’s a huge stat in the game.”

Atlanta quarterback Matt Ryan was stripped by safety Marcus Williams on a third-and-2 from the Saints 3 and Williams recovered to end Atlanta’s opening drive. Julio Jones was stripped by linebacker Alex Anzalone after a catch on the New Orleans 17, and safety Vonn Bell recovered in the final minute of the second quarter to preserve a 17-3 lead going into halftime.

“Any time you have a turnover when they’re in a threatening position — just do the numbers, do the math,” Saints coach Sean Payton said.

NO defence emerges

New Orleans’ defence, which had a season-high six sacks, continued to come up with big plays in the second half. Anzalone broke up a fourth-down pass in the third quarter and linebacker A.J. Klein intercepted a pass tipped by defensive tackle Tyeler Davison in the fourth.

The interception gave the Saints possession on the Atlanta 22, setting up Kirkwood’s diving 4-yard TD catch.

Just for good measure, Marshon Lattimore stripped Calvin Ridley on the Saints 1 after a 29-yard completion that looked as though it would end with a touchdown with about four minutes to go. Defensive back Eli Apple recovered that one.

“When you have one turnover [in the red zone], it feels like a lot,” Falcons coach Dan Quinn said. “We had three down there and that was the real story of the game.”

Ryan was under pressure all night from a Saints defence that was bolstered by the return of first-round draft choice Marcus Davenport from a toe injury that sidelined him for three games. Cameron Jordan had two sacks, while Williams, P.J. Williams, Sheldon Rankins and Demario Davis each had one.

Ryan finished 35 of 47 for 377 yards, two touchdowns and one interception. But very little came easy. His first TD pass, to Calvin Ridley, came on a fourth-and-goal from the 2 at the end of the third quarter.

Atlanta rushed for just 26 yards, while New Orleans finished with 150, led by Alvin Kamara’s 89 and Mark Ingram’s 52.

Statistically, Brees did not have one of his more impressive games, completing 15 of 22 passes for 171 yards with his second interception of the season. The pick was snagged by Damontae Kazee, his NFL-leading sixth this year.

But Brees’ ability to play to the strengths of unheralded receivers allowed the Saints to cash in on scoring opportunities.

Lewis, a third-year pro, was in his first game back after spending nine weeks on injured reserve and had not caught a pass all season before getting wide open for his 28-yard grab that made it 7-0 on the first series of the game. Carr is a second-year pro who played in only one game without a catch as a rookie. He, too, was wide open after Falcons defenders bit on a fake handoff to Ingram. Kirkwood made his NFL debut three games ago, when Arnold had his first career reception.

“Obviously, Drew is someone who is very confident in the preparation, confident in players around him. There’s a lot that goes into that,” Payton said. “I’m excited for those guys that got opportunities.”

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[junker-town]

This is probably Bill Belichick’s game plan to beat the Rams

Jared Goff? C.J. Anderson? Brandin Cooks? Todd Gurley? What exactly is the Rams’ biggest strength, and how might the Patriots try to take it away?

Belichick’s general defensive philosophy was simple: Find out what the other guys do best — which is what they always want to do, especially under pressure in a big game — take it away from them, and make them do things that they are uncomfortable with.

— David Halberstam, The Education of a Coach

Seventeen years ago, Bill Belichick’s Patriots upset the Rams with one of the most well-coached Super Bowl efforts the NFL has seen. The Rams were two-touchdown favorites, powered by an underrated defense and a devastating, balanced passing game. Torry Holt and Isaac Bruce were both 1,000-yard receivers, and role players like Ricky Proehl and Az-Zahir Hakim were around to devastate you if you somehow slowed their primary weapons.

Belichick and his staff knew that Marshall Faulk was the heart of the offense, though, and New England built a game plan around swarming him, hitting him as hard and as frequently as possible (even when legality was questionable), and not letting him out of the pocket in pass-rush situations.

It worked as well as anything could. Faulk carried 17 times for just 76 yards, and while he did catch four of four passes for 54 yards, New England threw the Rams out of rhythm just enough to get off the field in key moments. St. Louis scored under 20 points for just the third time in 19 games; they out-gained the Pats by 160 yards but turned the ball over three times and saw drives stall out at the New England 32 (field goal), 34 (missed field goal), 40, 49, and 50 (all punts).

This was maybe the most well-coordinated, timely defensive effort in a Super Bowl since the Giants had beaten the Bills 11 years earlier... with defensive coordinator Bill Belichick.

Take away what you’re best at and force you to play left-handed. It’s not a unique idea, but Belichick has done it better in big games than pretty much anyone.

If that means keeping the ball out of Faulk’s hands and risking getting beaten by others, fine. If it means letting Buffalo’s Thurman Thomas run wild (relatively speaking) and overplaying a dangerous Bills passing game in Super Bowl XXV, that’s okay, too.

It begs a pretty obvious question as the Pats prepare to play a completely different Rams team in the Super Bowl: what do the Rams do best? And how do you take it away?

And that’s a pretty difficult question to answer.

The Rams are awash with interesting and unique offensive talent, and head coach Sean McVay’s offensive scheme has proven particularly adaptable, capable of shifting from speed-based to powerful, based on how you’re trying to go about stopping it.

As Josh Hermsmeyer recently wrote at Five Thirty Eight, the Rams do a great job of dictating the choices you make schematically.

[A]n NFL offense is not just at the mercy of the defense when it comes to running against stacked or light boxes. Play-callers actually have a large degree of control over how many defenders near the line of scrimmage they will have to face. When an offense trots out three or more wide receivers, the defense nearly always matches with an equal number of defensive backs, which limits the number of linebackers on the field and lightens up the box. [...]

[T]he Rams used the 11 personnel more than any other team in the NFL in 2018. ... [I]t’s really not so much a matter of who you run the ball with — or behind — it’s a matter of when you run it. McVay chooses his spots as well as anyone in the NFL.

When we talk about taking away someone’s strengths, we usually think in terms of how you handle a specific player, or rush the passer, or load the box against the run.

The Rams are balanced enough to punish you for whatever choice you make. They have two different running backs (Todd Gurley and recent addition C.J. Anderson) who have rushed for at least 150 yards in a game. In the passing game, even without receiver Cooper Kupp, injured since midseason, they have two wideouts with at least three 100-yard receiving games (Brandin Cooks has six, Robert Woods three), two other weapons with at least three 70-yard games (Gurley and Josh Reynolds), and two tight ends who combined for 57 regular season receptions, plus eight more in the playoffs.

Their biggest strength might be that they have a counter for whatever you take away. How do you take that away?

You probably do it by attacking their biggest weakness. From a Five Factors perspective — efficiency, explosiveness, field position, finishing drives, turnovers — it’s not too hard to spot.

SB Nation NFL data app

Los Angeles is absurdly efficient for all the reasons noted above. But considering how infrequently they find themselves in awkward downs and distances (which tend to be well-correlated to turnovers), the Rams sure do give opponents quite a few opportunities to make takeaways.

Fumbles per game (including playoff games): Rams 0.9 (20th in NFL), Patriots 0.4 (second)

Passes defensed per pass*: Rams 11 percent (14th), Patriots 8 percent (fourth)

Passes defensed per pass on passing downs (i.e. pressure situations): Rams 14 percent (22nd), Patriots 11 percent (13th)

* A pass defensed is one that is either intercepted or broken up. On average, 19.6 of passes defensed in 2018 were intercepted.

Quarterback Jared Goff fumbled 12 times in the regular season, tied for the most in the league. The other 12-fumble QBs either faced a lot more pressure than Goff (Dak Prescott, Derek Carr) or ran the ball a ton and faced a decent amount of pressure (Lamar Jackson).

Fumbles are random enough that we have to be careful about labeling someone as fumble-prone in general; that’s doubly true for Goff, who fumbled only 13 times combined in his first two seasons. But it remains true that the ball has fallen out of his hands a lot this year.

Mike DiNovo-USA TODAY Sports

There’s also occasional danger when the ball intentionally comes out of Goff’s hands. When the Rams are forced behind schedule, Goff has his pass either intercepted or broken up 14 percent of the time — about once in every seven throws. Sometimes that’s a decision-making mistake, but as ESPN’s Bill Barnwell noted, sometimes it’s also simply a poorly-thrown ball.

During the season, Goff was incomplete or intercepted on 24 deep passes with more than a 50 percent shot of being completed per the NFL’s Next Gen Stats, more than anybody else in football. He was the quarterback for the three worst deep misses of the season, when he one-hopped the dig route to Cooks, failed to connect with Kupp against the Raiders (on the same drag-and-go concept Kupp would run for a touchdown against the Vikings three weeks later), and threw behind Reynolds on this beautiful fake screen in Week 17. Each of those three passes had between an 85 and 90 percent chance of being completed per Next Gen Stats, and Goff has to shoulder a reasonable amount of the blame for not hitting them.

Granted, the Patriots aren’t the best in the world at attacking the ball in general — they’re 22nd in passes defensed per pass on passing downs — but they have probably spent most of the last two weeks trying to figure out how to bait Goff into misfires.

In Barnwell’s preview, he surmises that Belichick will try to put the game on Goff’s shoulders. I agree. McVay showed wonderful adaptability in re-crafting the Rams offense to lean more on Anderson and a powerful offensive line, but it came out of necessity, as Goff had begun to lose the plot after Kupp’s injury.

New England finally figured out how to generate pressure late in the season, and after a brief, sputtering disaster in pass protection, the Rams once again figured out how to keep the pressure off of Jared Goff late in the year.

Rams sack rate allowed: 3.3 percent in the first five games, 7.3 percent in the next eight games, 2.2 percent in the last five.

Patriots sack rate: 3.8 percent in the first 12 games, 8.1 percent in the last six.

Los Angeles committed a rash of midseason turnovers — 11 in four games, compared to nine in the other 14 — and it coincided almost directly with the uptick in the sack rate. Once the latter settled, so did the former.

The Rams try to lay your choices bare, force you to commit to stopping the run or the pass, then destroy you with the other. It wouldn’t be surprising to see the Patriots put enough defenders in the box to dictate the pass and take their chances from there.

It doesn’t always work, of course. Belichick might be the greatest coach in NFL history, but the Patriots’ defense hasn’t ranked in the DVOA top 10 since 2006, and the greatest coach in NFL history still oversaw a defense that gave up 373 passing yards to Nick Foles in last year’s Super Bowl. And just two years after holding Warner to a 78.3 passer rating in the Super Bowl, the Pats gave up a 113.6 to Carolina’s Jake Delhomme.

As a defensive coordinator and head coach, he’s coached in more big games than anyone, and he’s been burned a few times along the way. Goff might respond well to the moment, and his accuracy might be mostly on point.

Still, you pick your poison and ride with your decision. Seventeen years ago, Belichick tried to keep the ball out of Marshall Faulk’s hands, and my best guess is that, on Sunday, he’ll want the ball in Goff’s hands as much as possible.

[flauntpage]

Bird Droppings: Sometimes Ya Gotta Dump

Turdburglars.

That’s the first word that comes to my mind when I think about the game against the Bucs yesterday.

Turdburglars.

The Eagles, in their own right, almost snatched a turd of a win from the jaws of Fitzmagic, but it wasn’t to be. More compelling, however, is that we’ll collectively revel in the shit from a disappointing and unexpected loss to the surging(?) Tampa Bay Bucs, who now own wins over two of the presumed top teams in the NFC.

But I’m going to start this paragraph with a conjunction, because the first four started with the letter T. The Eagles were playing without, arguably, three of their best offensive players yesterday– Carson Wentz, Alshon Jeffery, Darren Sproles, and then add in large chunks of Jason Peters, Mike Wallace and Jay Ajayi. It’s a borderline miracle they were in contention to pull that one out considering what they were working with offensively.

Sure, you might say that they won the Super Bowl last year without some of those guys, but that doesn’t absolve their absence of meaning. One of Wentz, Sproles, or Jeffery would have been good for an extra touchdown yesterday, which – math – would have led to a tie if you remove ALL CONTEXT and write only in theoreticals. That’s not how things work, and you play the hand you’re dealt, but I find it totally meaningless to overreact about the offense seeing as though it is nothing like it will be in a week or two, personnel-wise, once the gang gets back together and then Howie Roseman gets Josh Gordon. What?

Anyway, the defense was more of the issue yesterday, particularly Jalen Mills. Who…  um… didn’t live up to his pre-game hype:

Jalen Mills @greengoblin hyping up Eagles secondary in team huddle “Put on a bleepin show!”#FlyEaglesFly Earmuffs kids pic.twitter.com/vppedwesGi

— John Clark (@JClarkNBCS) September 16, 2018

Kill that shit today.

Yes, kill it.

I’m not a Mills hater by any stretch, but he did not have a good day. His biggest offense, in my opinion, was his coverage (term used loosely, and in air quotes, with a big fucking sad face next to it) of DeSean Jaccson on 2nd and 13 when the Eagles needed to, well, not do this:

That soft of a cushion is bad for your back. What did Mills think ya boi was going to do here– torch him for another 75 yards with a deep-in-their-own-territory bomb for the jugular? No way. This play was all about the first down. It would’ve been made even worse had DeSean turned around and not run out of bounds for reasons that are completely unknown, but whatever, you do you, D-Jac, you earned it.

We can fault Darby for the missed tackle. We can fault Jenkins for not giving help on the first play. But Mills was the worst yesterday, and this play isn’t getting enough attention. That throw effectively won the game.

  Josh Gordon

Kevin made his case against this, but let me just say that I am firmly in the PRO Gordon camp. Vegas… not so much for the Birds:

Thought this was interesting. Already odds on what team Josh Gordon (if he were to be released & not traded obviously) would sign with, per @betmybookie: NE +150 GB +200 TEN +250 JAX +400 DAL +400 INDY +400 NYG +400 NYJ +500 AZ +600 SEA +600 CHI +1000 PHI +1000 SF +1200

— Matthew Berry (@MatthewBerryTMR) September 16, 2018

There’s a reason why the Patriots are number one here– great teams find value and exploit it. There’s little risk to bringing a player like Gordon into a winning culture. And seeing as though the Eagles are the reigning Super Bowl champs and there’s not an undercurrent of mutiny the way there is in New England – who by the way got pounded yesterday – I see not a better place.

The Browns have enough to worry about that Gordon was no longer worth their time or patience. Teams don’t crawl out of the gutter on the back of a troubled wide receiver. But teams can go from good to great with one.

To be clear, I don’t think Gordon is necessary or will even happen. The Browns will try to trade him before 4 p.m. today and they’re undoubtedly trying to create the market. My guess is it doesn’t take much to land him. Therefore, his services would be low-to-medium risk with a potentially high reward. Let’s take a puff of that shit.

  Two good takes

Zach Berman:

You might think otherwise about the defense after those two big plays, but look what the Eagles did a week and a half earlier against Atlanta. Their home/road splits were noticeable a year ago (they allowed nearly 13 more points more on the road than at home). They need to get to the quarterback more than they did Sunday. Of course, that often comes when playing with a lead, which the Eagles didn’t do against the Buccaneers. But it’s not as if the Eagles are going to give up 75-yard touchdowns every week.

Even more: They’ve faced two of the top wide receivers in the league, and maybe the two best receiving units in the NFC, so things will skew back in their favor against the Cololots and the Titans.

.@Buccaneers #RyanFitzMagic is throwing to the best RECEIVING CORP in the @NFL . Do you believe this? #BaldyBreakdowns pic.twitter.com/IoEto5rVNG

— Brian Baldinger (@BaldyNFL) September 17, 2018

Jimmy Kempski:

At the end of the season last year, we determined that the Eagles scored 71 more points by going for it on fourth down than if they had punted (or attempted a field goal).

All season long, Pederson gambled and mostly won. We noted that it was highly unlikely that every Eagles season would have the same level of success on fourth down that they enjoyed in 2017, but that more often than not, going for it is absolutely the right call.

It was the right call on Sunday, too. The Eagles were down 13, they had a manageable distance to go to pick up a first down, and the benefit of scoring a touchdown on that drive outweighed the downside of giving up 35 or so yards of field position to a big-play offense that had already proven it could score from anywhere on the field.

So I’ll just say this. Before you really want to kill that decision, remember how much fun you had at the Eagles’ Super Bowl parade because Doug Pederson has some balls.

Forget about the size of Doug Pederson’s balls for now… as hard as that may be to do… the Philly media usually isn’t smart enough to understand this sort of thinking, but Kempski is. And perhaps the rest of the media is today, too, in the face of how it worked out WELL last year. No issue with any of the fourth down decisions yesterday.

  He sucks

Not sure what was eating Reuben Frank yesterday, but his subtle crusade against Nick Foles was ridiculous. Chew on these tastykakes, er, takes:

Tough day for the o-line. They didn't give Nick a ton of time, but I also felt like he held onto the ball too long too on a number of snaps and got himself into trouble. https://t.co/b2WtVUlgaz

— Reuben Frank (@RoobNBCS) September 17, 2018

Nick Foles once again resembles an NFL quarterback.

— Reuben Frank (@RoobNBCS) September 16, 2018

He had Ertz wide open for a first down. Don't know how he missed him. https://t.co/hsAR1vsUzm

— Reuben Frank (@RoobNBCS) September 16, 2018

That's Nick's first completion of 20 yards or more to a wide receiver in a regular-season game since a 35-yarder to Nelly last year on his only pass against the Broncos.

— Reuben Frank (@RoobNBCS) September 16, 2018

Agholor and Clement both banged up. Just can't throw that pass.

— Reuben Frank (@RoobNBCS) September 16, 2018

WTF? You mean the one on fourth and long with the game on the line when he scrambled around, evaded a sack, bought time, and almost completed a miraculous pass to Corey Clement which would’ve put the Eagles in a position to win the game, that throw? That’s the one he can’t make? OK there, chief, I’ll be sure to note that on his report card and dock him points for “trying to win the game.”

More from Roooooooooooooob:

I’ll never understand Nick Foles. Ever. He can shred Bill Belichick’s defense with 100 million people watching on the greatest stage in sports or he can look like he’s never played the game before. And then he can have games like Sunday where he’s both those guys. I can’t figure him out and I never will. His final numbers look good (35 for 48, 334 yards, 1 TD, 0 INT, 99.5 passer rating), but honestly, he never gave the team a chance to win. Carson needs to get back soon.

Hot take here that he’ll never understand why the backup quarterback is sometimes good and sometimes bad.

Literally the line before this he wrote how you can’t give FITZPATRICK time:

Other than an early Fletcher Cox sack, the Eagles got very little pressure, and when you give Fitzpatrick time, he’s really good. The D-line is the heart of this team, and they have to be better.

While I agree with his assessment of the Eagles’ D-line yesterday (yuckstains), he just described what makes a quarterback a backup. The fact that Foles has band-aided the Eagles to six meaningful wins, including a Super Bowl MVP, is all the more reason we should just slide off his massive dick and thank him for the job he’s done.

Carson now. Frank Reich next week.

The post Bird Droppings: Sometimes Ya Gotta Dump appeared first on Crossing Broad.

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[mikemortgage]

American farmers are losing billions from Trump’s trade war — but they’re still supporting him

U.S. President Donald Trump’s trade disputes with China, Mexico and Canada are already eroding the value of American agricultural production, with soybean growers alone expected to lose at least US$3.2 billion during the next crop season.

But many farmers — including some whose incomes are plunging as exports stall — are sticking by the man they helped vote into office. They’d just like him to win the trade war quickly, before the fall harvest starts compounding the problem in a couple of months — when congressional midterm elections also will be heating up.

“President Trump is a businessman,” said John King III, 57, who raises soybeans, corn and rice with his father and nephew outside Helena, Arkansas, about 100 miles (160 kilometers) east of Little Rock. “He’s making a high-risk business decision that probably should have been made a long time ago. But it’s definitely a risk.”

How tariffs — and they’re not U.S. ones — are already hurting one Canadian company

‘China has crashed the price’: Canadian farmers collateral damage in China-U.S. trade war

American steaks, German cars emerge as early victims in U.S.-China trade war

Agriculture is the third-biggest U.S. export industry and a global juggernaut that’s generated six decades of trade surpluses. It’s also become a flash point in tariff battles with China, which bought US$12 billion of soybeans last year and now is shifting to supplies from South America. Separate duties are affecting sales to Canada and Mexico, which are renegotiating the North American Free Trade Agreement with the U.S.

Trump’s trade policies already are changing the outlook for U.S. exports and farmer income, mostly because China, Mexico and Canada accounted for 43 per cent of American farm exports last year.

The U.S. Department of Agriculture on Thursday predicted domestic soybean stockpiles will be 51 per cent larger than expected a month earlier and cut its export forecast by 11 per cent. The USDA also reduced its price forecast by 75 US cents a bushel, citing reduced purchases by China, the top importer. That amounts to almost US$3.2 billion in lost revenue based on the government’s use estimate.

While the situation could get worse if the trade war escalates, the president has urged patience.

“Always thinking about our farmers,” Trump said via tweet Wednesday from the North Atlantic Treaty Organization summit in Brussels. “Other countries’ trade barriers and tariffs have been destroying” U.S. farm businesses, he said. “I will open things up, better than ever before, but it can’t go too quickly. I am fighting for a level playing field for our farmers, and will win!”

To be sure, farmers were big winners until recently. High commodity prices led to record net income of US$123.8 billion in 2013, before a global glut sent markets tumbling. This year’s projected net income of US$59.5 billion would be the lowest since 2006, and the average farm business will see a 7 per cent drop in 2018 to US$339,300, compared with US$437,400 in 2013, USDA data show. The country would still have an agricultural trade surplus of US$21 billion.

Because the U.S. exports almost a third of its agricultural production, the industry is a logical target for foreign retaliation. It’s also a key group among voters in rural counties that gave Trump 60 per cent of the vote in the 2016 election. That, in theory, gives trade rivals an opportunity to inflict damage on his political base.

Hurting Sales

Groups representing crop and livestock producers have warned that their industries would be hurt by reduced exports at a time when they already face big inventories and lower prices.

“America’s farmers and families are staring down a dark path, with no signs of relief in sight,” Casey Guernsey, a spokesman for Americans for Farmers and Families, a group of crop and meat producers formed to protect NAFTA, said in a statement on July 6, when China’s retaliatory duties went into effect.

For farmers, the timing is terrible. By September or October, many will need to have unloaded inventories from last year to make room for this season’s harvest.

Soybean is planted in a field in in Harvard, Illinois. Soybean growers expect to lose at least US$3.2 billion during the next crop season thanks to fallout over U.S. President Donald Trump’s tariffs.

King, the Arkansas grower, says he sold about 60 per cent of last year’s soybeans for about US$10 a bushel. That’s nowhere near the record of more than US$17 in 2012, but it’s decent compared with about US$8 now. King says he can’t hold onto his remaining inventory once he starts collecting this year’s crop.

The slumping market hasn’t dimmed support for Trump among some farmers.

“The one thing I admire about the guy is that he’s fulfilled or tried to fulfill” his campaign promises, said David Durham, 66, who grows corn and soybeans about 40 miles east of Kansas City, Missouri. “In the long run, this could benefit us” by opening the world to more buyers of U.S. farm goods, said Durham, a fourth-generation farmer who estimates his crop revenue has been cut in half since rumbles of a trade war began earlier this year.

Chad Hart, an agricultural economist at Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa, said support for Trump’s actions may boil down to who is most willing and able to ride out the storm. Farmers “are comfortable with the objectives President Trump has laid out,” Hart said. “I don’t think anyone’s considered that they’d change their vote.”

Support Wavering?

That doesn’t mean Trump isn’t losing some votes. The president’s net approval rating in monthly surveys by polling company Morning Consult has fallen almost as much in deep-red, agriculture-heavy states such as Kentucky (down 21 per cent), Montana (21 per cent) and Oklahoma (25 per cent), as it has in the bright blue coastal states of California (15 per cent) and Massachusetts (22 per cent).

And farmers say they’d rather the trade conflict end sooner rather than later.

Don Borgman, a third-generation corn and soybean grower from Buckner, Missouri, said he’s been “hammered” by lower prices but is “refreshed” by Trump’s get-tough approach. The president “is in negotiating mode,” he said. Still, Borgman said he’d be more concerned “if I thought our president was starting a decades-long trade war.”

Truly Catastrophic

Trade impacts on agriculture would have to be truly catastrophic for farmers to turn on the White House, though some defections on the margins could be significant in specific political campaigns, said Harwood Schaffer, a professor of agricultural policy at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.

At least for now, support for Trump persists among farmers who have “concern and some worry” about where trade may be heading, said Will Rodger, spokesman for Farm Bureau in Washington. “Donald Trump is president of the United States and he’s the man many of them voted for,” Rodger said in an interview. “It’s not panic.”

That’s King’s approach. Farmers understand why they’re taking a hit, the Arkansas grower said. But if it lasts too long, some may feel the need to re-evaluate the president’s wisdom.

“Time will tell,” King said. “Let’s see what price I get for the last 40 per cent of my soybeans.”

Bloomberg.com

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