#we have like 70 more medals than the us who are in second place its actually kind of stupid

[pseudophan]

have you heard about the norwegian swimmer who’s obsessed with the chocolate muffins at the olympics?

i saw him on tiktok last night, and here i was thinking we're not contributing anything to the olympics this year

absolute slay so far

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

One-Shots and Story Hooks

One thing Ravnica campaigns are rarely without is conflict. On a good day, somewhere between nine and ten of the Guilds will be having an issue with one another in some way, shape, or form. This is good for adventuring parties because it means there’s always something to do. While coming up with a session can literally be as simple as picking two Guilds and building off their general reasons for not liking each other (which is as easy as picking a fight on the internet), sometimes you need help. You need something to kickstart those creative ideas again.

Fortunately, the artists over at Wizards of the Coast have had over a dozen sets/releases to craft not just the main storyline of Ravnica, but unique little one-offs as well. They come with absolutely stellar artwork to help build the atmosphere of the City of Guilds, and wonderful bits of flavor text that are prime jumping-off points for your story ideas.

So here are four story hooks taken straight from Ravnica cards to incorporate into your campaign. You don’t have to follow these prompts exactly, but if they spark some ideas of your own, run with them.

Watchwolf

Ravnica can be lonely & intimidating for a Druid. With so much of the world made up of pavement and skyline, one’s connection with nature can feel like a long-distance relationship. You’d be hard-pressed to find a tree outside the Conclave without venturing into Rubblebelt territory. Furthermore, what animals do inhabit the big city have been almost unilaterally conscripted into service by one Guild or another. Azorius hawks, Boros hounds, Gruul boars, Selesnya cattle; to say nothing of the terrifying creations churned out from Guilds like the Simic, Orzhov, or Rakdos.

Even the rats seem to have loyalties.

I was browsing a Tin Street stall for watermelon seeds when I saw it. A wolf, staring right at me from a bridge nearby. I looked around but didn’t see anyone it seemed to belong to. Boros dogs wear armor, Ledev dire wolves are never without their rider, and if it was Gruul it would almost certainly have some sort of clan markings. Could it be a wild one?

Noticing my gaze, the wolf made its way over to me. It avoided the crowd with a comfort you don’t see in wild animals. This wolf definitely belonged to someone in the city.

A few of the merchants were staring at us. Even if it was trained, it was definitely making them nervous. The wolf nipped & tugged at my tunic with its mouth. Not with aggression, but with urgency. Spend enough time with animals, you learn to spot the difference. I bought my seeds, tipped the shopkeep generously, and brought the wolf to a quieter part of the city to speak with it.

Who are you?

Watcher

A watcher? Curious.

What do you need, Watcher?

Help

What help do you need?

Lost

You’re lost?

Watcher shook his muzzle.

Where’s your owner, Watcher?

Taken

Taken? Taken by whom?

Watcher told me.

A what?

Role Reversal

This was definitely one for the books. Even for the Senate, seeing a Sphinx up close is extremely rare. Seeing one at your desk filing a complaint about another Sphinx is unheard of.

“They are Uthlon the Wise. A model among their peers for stoicism, moderation, and sound judgement.”

“And you’re filing a complaint against Uthlon for....”

I checked my notebook.

“....Getting drunk and painting rude words on the temple of Azor.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll look into it.”

I expected a response. There’s always a response when people get angry enough to file a complaint. However, instead of shouting or threats, the Sphinx Agammemnos stepped back from my desk and perched down a few feet away. They were really going to wait there until I looked into this. My lunch was sitting an arm’s reach away. I sighed deeply. I hated this job sometimes.

Then, another Sphinx came in and approached my desk.

“I am here to file a complaint regarding Uthlon the Wise.”

I took my notebook back out.

“For the crime of shouting out ‘River’.”

I had to ask for that one again. Apparently, they were asking someone a riddle, as Sphinxes do, when Uthlon the Wise popped up and shouted the riddle’s answer. For that, I might seek out this Uthlon the Wise for the sole purpose of giving them a medal. No sooner had this thought crossed my mind when another Sphinx, this one rubbing their head and moving as though drunk, wandered in.

“I....am here to....file a complaint.”

“Regarding Uthlon the Wise?”

The Sphinx looked pleased. They do love when someone can guess what they’re thinking.

“Uthlon the Wise hit me over the head with a club.”

I’d just finished writing that down when more Sphinxes came strolling in. I’d never seen this many in one place, not even in Isperia’s court. Then I saw the strangest thing of all. A goblin came in, calmly walked up to my desk, and told me in the best Common I’ve ever heard from a goblin:

"My name is Uthlon the Wise.”

For the love of the Guildpact, what is going on here?

Mass Manipulation

There they are. I thought I made my instructions clear to dress the part. One way you can always spot a Dimir is by their shabby taste. They’re so concerned with being able to keep things hidden in their clothes that they can never wear anything that fits them properly. Orzhov assassins, by contrast, always dress to kill. We turn the art of killing into an actual art. And here this tit comes showing up at the finest diner in the Precinct wearing that awful trenchcoat. Ghosts, I should have hired that Ochran. At least they know not to be seen.

The only reason I’m resorting to this alley skulker is because I need the job done quickly and on the cheap. If this imbecile ruins my appetite, I’m docking the price of the meal from their pay. Then again, if I do that, I wouldn’t be paying them at all.

Seems fair to me.

“Dreadfully sorry I’m late.”

“If this is how you run your business, I may just take mine elsewhere.”

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty.”

The server came over to take our orders, but because of this idiot’s tardiness, my main course would have to wait while they ordered drinks.

“Would you like to see our wine list?”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

Ghosts, I should have hired the Rakdos. This whole day is already a loss and it’s only breakfast. Why did I ever think these fools could be trusted with something important?

The server poured water from the pitcher while I waited.

“So, what’s the job?”

“What’s the job? The job is everything! How you present yourself! How you treat your clients! How you behave in high society! How am I supposed to trust you with a contract when you can’t even show up on time for a breakfast?”

They just sat there, drinking their water. Not even the decency to look ashamed. I’m going to put a word in to the Judge for another purge, this is unacceptable. We shouldn’t have to put up with these dredges.

Finishing their water, they clinked their glass on the table.

The whole diner was suddenly quiet. Not the awkward, shocked quiet of society types pausing to listen. I’ve lived in this city for almost 70 years and I’ve never heard anything like this kind of silence. Every single person froze in their place, some halfway in the motion of eating or talking. Then, every single head turned in our direction at once.

“I was afraid it might come to this. I know you have things to do, so I’ll be brief. When I ask you for the job, I don’t need your background or history and especially not your personal take. I know how uptight you Syndicate types are about contracts & paperwork & details and all that nonsense. I just need the deed and the name of the person it’s being done to. That’s all.”

Every face stares at me with blank captivation. Not a single eye blinks. Not a single mouth draws breath. Including mine.

“But first, let’s talk about the pay. For starters, since the target is probably wealthy enough to afford protection, the rate will double. Second, since you clearly have trouble keeping your mouth shut, you’ll need to be kept under supervision until the job is done, so the rate will double again. Lastly, since the reason I was late was because I was debating whether or not to poison your drink, let’s double it again and call it a deal.”

I swallow hard. I should have never gotten involved with House Dimir.

“Seems fair to me.”

“Excellent. Now, what’s the job?”

Debtors’ Transport

This one will not be easy. This isn’t your standard smash & grab in the Bulwark where the Wojek are too busy busting Gruul skulls to chase after a gang of thieves. Everyone in the city has thought of it at least once; rob the Orzhov. The problem is, everyone knows what happens to anyone who tries; best case execution, worst case servitude. The air surrounding the Orzhov Guildhall is saturated with the ghosts of poor souls still paying off their debts to the Syndicate centuries after death. It’s not a fate you wish unto anyone, least of all yourself.

But still....the temptation is right there. An Orzhov transport, one of those big bloated ones that look like someone took a person, removed their bones, and then blew them up like a balloon. Walking right through the plaza. Every week, same time, same route, same cargo. An enormous sarcophagus filled with more coin than your average Ravnican citizen will see in a lifetime, and the moans of the latest poor soul who fell too far behind on their payments.

From the street separating the haves & have-nots of Precinct Two, around the Hall of the Guildpact in Precinct One, then a straight shot along Plaza Avenue to the Orzhova Church. Roughly one hour to walk five miles of city and deliver the cargo into the greedy hands of the Ghost Council.

They aren’t subtle about their business, but they aren’t subtle about security, either. At least four Advokists and Knights for a light haul, double that for a bigger one, and if they’re really hauling a score you can expect a trio of their fully-plated Giants as well. Not to mention the gargoyles they have perched on roofs for every single street along the route. And the transports themselves aren’t exactly known for being well-tempered when something agitates them.

But you rip off a score like that and your entire crew can afford to buy a mansion on a floating mountain.

Assuming you get away, of course. That’s always the rub. There are few things the Syndicate take more personally than being robbed. You rob a score like that, they don’t just send the Order of Sorrows after you, they send the Angels. The executors of Orzhov justice who don’t sleep, don’t stop for lunch, don’t stop for anything until they find you. At least when the Firemane kill someone it’s an exciting way to go. Better death by immolation than spending every night listening for the sound of feathered wings dropping a scythe down on you.

But if you did it right, made sure no one saw you, made sure no one could trace it back to you, it could be done. It can be done.

But who would be willing to take the risk?

[thesevenseraphs]

Update 2.5.0.1

Season of Opulence Begins

Imperial Summons

All players who have completed Forsaken may acquire an Imperial Summons from Benedict 99-40 in the Tower. This quest grants Power Surge gear.

Crown of Sorrow raid begins at 4 PM PDT.

World First Rules may be found here: https://www.bungie.net/en/Help/Article/47218

Sandbox

Weapons

Ace of Spades

No longer two-taps when paired with One-Eyed Mask's Vengeance perk if the victim has at least 4 resilience.

Memento Mori restored to 6 bullets, but bullets are now lost on stow.

Lord of Wolves

Release the Wolves perk can now be activated on special reload instead of on kill.

Normal burst damage decreased by 20%.

Release the Wolves non-precision damage decreased by 23%; precision damage decreased by 34%.

Sleeper Simulant

Reduced bounce damage against bosses, minibosses, and vehicles by 95%.

Reduced precision multiplier, but increased base damage by 66%.

This change results in precision shots dealing approximately the same damage as before, but you are punished less for landing non-precision shots.

Sturm and Drang

Storm and Stress max overcharge rounds increased to 99.

"Sturm Overcharge" buff text now displays the number of overcharge rounds.

Overcharge damage increased by 100% in PvE.

Fixed an issue where a 10% precision damage bonus remained on Sturm when it had used all its overcharge rounds.

Whisper of the Worm

White Nail perk now loads the magazine from reserves.

Increased ammo reserves to max 18 without armor perks.

Fixed an issue where White Nail would fail to activate under certain network conditions.

Luna’s Howl/Not Forgotten

RPM changed to 150; damage was adjusted to match other 150 RPM (lightweight) Hand Cannons.

These weapons still retain the Precision sub-archetype benefits and firing animation.

Magnificent Howl has been reworked.

Rapidly landing two precision hits now increases damage and range on your next shot.

The damage increase affects only non-precision damage, but the bonus range is applied regardless.

Fixed an issue where Magnificent Howl would be slow to activate under certain network conditions.

Fusion Rifles (Non-Exotic)

Damage increased against PvE combatants:

High-impact increased by 30%.

Precision increased by 44%.

Adaptive increased by 44%.

Rapid-fire increased by 47%.

Exotic Fusion Rifles

Note: Changes to Exotic Fusion Rifles are due to archetype tweaks and not direct changes; most of these are minor.

Jötunn

Changes affect PvE damage only.

Impact damage increased by 10%.

Detonation damage reduced by 15%.

DOT damage increased by 10%.

This results in an overall 5% increase in total damage.

Merciless

Damage of first bullet at slowest charge time increased by 30%, which decreases as the weapon reaches its fastest charge time. Damage at the fastest charge time is unchanged.

Telesto

Impact damage increased by 49%.

Detonation increased by 3%.

This is an overall damage increase of 4%.

Submachine Guns

Minor adjustment to idle pose for SMG archetype to help set it apart from the rifle archetypes.

Updated firing animations to better reflect the shooting experience of an SMG.

Dev Commentary:

These changes apply to hipfire only, and do not impact accuracy. The goal of this change was to enhance the feeling of shooting an SMG. We’ve added a random fire pose that will add variation and make the gun feel a little more unstable and lively in your hands. We’ve also added a progressive fire animation that will give your Guardian a feeling of gripping and controlling the more active weapon during sustained fire.

Swords

General

Ammo capacity increased to a max of 70.

Starting ammo increased by 10.

Black Talon

Ground and aerial projectile ammo cost increased from 3 to 4. 

Adaptive Frame

Ground uppercut ammo cost increased from 3 to 4

Aggressive Frame

Now lunge at target with their aerial light attack.

Light attack consolidated into a single damage event.

Slam attack consolidated into a single damage event.

Slam attack ammo cost increased from 3 to 4.

Lightweight Frame

Tuned damage output.

Ground light attack increased by 17%.

Aerial light attack decreased by 21%.

Ground dash attack increased by 87%.

Aerial dash attack increased by 78%.No ammo aerial light attack decreased by 49%.

All other no-ammo attacks decreased by 15%.

Ground dash attack ammo cost increased from 2 to 3.

General

Fixed an issue where magazine-size indicators didn't display the proper arrows when changing magazine perks on the Breath of the Dragon and Trackless Waste SMGs.

Truesight’s “weakened” enemy highlight or glowing will no longer appear to flicker erratically.

Armor

Super-Generating Exotic Armor

Skull of Dire Ahamkara, Orpheus Rigs, and Phoenix Protocol now grant Super energy back on diminishing returns, making it rarer to get a full Super back.

Shards of Galanor and Ursa Furiosa had their Super gain caps reduced to be in parity with other Super Exotic changes.

Adjusted amount of Spectral Blade Super restoration when defeating enemies with Gwisin Vest.

1 PvP kill = 11.1% → 8.3%

2 PvP kills = 19.1% → 12.5%

3 PvP kills = 20.8% → 14.2%

4 PvP kills = 21% → 15.8%

5 PvP kills = 21% → 16.7%

1 Dreg kill = 7% → 11.1%

2 Dreg kills = 17.7% → 14.3%

3 Dreg kills = 20% → 16.5%

4 Dreg kills = 20.9% → 16.9%

5 Dreg kills = 21% → 17.1%

Gemini Jester

Increased duration of disorient and no-radar effects by 0.5 seconds.

Aeon Gauntlets

Potency of energy given by Aeon Arms increased for all classes.

Titans now trigger Aeon Arms off of melee kills instead of barricade, and they receive melee energy.

Visual effects on Aeon Gauntlets altered for all classes to distinguish between a player whose energy is full or not.

Abilities

Fixed an issue where “Six-Shooter” refunds a bullet when destroying Titan barricades.

Fixed an issue where “Entropic Pull” melee and “Devour” melee were applying a physics impulse that pushed enemies away.

Fixed an issue where using Chaos Reach with Geomag Stabilizers could sometimes lead to weapons disappearing.

Fixed an issue where players could gain full grenade energy when canceling out of a Nova Warp Super.

Fixed an issue where Combination Blow’s melee damage buff was buffing the Arc Staff Super in PvP environments.

Note: This was addressed for PvE in a previous update.

Moving between overlapping Wells of Radiance no longer lead to removing the buff earlier than expected.

Investment

Clans

Clan XP has been reset for Season 7 start.

A new weekly bonus bounty has been added for Season 7. This bounty is available at the max clan rank.

Emotes

The Luxurious Toast emote now allows players to sit for as long as they desire.

Eververse

The Eververse storefront has been updated.

For additional information, please see: This Week at Bungie - 5/23/2019

Cayde’s Exotic Stash items have been added to Eververse’s Bright Dust inventory for weeks 1–4.

Rewards UI/UX

The Pursuits inventory has been moved to the Director menu.

Players may now hold up to 63 pursuits at a given time.

Catalysts are now tracked on the Triumphs page.

Updated Taken and Fallen armor mods to follow the same naming convention.

All shader items have had their icons updated.

Fixed an issue where the action for applying shaders, ornaments, holograms, or using consumables was getting cancelled and not applying on the first attempt.

Note:

There are still actions that will cancel the apply function, such as hitting the “Preview” button, exiting Inventory early, letting up on the “Apply” button too early, or completely moving the cursor off of the item being applied.

Vendors

Benedict 99-40

Relocated to the Annex in the Tower.

The Gunsmith

Now offers three daily and two weekly weapon-focused bounties, rewarding Enhancement Cores, mod components, and mods.

Scrapper bounties will no longer drop when dismantling gear.

Existing scrapper bounties will remain in your inventory until expiration or completion.

Xûr

Now properly offers random rolls on Exotic armor after refusing to do so in Destiny 2 Update 2.2.1.

We’ve had a chat with him; if something like this happens again, he’ll be in trouble.

Drifter/Vanguard

Weekly reward packages from the Allegiance quest have been retired with the conclusion of Season of the Drifter.

Fixed an issue where some players wouldn't see updated vendors and bounty lists after the weekly reset occurred.

General

The Sony-exclusive Hunter armor set “Red Moon Phantom Suit” should no longer appear in Collections for Xbox and PC players.

Fixed an issue where weapon engrams were incorrectly appearing as Masterworked in the loot stream if a player’s inventory was full when walking over them.

Fixed an issue where Arbalest could not be acquired by players who do not own the Annual Pass.

Activities

Raids

Further addressed GUITAR errors that could occur in the Last Wish raid.

Crucible

Players can no longer win Crucible matches by getting kills after the timer has expired.

Fixes an issue where a player could hear the audio for a 20-kill streak but not receive the medal if the 20th kill happened after the match ended.

The Triumph "We Ran Out of Medals" (20-kill streak) will be rewarded if the final kills happen before the match timer ends.

Patrol

After activating the totem, killing the weekly wanted targets will now correctly complete the activity and bounty.

Heroic Adventures

Fixed an issue where players would sometimes load into a different Heroic Adventure on Mars than what was being displayed on the Totem.

Tower

Fixed issues with two Ghost scannables in the Tower

“The one about the Speaker’s quarters...” was moved to outside his door along the walkway.

“The one about Banshee-44 and his old location...” was moved and placed on the ground in the corner.

Niobe Labs/Bergusia Forge

Fixed an issue where players on PC were experiencing crashes traversing Niobe Labs and Bergusia Forge spaces.

Commando/Zero Hour

Fixed bug where players could freeze the activity timer in Zero Hour mission.

Fixed bug where the Heroic version of Zero Hour would be available only on the first character to complete the activity on each account.

Misc.

Fallen mines are no longer impervious to being destroyed while on the ground.

[amemixfan]

Number 70 is "After everything we've been through, you still don't think that I love you?" :)

Name used here is Cadey Shelley. Very minor warnings. ——It’s almost scary how fast I’ve learned to arm myself. My fingers fly over my belt where Sparky, my gun, is holstered. I secure it in a matter of nanoseconds then slip my tablet into a pocket in my coat.The entire ordeal takes less than the time it takes the Promise to land on a rocky airstrip. I make sure my ponytail is properly fastened before stretching my arms and walking towards the Promise’s door. The fact that I have learned to easily arm myself and leave the Promise in record time is surprising. The old me, the girl who lived in Olympus 7 and had nothing but calculations and keyboards for companions, would have never believed it. Then again, that girl was long gone. She had died the moment the Union had falsely deemed her a traitor for her designs and slapped a WANTED poster all over her colony. Now, the girl left in her wake, was a full time Bounty Hunter for a ship full of rebels, an enemy to the Union and Empire states-And the girlfriend of a pilot with a heavy penchant for drinking and an even greater knack for hiding his emotions. My lips quirk up in a smile and I bend towards Atlas, currently grumbling about a bumpy landing damaging the Promise’s paint. My hands wrap around his shoulders loosely in an embrace. As always, at my touch, his body tenses. Something rigid passes through him and he almost shoves me off in sheer surprise before he realizes who I am. Once his eyes make the recognition, his body releases its tension and he goes back to normal except for the ever-present glare on his face. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go on this bounty run?” He nods his head at Orion and Nova who are busy strapping in their own weapons while Jaxon fiddles with his tablet and pulls up coordinates nearby. “I’m already ready,” I hum. I pat my gun at my hip then make sure to show him the way the cartridge is perfectly lit up and charged. Atlas grunts and turns back to his controls. His fingers fly over a few buttons and knobs before he nods at me again. “Do you know what to do? I don’t want to have to drag myself out of the Promise just to save your hide because you can’t figure out how to recharge that thing,” he grumbles. The back of my neck burns and I glance away. “That was one time-““Twice. Do you know what to do?” Atlas presses the question. I sigh, pull my gun up and show him I can easily charge and fire before slipping it back into its holster. He looks away, pleased with my efforts, and fishes for his bottle. As he raises the drink to his lips, I hear my name being called. Jaxon waves me over and nods his head at the direction Nova and Orion are headed in. Time to go. I motion with my hand that I’ll be right there then return to Atlas. He peers at me through the rim of his beverage and quirks his eyebrow up in expectation. “Well? That fugitive won’t catch himself.” I smile, feel my face warm, then dive quickly and press a kiss to his cheek before my mind has a chance to back me out of it. My lips linger on his skin long enough to feel the way he begins to burn up at my actions. A sound between surprise and embarrassment leaves his lips and he moves away after a while. His hand moves to where my lips grazed him and he looks away from me. There is a very vivid red to his skin that would put Empire uniforms to shame. Were I more confident, I’d tease him on it. “What was that?” His voice comes out gruff, tough, and I can see the way his whole ‘drunken rebel’ look snaps into place like a rubber band. Once that act of his had intimidated me, now it only makes the affection I have grow stronger. “It’s called a kiss, Atlas. We’ve done it before,” I remind him. My skin warms up at my words and I feel embarrassed for a few moments. Atlas grumbles at the back of his throat and spins around in his chair. His hands go back to the control panel and he pretends to be extremely busy. “Yeah, yeah, don’t you have a bounty to collect?”He tries to change the subject but I hear the way the breath in his throat catches. Despite how much he may try to hide it, he didn’t hate my little display. A smile tugs at my lips and the color on my cheek gets more vivid. “I’ll be back!” I wave at his back. Atlas doesn’t turn, still visibly stunned at my actions, and I giggle before running outside the ship to collect the bounty.

By the time we are done with the bounty, our pockets are lined with credits. Our job had gone well and our rewards were plenty. I stretch my arms to my side and match my strides with Orion. “We should eat somewhere nearby with Atlas. I kind of miss actual food and not space rations,” I suggest. Orion glances at his watch and shrugs. He’s as jovial as the rest of us, his face is lit up with a small smile. “We have time, sure.”I open my mouth to suggest a place we passed by when Jaxon throws an arm around my shoulders. His face takes on a teasing grin and he winks at me. “You sure you don’t want to spend some time with Atlas alone?” He makes a kissing noise with his lips and gives me a smug look. I feel my entire body heat up and I shrug out of his arm. “Jaxon,” Orion hisses the warning. He gives a slight shake of his head to tell him to knock it off yet the corners of his lips are still up. Unbelievable. I groan silently and open my mouth to say something to the equivalent of “stay out of our business”-When Nova jolts from her place silently behind us and whirls around. Immediately, the hairs at the back of my neck stands up. I feel the goosebumps rising across my hands and feel the shot being fired before I see it. I have a split second to move out of the way as a hail of gunfire rains down on us. In a moment of blind panic, I dive for a nearby alleyway. The others mimic my movements. Our earlier good mood is replaced by an adrenaline filled anger. I pull out my gun and try to ignore the fact that every pop from nearby makes my hands shake. “What the hell happened?” Jaxon hisses the question at us as if we knew anything. He struggles with his tablet to send an SOS to Atlas. Orion covertly checks the edge of the alleyway for more soldiers. The hail of gunfire still roaring outside must be answer enough because he dives back in and gives us each a thin lipped look. “The Union sent a squad after us. We need to get out and meet at the Promise. There’s too many to take down by ourselves,” he nods at Jaxon’s tablet, “Tell Atlas to meet us at the ports. Let’s go!”He gives us another look and rushes out. The others follow his lead. I hesitate, feel dread rushing at me, then bite hard on my tongue and rush out. I’ve been shot at before, the Union and Empire prefer to shoot first then ask questions, but that doesn’t make charging into a gunfight any easier. My nerves are on fire as I run. I keep my gun aloft yet focus on getting away from the fight more than I set my sights on targets. Ahead of me, I can see Orion and Nova running at full speed. Every few steps, Nova will glance back and fire a volley from her gun. Twice, she manages to get a soldier about to shoot at me. I send her a grateful nod and emulate her actions.I take down a charging soldier and manage to slide up to Jaxon. He has paused to take a breath and I see his gun is low on power. We duck next to a building and listen to the pounding footsteps of boots on pavement. My heart is beating faster than it ever has and I try to focus my breathing. “How far is Atlas?” I double check my gun and see I’m also low on power. Jaxon grinds his teeth as the sound of fire comes closer. “Far.”I bite my cheek and wince as another shot lands on an adjacent building. The soldiers are awfully close. “We won’t be able to reach him at this rate. Atlas can gun the Promise all he wants but we won’t make it,” Jaxon hisses. I glance at the building corner still smoking from the blast then look at my gun. It has a higher battery than Jaxon. If I lower the settings on the bullets, I might be able to hold out longer. A plan forms in my mind and I clench my fingers tightly around my weapon. Fear gnaws at me but I force it down. Jaxon can reach the Promise easily and come back. I, on the other hand, can give him the time he needs to regroup. I lift my gun and glance at Jaxon. “As soon as I say, go, run. Get to the Promise and tell Atlas I’ll meet him at the space port on the opposite side of where we came in from. Ready?”I don’t give him time to protest. “Ready? Set? Go!”I scream it at him and dive the opposite direction, right towards the charging soldiers. I hear Jaxon let out a curse with my name mixed in before he runs away from me. He takes out two soldiers near me, mouths a ‘you better meet at the space port’ and takes off running. I exhale. From there, it’s a dance with death. I alternate between firing at my opponents and skirting around bullets. Adrenaline is guiding my every movement and fear intertwines with it. At some point, I manage to cleave a path through Union soldiers. I rush for it, mind already calculating how long it will take to reach Atlas and the crew, before something hard slams into my shoulder and pain flares like fire. A shriek leaves my lips and I go down. My gun flies out of my hands and I collide painfully against the floor. Still, my good hand stretches for my weapon-A polished boot suddenly kicks the weapon away and my eyes rise to meet its owner. An exhale of utter shock leaves my lips and my blood runs cold. Standing with his back to the sun, uniform polished and decorated with a row of medals and ribbons, is Admiral Evander Sol. His face is lit up with a grin that makes my insides churn. He advances on me like a predatory cat and his boot steps painfully on my hand. “Good afternoon, Ms. Shelley, I’ve missed you.”

The Union shackles bite into my wrists. I wince as Evander tightens the settings with a click of a control in his hand. I glare at him with resistance, my only weapon, and clench my jaw. The Admiral paces around the room with a hand under his chin and a twisted smirk on his face. He is the picture of smugness and corruption in his pristine uniform which clicks with every step as his medals bump against each other. “Do you know how long we’ve been tracking you?” Evander paces in front of me. “Our best trackers have gone into the business of finding you and your little motley crew. You’ve evaded us for a very long time, Miss Shelley, I had almost given you up for another enemy slipping through the Union cracks.”He rests his hands on the chair opposite of me and leans forward. His gaze meets my own, arrogance and power burning in it, and I force myself to meet it. Evander projects commands and ferocity, yet I won’t give in. Despite my instincts burning to falter, sweat, and plead, I remain steady. Perhaps the old me would have gotten tongue tied and broken down before a Union officer who held her fate in his hands, but the me I am now refuses to backdown. Evander leans forward so that his entire body is almost pressed against the chair. “Can you imagine my surprise when I received an anonymous tip that one of the Union’s most wanted traitors had arrived to collect a bounty on Ares 16? I dropped everything I was doing just to rush over here and finally bring you in.” I keep my face impassive as Evander stands. His medals clink against each other with every breath he draws and I focus on that instead. My palms are sweaty and head is pounding with the stress of being utterly at someone’s mercy, so the distraction helps. I busy myself counting how many times his awards rattle. 1, 2, 3…Evander continues. “What should I do with you, Ms. Shelley? Should I wait until you are delivered to the Inner Systems for your trial? Or should I just speed up the process?”4, 5, 6…He waves his tablet in front of me and I see my WANTED poster illuminated next to a long list of charges. 7, 8, 9…“A traitor’s poisonous tongue has nothing to offer besides lies and headaches. Interrogating you serves no purpose, so maybe it’s best to just end things here?”Evander draws his weapon. My heart slams against my rib cage and knuckles turn white. Fear overrides thought for a brief second-Then I manage to reel it in. I think about Atlas and the way he overcomes his fears. Sometimes, when the ghosts raging against his mind threaten to drive him insane, he pushes them back through thought. I can do that too. My eyes drop from Evander’s weapon to the ribbons on his uniform. I count them if only to give myself time to become strong again. Evander comes up in front of me, fingers resting against the trigger of his gun, and he sits himself on the chair. He crosses his leg at the knee and scans me from head to toe. “Killing you would be far too easy, wouldn’t it? With one bang your entire, miserable life would be over. You’d be reduced to nothing but a splatter on the floor,” he lowers his weapon, “that’s too kind to you. Maybe I should just take you to the Systems and parade you around the courtroom. Watch you struggle to come up with lies in front of an entire room of spectators in an effort to persuade a judge that you’re innocent. Maybe I should take you to a Union prison and let you see what happens to enemies of the state firsthand. Ever wonder, Ms. Shelley, why Union traitors live such short lives? Maybe you could use a reminder-““Maybe you could shut up.”The phrase leaves my lips before I can stop it. I click my mouth shut right after and tremble. Talking back to soldiers isn’t something I would normally do, but I’ve been spending too much time with Atlas and his sarcasm. Evander’s face twists into something bitter, his fingers twitch on his weapon, and he goes rigid. I freeze, sure that he will fire, but then he relaxes again. He leans back in his chair and clicks his tongue. “Well, it looks like someone has grown bolder since we last met. Last time we were here, you were trembling like a leaf. I see spending time with your space pirate crew has changed you,” he states. I glare at him. Evander hums at the back of his throat and his free hand skims the tablet on his lap. My WANTED poster disappears and is replaced by photos of the crew. I scan them each quickly, find strength in their faces, and pay close attention to Atlas. His scowling portrait is what gives me the most strength. I can practically feel his boldness emanating from the picture of him. It radiates off the screen and settles around me like a comforting blanket. I draw strength from it and bite my cheek. I will make it back to him, that I promise. Evander taps something on the screen and his image is enlarged. I realize he has seen the change in me and is exploiting it. I force myself to reel in my emotions. Giving a snake the chance to bite is never a good thing. “Atlas Molniya. When I joined the military, his name was whispered in every corner. Years ago, he was the sole survivor of a massacre that nearly destroyed the Union. He was an honored war hero, a veteran whose very name commanded respect, and his status was as powerful as his resolve. Would you believe, Ms. Shelley, that I once aspired to be him?” Evander clenches his jaw in disgust. “Imagine my disgust when I realized who he really was. Molniya was once one of the best soldiers the Union had ever seen, but now he’s a mercenary who rubs elbows with traitors and welcomes them into his bed.” Evander swipes the tablet and I see a different illustration of Atlas. In this one, he looks younger and wears a Union uniform. The look of him in his teenage prime wearing an outfit I’ve learned to hate makes me inhale sharply. I can scarcely believe that the boy peering at me from the tablet is the same grumpy man I date. Evander gives another swipe of his finger and the image is replaced by yet another. This one is of a command of people. I recognize Atlas at its center but the people around him are unknown. It takes me a moment but I finally realize it is his squadron, the one that left him the sole survivor. My throat tightens. “Molniya returned from the battle in one piece. He came back to the Union and received award after award for his service. People could scarcely believe that someone had survived a massacre unscathed… but I knew better.”The tablet is clicked shut and Evander leans forward. His eyes are predatory, there is a cruel gleam in them that makes me feel nauseous. I grit my teeth and the hairs at the back of my neck stand on edge. “Atlas Molniya came back physically, but he’s not here, Ms. Shelley. While he survived, a part of him died in that battle. His mind is elsewhere, still trapped in that Union ship listening to the sounds of his men dying on his comm. Surely you’ve seen it? You’ve seen the wars that rage on in that mind of his. He survived the massacre but is still fighting the war. He drowns himself in liquor to chase the spirits away but the ghosts of battle are immune to fight.”Evander taps his temple. “In schools, we were warned about the dangers wars posed for the mind. Sanity is such a fragile thing, Ms. Shelley. See enough blood shed and it shatters like glass. Molniya knows that firsthand.”I grind my teeth tighter until I am sure they will break. To hear Evander speak so mockingly about Atlas threatens to drive me insane. I want nothing more than to punch him, claw at his face until he’s a bleeding mess, yet the cuffs on my wrist prevent this. Rather than give Sol the ass kicking he deserves, I settle for glaring at him. All of my contempt is packed into my stare and I fling it at him like a weapon. Evander’s cheek muscle jumps when he feels the effect of my stare, yet he recovers. His chin presses to his hand. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing to Atlas, my dear? How many times has he had to rush into battle to save you? How many visions of that massacre have you induced? When he returned from the battlefield, the Union offered to make him a commander. Atlas refused. He said he was done fighting and he wanted to fulfill a promise he had made to one of his soldiers. Apparently, he had sworn to buy a ship and travel the galaxy with one of them. A ‘Promise’ he would keep despite the fact that the soldier died in combat,” Evander smirks, “yet look at what you’ve done. You’ve taken his oath of peace and crushed it. Atlas runs after you in every battle in order to save you. What do you think that does to his sanity?”Silence ensues. My mind whirls with the data and I feel cold anxiety wash over me. Evander is a lying and scheming bastard intent on exploiting my every weakness-But he’s right. I’ve seen Atlas fight mental wars before because of me. I’ve seen how the battle he survived still haunts him. Some part of him, somewhere, is still trapped in a Union ship watching his men get shot down. That part of him, which he chases down with a bottle of brandy, comes out when I force him to fight. I’ve seen the flashbacks he gets, heard his screams in nightmares, held him as he remembers everything terrible he wants to forget. And I’ve caused all of that. I inhale slowly, hear the shake in my breath, and watch as Evander stands. There’s a new smugness in his eyes now. He knows he’s planted the seeds of doubt in me. He knows the plant has bloomed and dug its roots in my mind. “Do the right thing, my dear, set your poor pilot free. While you are at his side, he will never leave that battlefield,” Evander pulls out his control, “now, this was a very pleasant talk, but I’ve grown bored. Why don’t I show you to your cell?” Evander clicks the button and the door to the room opens. He hooks one arm around me and pulls me to my feet. My body moves on autopilot as he begins to walk me to my prison-But we never make it out the door. Instead, we hear a volley of gunfire popping from somewhere aboard the ship. I dismiss it at first, thinking it’s just a Union soldier practicing marksmanship, but Evander hisses a curse. He yanks me towards him, clenches his teeth, and raises his weapon. I freeze as he places the barrel of his gun against my temple. His mouth moves to my ear and he clenches his jaw. “As I said, Ms. Shelley, you have a knack for putting Molniya back in the battle field.”

The sound of a fight grows stronger as we run. Evander’s body is rigid and he keeps the gun at my head. Pressed to him, I can practically feel the rage radiating off of him. It seems like he wasn’t expecting the crew to arrive so soon. After a few more turns through dizzying corridors, we arrive at the thick of the battle. Union soldiers are littered on the ground and the Promise crew is slowly advancing. Although heavily outnumbered, my crew is easily pulling through. I strain at the shackles on my wrist and only succeed at nearly burning the skin to a crisp. Evander yanks me so that I shield him and calls an order to his crew. “Kill the intruders!” He takes an aim at something past my vision. I crane my neck to see his shot whirr past a shock of white, Nova. I scream out a warning at her then slam myself into Evander. Not expecting me to resist, he slams into the nearby wall. He recovers quickly, but not quick enough. I manage to swipe the control out of his hand and slam it against the floor. The shackles fall away and I am free. “Asshole!” I dive away from his reach and put distance between us. I have no weapon, nothing to assist the crew in the fight, yet I charge into the thick of it. A volley of shots rain down on all sides and I rush past Evander. He trains his gun on me, ready to fire, yet his fingers never pull the trigger. I have no time to wonder what stopped him before a strong arm is wrapped around me. I panic, get ready to fight off another soldier, when the familiar scent of motor oil and whiskey hits me. Atlas. I breathe the name out in relief and dig my nails into his jacket. Atlas puts himself protectively in front of me and fires a shot at Evander. It strikes his breastplate and the ribbons go flying. Evander turns white at the implication. Had he not been wearing his awards, Atlas’ shot could have done serious harm. The thought must startle him because he hesitates and freezes in place for a brief second. That’s all the time Atlas needs. He moves fast and slings me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I gasp and manage to tighten my grip to keep from falling. “Atlas!” I squirm in his grip and feel my face heating in embarrassment. Atlas takes off at a mad run. He ignores my protests and screams at Orion. “I have her! Let’s go!” The gunfire on our side cuts off. Orion calls out an order for retreat and Evander hisses out a command that I don’t quite catch. Soon, Atlas arrives at the door and jumps out. We crash into the Promise and skid to a halt.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!”I wince as Atlas rubs a medicinal cream to my shoulder. The bullet wound I had sustained was minor, the setting of the gun on non-lethal, yet it still hurts. My teeth clench tightly. Atlas huffs at me and finishes binding it. “Next time don’t get shot by the Union after I told you not to.”I puff my cheeks out at him and move my shoulder experimentally. It burns but the cream is already working. Thank the stars for technological marvels. “You didn’t have to rescue me, you know.” I bite my lip.Atlas snorts as he puts away the first aid kit. “Yeah, cause you were doing just fine on your own.”I chew on my cheek and scan Atlas head to toe. There’s no injuries on him that I have to patch up, but there’s a rigidness to his shoulders that I don’t like. The fight hadn’t dug up bad memories in him, yet he’s not ok. Evander’s words earlier sweep over me and flutter across my mind. The Admiral isn’t exactly known for his candor, but what if he was right? I’ve seen firsthand what Atlas goes through after every battle, and it is often because of me. My hands press tightly together on my lap and I sweep over Atlas again. “Are you ok?” “I’m not the one that got shot,” Atlas fires back, he extends his hand and pulls me down from the bathroom sink. I hop down but don’t let go. “Why did you leave the ship?”I smooth my thumb across his knuckle. Atlas lets me and tightens his grip. “Someone had to haul you out of there and bring you back. I didn’t want Jaxon getting the satisfaction.” The bathroom goes quiet. My thoughts are spinning like mad and Evander is at the center. His words from before, about always dragging Atlas back into the battlefield, refuse to leave. They set an anchor in my brain and hold steady. A part of me wants to scoff at it. I love Atlas and he loves me-But another part of me is withering. I had dragged Atlas into battle again today. He had put himself in harm’s way because I was stupid enough to think I could fight off soldiers without getting caught. My throat tightens. How many stupid mistakes have I made that have produced the same outcome? How many times has Atlas forced himself to fight because of me? Is Evander right? Am I the person that keeps pushing him into war?Suddenly feeling nauseous, I let go of Atlas’ hand. The movement is so sudden that he glances at me. “You alright?” He taps at the space between my eyes. I move out of his touch. I feel utterly sick with myself. I dragged him into a fight today. I made him fire his weapon after he had told the Union he was done. I could have caused another one of his flashbacks. Hubble, I’m putting him at risk every day. I take a step back from Atlas, force a smile on my face, and put my fingers against my throat. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just tied.”The lie falls effortlessly from my lips. Atlas stares at me, mouth thinning, and nods. He turns away from me and draws the bathroom door open for me. “Get some rest then.” I walk past him and into the Promise’s hallway. My heart is pounding against my rib cage. I know better than to let a snake like Evander get to me, yet his words aren’t entirely false. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m no better for Atlas than poison. I bite down hard on my lip and murmur a goodnight to Atlas. As if on autopilot, I reach over to him and brush my lips on his cheek. This earns me a flush of color on his face but, unlike this morning, I don’t enjoy it. Instead, my stomach twists and I feel even more overwhelmed. I bite my lip and hurry past. As I walk away from him, I feel his stare on me.

Resting does nothing to help soothe me. I spent most of the night tossing and turning in Atlas’ bed before he walks in. Once he goes to sleep, I mull over my thoughts mentally. I know Evander lies. I know he likes to get under my skin and prod at weaknesses. I know his words are as poisonous as cyanide-Yet I can’t shake them out. Atlas survived a massacre that all but destroyed him. He watched his entire squadron die before him. Mentally, he has never recovered. For years he was doing fine. He was coping in his own way, however unorthodox it was, and spent his time on the Promise. Life wasn’t peachy for him, but it was working. Then I came along. I stowed away on his ship and have forced him into bad situations since day one. He almost quit his bounty hunter life because of me. Because of an episode I induced. How long had Atlas gone before then without seeing those ghosts of his? What record did he have that I broke?I sit up in bed and peer down at Atlas next to me. He’s utterly asleep, snoring a storm, yet his face is peaceful. When he slumbers, he resembles someone different. The sarcasm and bite is gone, replaced by something tranquil and young. It’s almost like he’s an entirely different person. A person who doesn’t down whiskey like water and evade the Union and Empire everyday. I reach out my fingers and card them though his hair. He makes a face in sleep but stays still. I brush a lock of his hair back. Atlas is young, all things considered, yet his hair is already graying. What kind of stress does someone endure to have that happen?And how many new strands of white have bloomed since he met me? I suddenly feel sick again. I lift my fingers from his hair and stand up. My hands move to my face and I press my knuckles against my eyelids to keep from crying. Stars, how badly have I hurt Atlas without meaning to? Feeling like I can’t breathe, I plop down on Atlas’ chair and put my head in my hands. Horrible thoughts plague me and torment me all night. I know better than to listen to them, yet I find they keep me awake all the same.

When the Promise’s lights come on, I slip out the door before Atlas has a chance to rouse. My mind is buzzing like crazy and I need some fresh air. Luckily for me, the Promise is stopping to refuel soon at a neutral colony. We’ll be on the ground for an hour or two and that should be enough time to reel in my thoughts. I slip on my coat and am almost out the door when Atlas appears recently awoken. “Cadey, I need your help. Stupid Union bastards shot at the Promise yesterday and a few of our parts are fried. I need someone to help me repair them.” He lifts his toolbox in one hand. I clench my jaw and press my palm against the Promise’s door. My heart thuds in my chest. Usually, spending the day with Atlas is much cause for celebration, but today my mind is a muddled mess. The thought of being alone with him while dangerous thoughts flutter through my head is enough to make me want to throw up. I grind my teeth. “I wanted to walk around for a bit. Do you need me to get some parts for you?”I don’t meet his eyes. Atlas straightens and sets his toolbox down on the table. “Anything wrong? You’re acting weird,” he grumbles. I try to school my face into something normal. It only half works. The tenseness of Atlas’ shoulders doesn’t ease up. “Fine, fine, I just want some air.”With that, I don’t give him time to answer. I press a quick kiss to his cheek, something of a tradition now, and slip out the door.

I never liked running when I was young, I found it the hardest of exercises, but now I run. I run and run until I feel like throwing up. I run until I can fool myself into thinking that I’m leaving my thoughts in the dust. At some point, I reach a deserted park and stop. My hands come to the top of my head and I take in gulps of air. My lungs feel like they’re going to give out. I stumble into a park bench and steady myself against it. My hands grip the metal until my knuckles turn white-And then I puke. I throw up until tears are streaming down my face and I feel a mental breakdown coming soon. I sink to my knees and sob until there’s no more tears I can physically produce. My hands press against my eyelids and I hiccup over and over again feeling like I can’t breathe. Evander is a manipulative liar not above exploiting a person’s worst fears, but he hasn’t lied about me. I ruined Atlas. Before me, he was coping with his trauma and getting past it. Now, he has to charge into a fight every so often because I’m too weak to protect myself. I bite my tongue until blood fills my mouth and dig my nails into my palms. How many white hairs have I given Atlas? How many nightmares has he endured because of what I put him through? I’m like a poison to him. The images Evander showed me surface again and I almost throw up once more. I think about the young Atlas in the military photo. The young man who didn’t smile but didn’t scowl either. The soldier who had joined the Union and didn’t consider it a mistake yet. The man in a perfectly pristine uniform with a powerful tilt of his chin intent on winning glory for his government. Then I think of the young man standing in between a squadron. A young Atlas surrounded by friends of his who will never make it to see their own glory. When Atlas posed for that photo, did he realize he would be the last one left? Did the thought ever occur to him that every single soldier around him would die in a bloody massacre? I press my hand to my mouth to keep from crying all over again. Finally, I think about Atlas and that unnamed soldier. Think about the promise they had made to each other to travel the galaxy together on a ship and live in peace. How they promised each other to lay down their weapons and leave war for good. I think about that Union soldier who perished in that fight as Atlas listened on his comm, think about his body floating somewhere in space, and think about the Promise-the ship they both should have seen peace in. The ship Atlas had found comfort in until I stowed away on it and made him pick up his gun again. Hubble. I’ve done a number on him. I’ve really, really hurt him. How could I have been so blind before? I run my hand through my hair and force myself to take deep breaths. My heart hammers against my ribcage and my throat constricts. Evander’s words from before play back in my head. ”Do the right thing, my dear, set your poor pilot free.”I bite my nail and stand up so violently I feel dizzy. My breath comes out in another shallow pant and I clench my fist. I hate this idea of mine, but I have to do it. I have to set Atlas free.

Atlas is busy at the controls when I arrive. The rest of the crew is out eating and he’s stayed behind to finish fixing the Promise. I try to sneak past him but his chair whirls around. “There you are. Are you ready to come and help me fix this thing?” Atlas sounds annoyed as he slaps his hands against the control board. I force myself to smile. It hurts my cheeks but I think I pull it off. “I’m tired, Atlas, I’m going to bed.” Atlas scowls. “It’s noon.”“It’s nighttime somewhere,” I shrug. I move to leave but he stands. His arm wraps around me and he holds me in place. Green eyes search mine and I tense. “You’re acting weird ever since you came back. What happened, Cadey? Did Evander do something?” His hands press at my face. I move out of his grasp and laugh. The sound sounds so painfully fake I almost wince. Gosh, I’m not a good actress. I yawn into my hand and shake my head. “Nothing asides from the usual ‘traitor this’, ‘traitor that’. Really, I’m just tired. Let me take a nap, alright?” I hold his hands in mine for a second before letting them go. Atlas doesn’t believe me. The rigidness in his posture, the narrowness of his eyes, and the downturn of his lips, gives it away. I know he knows I am lying, but I also know that he understands hiding things. I don’t pry when Atlas bites back his feelings from me, so he won’t pry either. Even though he doesn’t like it, he nods and squares his jaw. “Get some sleep.” He moves his face forward, almost as if expectant, and I offer him a smile before spinning away and going for our room. As I depart, oddly enough, he looks disappointed. It doesn’t occur to me until later that maybe he was waiting for me to kiss his cheek.

I have few belongings to my name. Asides from the coat Atlas gave me eons ago, my stuff is limited. Packing is easy. I stuff everything into my bag and hide it somewhere awaiting nightfall. Orion and Atlas agreed to stay on the colony all night. The Promise needs some repairs and we won’t be able to depart until morning. This is perfect. I can easily slip away tonight and hitch a ride to the Inner Systems to turn myself in. Evander is right. Atlas needs to be away from me. I hold my breath until the Promise goes dark. Night falls across the ship and I hear the footsteps of the crew and Comet as they go to bed. I wait until silence reigns to make my move. Atlas is probably in the mess hall getting his dinner in. The door to the Promise is relatively silent. I can slip out and he won’t notice until much later. With this plan in mind, I weave through the darkened hallways and into the deck.

The door is right in my sights. I reach my fingers to open it, holding my breath-When the lights click on. There is a very disorienting pair of seconds where my vision readjusts into the sudden light before I spot Atlas. He’s sitting in his pilot chair, a scowl on his face, and hands on the controls. My heart pounds. Crap. So he had decided to pull an all nighter and work. “The Hell are you going?” Atlas stands from his chair and narrows his eyes in confusion. I cough. “I wanted to walk around for a bit. See the stars.”I feel like kicking myself. I am such an utter and complete idiot. “You see them everyday on the road,” Atlas moves towards me, “what’s that?”He extends a hand towards my bag. I move away from his reach. I shake my head lightly and force a smile. “I was going to go on a supply run,” I shrug. My voice sounds out nonchalant but Atlas is not an idiot. The scowl on his face deepens and he crosses his arms. “You’re a terrible liar. Why don’t we skip the part where you makeup another bogus lie, I catch you in it, and you panic? Let’s skip to the finale where you tell me the truth.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Atlas. Why are you awake?” I try and change the conversation. My hands reach for the control panel. If I can flick the light switch off, I might be able to run…Atlas catches my hand and holds it away. “Fixing the Promise since my engineer has decided to play exile. Seriously, what is it?”He squeezes my hand and pulls me close. I am brought into his arms. His hands move up to my shoulders and he holds me steady so that he can peer at my eyes. I almost break then and there. His green eyes meet mine and I can see a swirl of emotions there. There’s suspicion, confusion, concern, but mostly love. My throat tightens and I keep my mouth firmly shut. “Spill, Cadey, seriously. What happened yesterday? Did Evander do something? Did he hurt you?” Atlas quickly grows enraged. He scans me from head to toe as if looking for an injury. I can almost feel him growing defensive, plotting to see how far a course for the Union is, and I shake my head. “Not asides from shooting me,” I mumble out. I attempt to extract myself from his grip but he holds strong. “Did he say something then? That lying snake will say whatever it takes to drive you insane,” Atlas hisses out. I dig my fingers into my palms. “I just need some air, Atlas, honest. I’ll come back in ten minutes.”Atlas clenches his jaw. “Let me go with you-““No!” The scream leaves my lips and he jolts in surprise. I feel my mouth go dry and I hurry to cover it up. “I mean, no need. I want to be alone for a while, alright?” I manage to free myself of his grip and move towards the door. Atlas follows after me and his hand snags the back of my bag. With a tug, the strap snaps off and the contents spill out. My clothes and belongings pool at his feet. My heart stops. Atlas goes rigid. The room grows silent. The uncomfortable silence can be heard loudly. I squeeze my eyes shut. Atlas takes a deep breath. “I didn’t realize a walk required you to pack.” He takes a step back, face betraying hurt for a brief flash, before he turns away. “What is it? What did Evander say? He must have said something. You were fine before you went out to collect that bounty.” Atlas pinches the bridge of his nose. I see the tenseness in his stance, hear the hurt in his voice that he tries to hide with anger-And I snap. My mouth trembles and I break down crying. Atlas spins around in surprise and goes for me. Moments later, I’m being crushed against his chest. He lets me cry without prying. I dig my face into his neck and sob until I feel like passing out. Slowly, his fingers move for my back and he traces little patterns there. His lips press to my ear and he murmurs words of encouragement underneath his breath. They have the opposite effect, however, and I cry harder. More minutes pass. I quiver like a leaf and exhaust myself. Atlas moves us to his chair. He sits down and pulls me into his lap. When I regain my bearings, he tightens his grip. “What did Evander do?”I swallow once, twice, three times and press my hands tightly together. I don’t answer his question and Atlas clenches his jaw. When he opens his mouth to repeat it, I interrupt him. “You named this ship the Promise because you promised to leave fighting behind, right?”My question echoes against the quiet room. Atlas tenses and I hear him draw in his breath. I struck a nerve. So Evander wasn’t lying about that. “What does that have to do with anything?” Atlas grinds out. I press on. “You left your ship yesterday to save me. That wasn’t the first time, Atlas. How many times have you broken your oath in order to help me?” I wipe at another tear. Atlas is silent. I can practically hear the gears in his head grinding as he makes a connection between my words and Evander. When it clicks, he glares at me. “Is that what that creep told you? Are those the stupid ideas he put in your head?-““You survived something terrible years ago. You remember it every time you rush into battle. I’ve seen your episodes, Atlas. They never left. I bring them out every time I force you into a fight. I’m hurting you by being here,” I clench my teeth. My lip quivers again and I stand from his lap. To touch him is to hurt him, and I’m done hurting him. I move away from him, reach for my stuff on the ground, and freeze when I hear laughter. It’s a cold, dark chuckle that puts me on edge. There’s nothing jovial about it just angry. Atlas’ shoulders shake with it before he puts a hand to his forehead. When he next speaks, his tone is furious. “Is that really what you think? Jesus Christ, Cadey,” Atlas throws his hands up in frustration and glares at me, “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?!”His scream echoes against the quiet ship. I wince at it and my breath gets stuck in my throat. Love. He’s never said that one before. My hand goes to my throat and my mouth opens. I can’t get the air in to speak.Atlas clenches his jaw and presses his hand to his nose again. “Let me guess, Sol made up some bullshit and you bit into it. What did he say? That you were putting me at risk? Disgracing my reputation? What? What did he say that was so believable you fell for it hook, line, and sinker?!”He moves for me and puts his hands on my face. His eyes burn with thousands of emotions. There is anger there, frustration, but mainly heartbreak. A cold feeling washes over me and I resist the urge to cry. My hands move for his and I rest them on top. My breath comes out ragged. He presses his forehead to mine and squeezes his eyes shut. “What did he say?” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, yet it is powerful enough to cut through Evander’s manipulation. I crack and wither under it and feel tears streaming down my face again. “He said I was hurting you. I kept dragging you into battles and making you relive your past in the war.”Atlas is quiet for a few tense moments. I hold my breath and wait for him to explode-But he implodes instead. He draws back and makes a sound at the back of his throat. I see the pain and rage that dance across his face before an impassive mask slams on top again. He presses his hands to his temples. “And you believed it. You believed his bull. I’m going to kill him someday. I swear it.”I quake and draw in a deep breath. My earlier fears melt away and I feel like breaking down all over again. Hubble. Hubble. Hubble. I’m such an idiot. I’m such a stupid idiot. Evander played me like a fiddle and I let him. I willingly bit into his lies and I almost made a huge mistake. My hands press to my mouth and I feel sick. Atlas turns away from me, breathes in deeply for a few moments, then turns back around. His face is utterly closed off; I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Come here,” he extends his hand. I move without a word. Once I’m within reach, he yanks me forward. I crash into him and nearly send him flying. He crushes me into his grip and his mouth slams on mine. I taste desperation in his kiss and frustration. His fingers twirl in my hair and he backs me against a wall. My own fingers go to rest at his neck. I feel his pulse pounding underneath them. We stay locked there for a very long time. Finally, our lungs burn and Atlas pulls back. He moves his head just enough to put our foreheads together once more. His eyes close. “Do me a favor, Cadey,” his whisper is quiet. I make a sound at the back of my throat not quite ready to speak just yet. Atlas opens his eyes and meets my gaze. “Next time Evander tries to get into your head, remember this. You’ve saved me as often as I’ve pulled you from danger. You’re not just some damsel in distress triggering shell shock. But more than that,” he moves forward again and places my hand over his heart where I can feel the steady pulse, “you’re the woman that I love.”My breath hitches and he moves away. Running a hand through his hair, he grabs his tablet and flicks the lights off on the control panel. “I’m going to bed. Go on your ‘walk’ if you have to, I won’t stop you, but just remember what I said. I meant every word.”He sends me a look and disappears. I watch him go then press my hands to my face. God I’m such an idiot.

[viduamarchive]

I don't know much about the black widow, so i apologize in advance if the answers are obvious. did she choose the alias black widow herself? or was it an alias given to her? if so, why has she kept the alias all these years?

OF  LOVE  /  OF  DEATH.      hi there !!     don’t worry,     the answer isn’t very obvious at all   —–   much of fanon / fandom are confused on the matter,     & canon writers have absolutely  NO  consistency in explaining this,      so it’s definitely one of the muddier topics regarding natasha’s past.      keep in mind,      NATASHA’S CURRENT CANON HAS BEEN RETCONNED,     & IS NO LONGER THE CANON THAT I FOLLOW.      i don’t follow it because it’s stupid.     it’s shallow.     & lazy.    & culturally insensitive.     & very obviously written by straight white men who just like to watch one of the most popular female cbc suffer.      anyway,     here we go   ——

NATASHA JOINED THE KGB IN 1956,      AT THE AGE OF 28.     it was a voluntary choice,     based in the necessity of saving her father figure,    IVAN PETROVICH,     who had suffered fatal injuries during an attack in east berlin.     JAMES BARNES / THE WINTER SOLDIER  offered,    on behalf of the USSR,    a way to save ivan,     a way to extend their lifetimes indefinitely,      in exchange for their ensured loyalty to the government.      NATASHA  ACCEPTED,     & very shortly after she joined  THE RED ROOM.

THE RED ROOM,     was a division of  DEPARTMENT X,     which was the covert scientific division of the KGB.     the RR was responsible for taking 28 female volunteers & training them / biochemically enhancing them to become super spies for the USSR.      these 28 women were given the codename  ЧЕРНАЯ ВДОВА / BLACK WIDOW,     which says a lot in & of itself.     the women themselves in the red room were not taken seriously.     many men thought that their position was vulgar & inferior,     &  MANY  used the title of  ‘black widow’  as a slur,     despite seduction never being a major focus of their training.      though the conception of the title is unclear,     i strongly believe that it was a way for the state to control these women & restrict their freedom.     even giving them a title that they could not choose that denotes a NEGATIVE STEREOTYPE of women was a way to take ownership of them.     but it doesn’t matter why or how it was used.     natasha wore the title like a medal,     & she earned her place as the best & only black widow.

now that that answers your first question,     let’s get to the second part  :  WHY DID SHE KEEP IT ?

IN 1957,     AFTER A YEAR OF RIGOROUS TRAINING & EXPERIMENTATION / ENHANCEMENT IN THE RED ROOM,     & after proving herself as the best,    most skilled black widow of the 28,     natasha married alexei shostakov,     one of the  USSR’s  best test pilots,     & put away her training & her title as black widow in favor of settling down as a housewife.     the couple were highly privileged,     soviet icons,     & were quite the power couple in terms of their being the supreme propagandized example of soviet living.     the marriage lasted 6 years,     until 1963,     when the USSR faked alexei’s death in a failed rocket test.     this devastated natasha  ( & proved to haunt her for the next 20-30 years ),     which,    though it wasn’t exactly the intention of the USSR in faking alexei’s death,     it proved to be exactly what they needed.

------ ( deadly origin.   #2 )

AS HISTORY RECALLS,     during this time,    NIKITA KRUSHCHEV  was the premier of the soviet union.     he was not at all fond of much of what his predecessors had done,     & worked to undo much of stalin’s plans.      ONE OF THESE,     was the black widow program itself,     which krushchev thought to be ridiculous & far too expensive to carry out moving forward.     however,     NATASHA HERSELF,     JUST RECENTLY WIDOWED,     wanted nothing more than to honor her husband’s legacy &  carry out missions against the west  (  THE  WEST,     she thought,     was responsible for taking her husband from her,     for his supposed death was due to the space race between the USSR & the US  ).      krushchev,     though reluctant,     obliged,     & natasha returned to the black widow ops program for another year of training in 1963,     before she was sent by the KGB to the US for her first mission in 1964,     as THE FIRST AND ONLY SUCCESSFUL BLACK WIDOW.     for the next three years,     natasha held the title of the black widow according to the USSR’s wishes,     until she defected around 1967,     became an avenger,    etc.  etc.

IN 1970,     IN AMAZING SPIDERMAN #86,     natasha returned to action & re-invented her image & designed the sleek black suit which we are familiar with now.      but still    -------    SHE KEPT THE TITLE.      she kept the name that her previous government had given her.      but it wasn’t that she simply kept it,      SHE MADE IT HER OWN.     she was no longer a spy on the wrong side of the wall,     she was a hero doing things for good,     & choosing her own destiny.

however,     during the 70′s,     natasha’s development arc centered primarily around her  WIDOW’S CURSE.      many people that she had grown close to or grown to love,     starting with her husband,     HAD DIED BECAUSE OF HER in one way or another.     & she spent much of the decade trying to rid herself of the curse by helping people & doing the right thing.      SHE WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO BE A BLACK WIDOW IN NAME ONLY.      & eventually,     she succeeded.

after her WIDOW’S CURSE arc ran its course,     & comics entered the 80′s & 90′s,     natasha’s title in - canon wasn’t really paid attention to as anything other than just another code name.      but it was given attention when  YELENA BELOVA,     a student of the red room,     wanted to surpass natasha & take the title for herself.      natasha thought this to be foolish,     & horribly misguided,     for the life that natasha has lived to earn the title has been one of pain & suffering,     & never one that she would wish on anyone else ; especially not on a young & nationalistic girl.

“   WHY BE THE WIDOW,     ROOSKAYA,     WHEN YOU CAN BE YELENA ?     ”     ------- ( itsy bitsy spider.   #2 )

THE BLACK WIDOW  is doomed to hardship.     it may even be considered a curse,     as natasha thought it was so long ago.     but it is a burden that natasha is willing to bear,     because she knows she is the only one equipped to.     SHE IS NOT PROTECTIVE OF THE TITLE,     she simply does not wish for anyone else to have to earn it the way she had to.

time goes on,      & the black widow continues to straddle the line between mystery as a spy & publicity as a hero.     & with that comes stereotypes & misconceptions & personas imposed on her.      but let’s be real  :  NATASHA IS A WALKING STEREOTYPE BREAKER.     everything she does is for a reason.     everything she does proves people wrong in some way.     & natasha,     since the late 80′s / early 90′s,    has been very sexualized both in & out of universe,     & she knows this.    people think of her as a femme fatale,     as a spy that seduces her targets & kills them soon after,      but this is  FURTHEST FROM THE TRUTH.     seduction has never been  ( at least while working espionage for the US )  part of her methods.     if anything,    the fact that people think so is just part of the mass reduction of how faceted she is.     but honestly ?    that’s ok.    HER PAST IS HER OWN.     she is her own woman,     first,    last,   & always.     SHE DEFINES WHO SHE IS,     & no amount of misconception or sexualization or greedy men will ever change that.     & really,     that’s part of what makes her keeping the title of  BLACK WIDOW  so satisfying to her.     she never gives people what they want,     she never plays by anyone’s rules,     & she proves everyone wrong time after time after time.     IT IS HER BURDEN TO BEAR,     as a woman in a man’s world,     as a woman paving her own path.     & it’s just one part of what makes her so strong.

SEND QUESTIONS YOU HAVE ABOUT NATASHA !

[justnotcricket]

Match Report: 25/11/17 WASTCA One-Day Div 2

Fremantle (8/241) def Subi Marist (9/163)

Mann Oval is a cricket ground in miniature. A tiny oval, a small man’s oval. An oval for small men… and for some, this was the first homecoming since the horrific ‘Mann Oval Massacre’…

When I arrived at the venue the last surviving veterans were at the Mosman Park Bowling Club, emotional wounds still so raw as to suggest they were drinking to forget…

Legend has it, in the first meeting between the recently estranged Fremantle Mosman Park One Day team and it’s previous fraternal masters, Sub Marist, tensions were at an all time high.

The rebellious FMPCC were looking to make a point of their desertion, and SMCC still hurt and reeling from the betrayal of their brothers, were determined to see them put in their place.

With plenty of pregame banter, the Pirates won the toss, elected to bat, and after all manner of failure, proceeded to shuffle like they had ne’er shuffled before. Subi’s opening bowler took 4 wickets and they were all out for 71.

It must have been mortifying.

Matty Angus, then captain of Subi Marist [!!!], smelled blood, promoted himself to number 3, [wasn’t required], and the opening batsmen made the runs in less than 5 overs.

Retribution. Merciless, and swift in its brutal execution. No wonder it still smarts, and is spoken of in hushed tones to this day…

Ray on the other hand, spared the indignity, wistfully reminisced about the time he won the Fred Mann Medal in under 12’s back in the 1930’s, and you felt like his was a different sort of homecoming; a washed out sky, the spires of Norfolk Pines piercing the lilac haze of Jacaranda, littered with mid twentieth century apartments where the poor people used to live. He was home, this was his country...

He then went on to joke about how Liz had some One Day International tickets, and was excited to be finally seeing some ‘real cricket’…

I’m not sure what she means by that.

What does she mean by that!?!

Sure, in second division no one ever really gives LBW, or stumpings for example, but for us the game is played with as much passion and rivalry as any Ashes Series.

Smith had just made a game-changing ton for Australia in Brisbane, and in our minds, we were there with him, facing every ball, grinding it out, warding off defeat, and sharing the triumph… 

Well, Dave Barratt was anyway. Still smarting from the slight of alleged boringness, strode out to the crease with the kind of steely determination that was ultimately even more boring.

We had won the toss and were batting.

Quinny at the other end, couldn’t help but entertain. Everyone loves a clown, but spare a thought for the sad man, whose heart and soul goes to making other men laugh.  

It’s a tough gig, and he does all his own slapstick…

Dubois opened the bowling with a haircut that would have looked quite handsome on a middle-aged woman from Claremont. Quinny blanched.

Elliot from the other, pranced in a merry dance from side on of the wicket. It was a fancy action; with a one, two, three, arms into 5th position, skip, hop, slide… and bowl. In my mind, I even see the tu-tu.

It was so distracting and Quinny had no option than to hit him down the ground. 

Dave Barratt turned 4’s into twos, and 2’s into 1’s and scintillating cricket into an afternoon nap. Quin farmed himself the strike to stay alert.

Broad shouldered Jonny came on to bowl, carrying the ball with a forward wrist that hung before his groin like a pendulous seedpod. It was kind of erotic in a way I can’t quite put my finger in.

Quinny rocked back and cut his first delivery, and followed it with a later cut, two balls later in fact.

Dave Barratt kept it sensible, head down, nothing silly, and was about as much fun as senior public servant ever really can be.

He did bring up the 50 off 10 overs but was caught for 18, closing a 63 run opening partnership.

Meanwhile, Australia approached the English total… in no small part due to Dave’s empathetic connection with the Australian captain.

I came in at number 3, and was feeling good. I saw the ball well, played some nice shots and some even more beautiful leaves, until Wynne came on and served a selection of fruity mince pies: my weakness at this time of year.

Our thinking was it was better to have Joe umpiring out in the middle annoying the opposition, than in the shed annoying us. It proved to be an oversight.

He gave me LBW with my back leg in the air to a high bouncing ball still in its way up!?! I think he fired me before it even connected…

Does he know I’m on our selection committee? Does he know I write the match report? Is the guy A COMPLETE IDIOT!?!

In the moment, I may have said a few harsh words that I will come to regret, but now that I have taken some time to think reasonably about this and let my emotions cool, I think it is time we fucked him off all together. 

It wasn’t the incorrectness of the decision, [Quinny said it was plumb, and I was playing across the line…again], but it was the sheer enjoyment of giving me out. Like he vicariously took the wicket!?! ‘How is that?’ he grinned!

You can get away with being a shit bloke like Darrell if we are really short of bowlers but not when you are in the team as part of the clubs ‘new member drive’.

I was out on 13. Unlucky for some...

Joe Dirt specifically.

He’ll be going for some long walks out of the nets on Tuesday, which will do us both good, I need to vent and he needs the exercise.

JL came in looking as relaxed as a man three beers in by midday, and set about constructing an innings. At drinks, we were two for 93. Quinny was on 49 and Australia lead by 29 runs.

Darrell made a great brew, only lacking rum and a can of Emu Export, [according to Quinny], who brought up his 50 with a couple of boundaries over mid wicket and one down the ground to take 17 runs from an over by Cranley.

Their bowling stocks largely turned to laughing stocks as Jonny fatigued and started bowling wides, or short and outside off; easy to cut, or rock back and square drive, and the boys made hay while the sun shone.

Joe, fixating on the edge of the skinny little pitch, called no ball after no ball, until the opposing Captain started to complain about the stultifying level of officiation…

‘Sorry mate, we know...’

Harley came on to bowl and Quinny was uncharacteristically patient. He was in his nervous 70’s and maybe this would be the day to convert a healthy start into a milestone century.

Harley also looked like he was in his 70’s, with even less chance of making it to 100, especially after dropping a caught and bowled attempt that could probably kill a man of his age.

JL hit one over the fence, which on a backyard ground such as this, and with calls of ‘lost ball’, surely must be 6 and out. Once the ball had been recovered, play resumed and he brought up with the 150 with a 4 that very nearly landed in a passing pram.

I’m not an expert, but surely this kind of behaviour deviates from the standard INTJ on the MBTI, and clearly indicates psychopathic tendencies.

You can imagine careers day back in high school: ‘Has he considered corporate law, Mrs Little?’

Don’t get me wrong; he also played some beautiful cut shots and fine glances off his legs. But he would then tease the fielders spooning it just in front of them, while calling, ‘Yes!’

Like the kind of kid that pulls the wings off flies...

Quinny hit a big six, fell over, was nearly stumped, fell out of a building, ducked under plank, and was run over by a little red car giggling with midgets.

Or at least that’s how I remember his innings.

JL brought up his 50 with a pull shot square of the wicket, and raised his bat, almost in remorse and embarrassment for the bowlers, almost as if remorse was in his emotional range. He then hit a six into someone’s front yard, narrowly missing their new car.

They brought up a 100 run partnership before Joe gave Quinny out, stumped on 92. I mean seriously…

Did the other team give stumpings, or run outs? No they did not.

Gobsmacked at this turn of events, we quickly lost three wickets in an over. Shrugger skied it for a golden duck. Darrell got in on the action and fired JLBW:

Justin Little Before Wicket.

New batsmen, Nav and Matty made running between wickets look like a choreographed WWE fight sequence; ducks, feints, a mid pitch clothes-lining and direct hit from the deep to remove Angus.

Ray was caught and Harley got a 5 for!

The old man can die happy. His life’s work complete…

The collapse only slowed when Weston smashed an edge to the keeper that JL signaled wide.  Sheepishly, he went on to hit two sixes to finish.

And that… is how umpiring is done in this competition.

Darrell padded up and walked out to the middle, watched Leon hit the maximums, and walked back without contribution, and was as graceful and humble about it, as you can imagine…

Other non-contributors included Joe, who was preparing to bat by doing throw downs with his son... AND DOING THE THROWING!?!

At least he was wearing actual pads, I suppose. To throw in.

We finished with a mighty 8 for 241 off the full 35 overs. What a difference 20 years makes. How the tides had turned! With the pirate flag flying from the shelter, tea was more like a family picnic if you were raised by bikie gang or an Islamic death cult. Quinny recounted the negotiations required to acquire the flag from an 8-year-old girl’s tree house.

‘Please just take the flag. And promise you will never try to make contact with our mother again…’

It was always going to be a difficult chase, and we gave them as many chances in the field as is sporting, but they lost wickets regularly and never really looked like a chance.

Darrell opened the bowling and had spat the dummy by his second over. Ray attempted to talk him down from mid on, counseling him between bursts of expletives, but it was to no avail.

He bowled 6 overs before refusing to bowl any more, frustratingly, with half decent figures of 1 for 25. 

Mind you, the only reason he still gets selected is because he’s a carrying member of a gun club, and no one has the courage to tell him otherwise.

Ray opened with a spell from the other end bowling 7 overs 1 for 34, and really should bowl more. Matt bowled 7 overs and 2 for 42 before he did a hammy and was forced to limp the plank.

Joe bowled a 20-ball two over spell. His first 11 ball over for went 10 runs, and the second; a tidy 6 by comparison, to finish with 0 for 16. Another couple of overs and he would have bowled the standard 42 balls.

I suppose if you are not going to get another over, you might as well make it last. Number 2 bowled both kinds of music: Leon, and Weston to finish with 1 for 4 off 1. Another under utilised resource.

Pedestrian Dave bowled 5 overs and took 2 for 13 at the death, [6 of those being wides] and closed out the game bowling to Lowther.

I couldn’t help myself: I was rooting for underdog, even if he had done a little poo in his pants.

He carried his bat as they ran out of overs with only 161 on the board and we won by nearly 80 runs.

The Crownies came out in the golden light of the setting sun, and the fines session was like a roll call of dropped sitters on the boundary:

Matty Angus [present], JL [present], Nav [present], Darrell?

Darrell had gone home…

Alex Quin won the ‘Hot for 12 Cold for 24’ award for his massive knock and in a move that can only be described as Jack Sparrow-esque, then spun the wheel back at the club to win the meat raffle.

It was truly his day… and a convincing win to seal 4 in a row. With as many wins as losses behind us, we have leapt from the bottom of the ladder, and into the 4.  

Our focus will now have to shift from ‘access and inclusivity’, to qualifying our best players for finals.

Which leaves two questions on everybody’s lips...

Is this curtains for Joe Dirt?

And how many holes in a straw?

[junker-town]

Meet the future NBA studs carrying USA Basketball as high schoolers

USA Basketball’s U19 team features six high school players, including some of the brightest young talents in the pipeline.

The unthinkable happened last time USA Basketball’s U19 team took the court. They actually lost.

John Calipari led a roster with five future first round draft picks that was supposed to continue the program’s stranglehold on gold medals back in 2017. Instead, R.J. Barrett shocked the Americans in the semifinals, scoring 38 points in a legendary performance that solidified his status as the consensus No. 1 overall recruit and gave Canada the top spot on the podium.

The U19 team is back this summer, and it’s looking for redemption. Bruce Weber is in charge of a roster with a fascinating blend of talent. There are six rising college sophomores in Tyrese Haliburton (Iowa State), Kira Lewis Jr. (Alabama), Isaac Likekele (Oklahoma State), Reggie Perry (Mississippi State), Trevion Williams (Purdue). There is one incoming freshman in Villanova forward Jeremiah Robinson-Earl. And then there are six rising high school seniors, headlined by several of the best long-term NBA prospects in the country.

USA Basketball has built its roster like this before. I was writing about the U19 team back in 2015, when four top high school players — Jayson Tatum, Harry Giles, Josh Jackson, and Terrence Ferguson — played a leading role in bringing the program gold. All four were first round draft picks, with Tatum and Jackson going in the top five and Giles likely joining them if not for repeated knee injuries.

This year’s team is similarly built to rely on the high school talent. Four of the six college sophomores were outside of the top-100 rankings as recruits, and all of them have weirdo skill sets that will be valuable as role players. The headliners are going to be the prep stars. Get to know these players right now before they blow up into the next big thing.

Cade Cunningham, G, Texas

Cade Cunningham is good enough to be the first pick in the 2020 NBA Draft if he were currently eligible. While he remains a rising high school senior with no rumors about reclassification, he is actually old enough to do it but would have to make the move before the next NBA season starts to be in the incoming draft.

This tournament should be Cunningham’s springboard to stardom, just as it was for Markelle Fultz three years ago. He’s grown into everything the NBA wants out of a modern lead guard, combining incredible playmaking instincts with an advanced scoring package. Since making the full-time switch to point guard last season, Cunningham blossomed as a creative passer with excellent vision who can pick apart defenses off a live dribble. He doubles as a go-to scoring option on the perimeter, using powerful downhill drives to the rim and a developing pull-up jumper to punish opposing defenses on whatever they’re giving them. He also plays with a rare poise that allows him to dictate games without getting hurried. At 6’6 with a strong frame, he has the size, strength, and competitive mindset to to be a multi-position defender, too.

Cunningham’s stock has been soaring his since his spring breakout in Nike’s EYBL league. His production has been remarkable through three sessions, averaging 25.1 points, 5.2 assists, and 6.6 rebounds per game on 63.65 percent true shooting (37.5 percent from three).

Simply put, Cunningham is the total package even if people are just starting to realize it. He’s our pick to win tournament MVP.

Evan Mobley, C, California

For all of Cunningham’s recent acclaim, he isn’t considered the No. 1 player in the high school class of 2020 yet. That’s because Evan Mobley is. The 6’11 center will be making his second go-around with USA Basketball after helping the program to a gold medal during the 2018 FIBA U17 World Cup.

Mobley is a long, fluid big man with incredible agility and soft touch around the basket. He’s impossibly quick off the floor, which helps him snatch up rebounds and dunk everything while also serving a fearsome rim protector. In addition to shooting 67.5 percent from the field during U17 play, Mobley also blocked 2.6 shots in just 18 minutes per game. As his shooting and open floor ball handling develop, he could have all the makings of an ideal modern big man.

Much of the talk around Mobley focuses on his potential, which is why this tournament will be so fascinating as a check into his current day production. We know he has great tools for a new-age center, with feet quick enough to switch screens and a rare combination of explosiveness and coordination to finish plays. This is a test of how ready he is to apply those tools today.

An MVP run is on the table. For now, the race for the No. 1 pick in the 2021 NBA Draft comes down to Mobley vs. Cunningham.

Jalen Green, G, California

Green is the youngest player on this roster, but at 17 years old he’s already making his third trip around the world with USA Basketball. After helping the Americans to gold at the 2017 FIBA Americas U16 Championship, Green won MVP the next summer in the U17 World Cup and immediately earned an early reputation as the top player in his class.

A 6’5 shooting guard, Green is an elite athlete by any standard, blessed with a blazing first step and breathtaking explosiveness off one foot. He is going to have a massive advantage in speed and leaping ability on any player who tries to guard him in this tournament. He’s going to posterize someone during this event and the entire basketball-watching internet will collectively freak out.

This tournament is a huge opportunity for Green to prove he’s still the top dog in his class. Cunningham has come out of nowhere to surpass him in the eyes of most evaluators, and Mobley has always been considered on-par or superior. Green has unrivaled natural athletic gifts, but he needs to channel them into efficient and consistent production. He only shot 42.3 percent from the field and 28 percent from three on the adidas circuit this year. His assist-to-turnover numbers are encouraging, but a player who has been touted as a future No. 1 overall NBA draft should be able to score more efficiently at the high school level.

Green is still a tremendous talent, but others in his age group may have caught up. We can’t wait to see how he responds to the challenge.

Scott Barnes, F, Texas

Barnes is also making his third go-around with USA Basketball after teaming with Green the last two summers to win gold in the U16 and U17 divisions. A long and versatile 6’8 forward, Barnes is a multi-position defender and willing passer who does all the little things to help teams win games.

Barnes has been considered a top recruit throughout his high school career for his physicality and intangibles in place of polished scoring ability. He put together a fascinating statistical profile on the EYBL this season, averaging 17.4 points per game on 51/70/18 percent shooting splits with 8.5 rebounds, seven assists, and better than one steal and one block per game. He’s a tentative and inaccurate shooter at this stage, but his passing ability is potentially special for someone with his combination of size and strength.

Barnes has competed in so many high level tournaments that it’s easy to forget he doesn’t turn 18 years old until the end of July. Like Green, there’s the lingering question of if his peers have caught up with him. If he somehow hits the 99th percentile outcome for his talent, he could be anywhere from Kawhi Leonard to Draymond Green at his peak. For now, Barnes is a masterful role player for Team USA who will do the dirty work to let others get the glory.

Jalen Suggs, G, Minnesota

There’s a case to be made for Suggs as the single most impressive athlete in this field. In addition to being a top-15 national hoops recruit, he’s also a coveted quarterback recruit on the football field, holding more than a dozen offers to play both sports at schools including Georgia, Ohio State, and hometown Minnesota.

For now, Suggs is trending as a basketball prospect as a strong and athletic 6’4 point guard who averaged about 20 points per game on the Under Armour circuit while also filling box scores with rebounds and assists.

Suggs is another player going for his third gold medal in three summers with the program. Given his lack of polished outside shooting, his best role is likely as a reserve guard who provides energy and defense on the perimeter.

Ziaire Williams, G, California

Williams can’t claim to be underrated anymore. The 6’7 wing made his debut on Nike’s EYBL circuit this spring and immediately broke into the top-10 of the national recruiting rankings. A pure scorer with great size, Williams averaged 21.5 points per game this spring though still struggled with efficiency at times, making 42.5 percent of his field goal attempts and 28.8 percent of his threes on encouraging volume. There’s reason to believe Williams is going to keep getting better as a shooter, especially when you look at his 88 percent mark on free throws.

Williams is here to add offensive punch for a team that’s thin on the wing. He can keep rising with a strong showing in Greece.

The 2019 FIBA World Cup goes from June 29 to July 7 in Greece. USA Basketball opens group play this Saturday. Find the full schedule here.

[rickhorrow]

10 To Watch : Mayors Edition 5719

10 TO WATCH : RICK HORROW’S TOP SPORTS/BIZ/TECH/PHILANTHROPY ISSUES FOR THE WEEK OF MAY 6 : MAYORS EDITION 

With Jacob Aere

We kick off our week at Drexel University. Drexel2020: The Evolving Sports Business Market will be held in Philadelphia the morning of May 6, and presents a rare opportunity to hear directly from movers and shakers in the sports world and gain access to their personal insights. Our signature new book, The Sport Business Handbook, recognizes the last 50 years as the formative period for the modern era of sports business. The Drexel University panel will explore its most influential moments. Most importantly, a vision for the future will emerge, with valuable perspective offered from the very individuals shaping that future. I look forward to moderating the panel, which features sports business leaders Jon Butler of Pop Warner, Tony Ponturo of Turnkey Sports and formerly Anheuser-Busch, and Nick Sakiewicz of the National Lacrosse League. The event is free and open to students, members of the sports business community, and others looking to learn more about the ins and outs of our high-profile industry.

Tiger Woods will receive his Presidential Medal of Freedom on Monday. According to the New York Times, the Presidential Medal of Freedom is the nation’s highest civilian honor. First awarded in 1963, it has honored achievements in fields including acting, architecture, art, economics, law, medicine, music, journalism, and politics. Among the two dozen sports figures who have been honored are Jesse Owens, Ted Williams, Muhammad Ali, and Michael Jordan. In golf, President George W. Bush honored Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer, while President Obama recognized the pioneering player Charlie Sifford. In his time in office, President Trump has honored Babe Ruth posthumously, as well as quarterback Roger Staubach. Woods’ award comes at a time when many athletes have shown a reluctance to be honored by the Trump administration. The Golden State Warriors declined a White House visit after their championship, as did the NCAA Champion University of Virginia men’s basketball team. The champion Baylor women’s basketball team attended a White House ceremony last Monday.

The U.S. government has placed Saudi Arabia on its Priority Watch List amid ongoing pressure from several national sports bodies and international broadcasters to bring down the pirate broadcaster BeoutQ. The Office of the U.S. Trade Representative (USTR) has released two reports condemning the Saudi-based piracy operation and calling out the country for its failure to protect intellectual property. Saudi officials have confirmed the illegal nature of BeoutQ’s activities and claim to be addressing this issue by seizing BeoutQ set-top boxes. But such devices nevertheless continue to be widely available and are generally unregulated in Saudi Arabia. Saudi Arabia is included in the USTR’s "2019 Special 301 Report" that identifies governments that fail to protect and enforce intellectual property around the world. The U.S. government intervention arrives in conjunction with calls made by the U.K. government to investigate widespread piracy of live sports content in Saudi Arabia. The pirate broadcaster is also subject of a $1 billion international investment arbitration BeIN Sports brought against Saudi Arabia last October.

Fenway Park will host its own college football bowl game starting in 2020. Fenway Park will host a new bowl game starting in 2020 featuring teams from the ACC and AAC, according to sources. The ballpark will join venues in Los Angeles and Myrtle Beach as "sites for new bowl games" in 2020, which "marks the start of the NCAA's new bowl cycle." A record 43 bowls will be played that season. Fenway will become the third Major League Baseball venue to host a bowl game, "joining the Pinstripe Bowl at Yankee Stadium and the Cheez-It Bowl" at Chase Field. AT&T Park in San Francisco previously held bowl games under multiple naming rights partners, but the short-lived tradition was discontinued after low attendance year after year. Just as the NFL has stretched its brand marketing to become a 12-month sport, so too is college football looking to retain fan interest year round by extending its post season and timing intriguing announcements – like a bowl game underneath the Green Monster – to the post NFL Draft college football news cycle.

Women’s hockey players lay down their sticks in search of a better deal. Over 200 women’s hockey players, with names that include Team USA stars Hilary Knight and Kendall Coyne Schofield, announced that they refuse to play in a North American professional hockey league next season, noting in a statement that "We cannot make a sustainable living playing in the current state of the professional game. Having no health insurance and making as low as two thousand dollars a season means players can't adequately train and prepare to play at the highest level." Last Wednesday, the Canadian Women's Hockey League officially discontinued its operations, citing an economically unstable business model, leaving the National Women’s Hockey League the sole remaining professional league in North America. Some players noted that they hope the NHL will support a women's league via financial and infrastructural resources, according to ESPN. In contrast, on the men's side, the top ten players of the 2018-2019 season each brought home multi-million dollar paychecks from the NHL, with lucrative endorsement deals to boot.

CBD is building a perfectly legal presence in pro sports. Hemp supplement company cbdMD is sponsoring golfer Bubba Watson in a multiyear deal that kicks off with the PGA Championship at Bethpage Black later this month. Watson will feature the cbdMD logo on both sides of his headwear at all PGA Tour events. The deal includes a wide range of other integrated marketing opportunities to promote the brand. Meanwhile, another hemp company, diemCBD, has partnered with marketing company Swag'r to launch an augmented reality game for attendees of the NASCAR Coca-Cola 600 on May 26 at Charlotte Motor Speedway. Users can download the app, which is modeled on "Pokemon Go," to collect diemCBD tokens while exploring the Monster Energy NASCAR Cup Series event, leading them to coupons, free products, and more. From sports wagering to CBD usage and brand-building among athletes, we are certainly currently living in an era of relaxed rules considering where sports was merely months ago. As always, money talks.

Youth baseball gets a boost from Stadium and Adidas. Stadium inked an exclusive partnership with the 2019 Cal Ripken Major/70 World Series, a tournament of champions for players aged 12 and under. Stadium will air thirty-four live games over eight days, including the International Championship, U.S. Championship, and World Championship on August 10. Similarly, Little League Baseball and Softball inked a multi-year partnership with Adidas that will see the brand become the official uniform, footwear, and coaches apparel supplier for the Little League World Series and a Little League Official Sponsor. Beginning this season, Adidas will design and create all official on-field uniforms for all seven total Little League World Series events throughout the United States. Additionally, Adidas will outfit all teams with cleats, training apparel, and accessories, and all coaches will be supplied with athletic footwear and apparel. To kick off the partnership’s first season, Adidas will design brand and marketing activations at both the Little League Baseball World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania and the Little League Softball World Series in Portland, Oregon. Right before school resumes in August, our attention will be riveted on school-age bats and gloves at their annual peak. 

NASCAR has a plan to boost attendance and ratings: betting on races. NASCAR has signed an exclusive data partnership with Genius Sports, a deal they believe will lead to an in-race betting product and help battle slumping attendance and TV ratings. According to Hashtag Sports, currently, bets on NASCAR races are few and far between at U.S. sports books, who often only have head-to-head options or odds on the race winner. Genius will use up-to-the-second data points like car speed and track position to build a betting product that the London-based company can sell to sports books. Exclusive access to the data will allow Genius to create a betting platform that provides traditional wagers—like who will win—and prop bets such as the number of lead changes or whether a Chevy will end up in victory lane. Sports leagues and teams typically see increased engagement when live betting is offered. Not only does it attract new fans, but live betting keeps them engaged for longer periods of time. NASCAR is hoping for the same response as support for the racing circuit both in-person and on TV declines.

LA 2028 has released its first budget for the 2028 Summer Olympic Games, a $6.88 billion spending plan that includes a $616 million contingency for overruns. The top line is 29% higher than a $5.33 billion budget released in 2017, which has been the most commonly cited price for the Games. However, that figure was calculated in 2016 dollars, and was designed for a 2024 Games. The new 2028 budget reflects the longer lead-time Los Angeles agreed to when it accepted the 2028 hosting duties and ceded the race for 2024 to Paris. More importantly, it is calculated in “real money” terms, adjusted for inflation based on when each dollar will actually be raised and spent. According to LA 2028 Chair Casey Wasserman, the much-discussed $2.5 billion domestic sponsorship revenue goal was already inflation-adjusted and does not change. The new number also includes $200 million in additional IOC funding promised as part of the deal L.A. accepted in exchange for being awarded the 2028 Games. Most of that $200 million will be spent on funding youth sports programs in L.A. and committee operations for an additional four years.

Disney has reached a handshake agreement to sell its share of its regional sports networks to the Sinclair Broadcast Group. After out bidding opponents, Sinclair Broadcast Group scooped up Disney’s remaining 21 networks, which are roughly worth $10 billion. If the sale goes through, this would solve Disney’s sports media monopolization puzzle after the U.S. Department of Justice informed the company it would have to divest RSNs that ESPN acquired last June. According to SportsPro, a majority stake in the YES Network – Fox’s premier sports network partially owned by the New York Yankees – has reportedly already been acquired by Amazon and Sinclair in a $3.5 billion deal. Among Sinclair’s closest rivals for the majority of the RSNs: Major League Baseball reportedly teamed up with Formula One owner Liberty Media earlier this month during the final round of bidding. With Disney having to divest some of its properties, Sinclair Broadcast Group has transformed into another sports broadcast behemoth that may have a tech advantage thanks to its partnership with Amazon.

[alexsmitposts]

American Foreign Policy: Populism’s Racist Roots America’s military adventures, domestic and foreign, have had racist components, with frightening consistency for well over two centuries. Ethnically cleansing the continent of its indigenous population of up to 10 million, allowed America to spread from Atlantic to Pacific. Once on the Pacific shore, the drive to make that ocean an “American lake” began. War with Spain in 1898, with Japan in 1941, followed by Korea and then Vietnam, America’s military history was strewn with racist stereotypes, polluting the language with terms best forgotten. The only exception has been Germany and Russia, nations of origin for much of America’s white population. There programs of demonization created a century of conflict. Though controversial, an examination of America’s role in nurturing two world wars and a half century Cold War is more than supportable, once one looks behind the fabricated historical narrative foisted on the public. With these exceptions, a major component of global policy has been not just racist propaganda. It goes much further, dehumanization of a majority of the world’s population of color and vilification of an increasingly comprehensive list of ethnicities, nationalities and religions. Trump, it seems, has taken it all to a new level, but he didn’t invent racism, not in America. He simply tapped, under the guise of “populism,” something long instilled into the psyche of a nation that was created by ethnic cleansing. One might note that the world had already been divided by the colonial powers of Portugal and Spain, in accordance with the Treaty of Tordesillas of 1494. You see, after Columbus returned from the New World, it was necessary for the Catholic powers to come to agreement or descend into conflict. It was Rodrigo Borgia, known as Pope Alexander IV, who established a meridian, dividing the planet between the two small Iberian nations. By 1580 the two nations became one and in 1588, with the destruction of the Spanish Armada, world conquest had slipped away. Still, Latin America, with the exception of Portuguese Brazil, would remain Spanish, a Latin America that included Florida, Texas, California and the entire Southwestern United States. As an aside, Spain’s northern neighbor on North America’s Pacific Coast was Russia. On March 31, Fox News, owned by Rupert Murdoch, whose real background as one of the crown princes of the Deep State known only by a very few, flashed a bizarre headline on the screen during one of their broadcasts. The show was “Fox and Friends,” where Donald Trump is a regular guest. The headline, even by Fox News standards was a serious gaff, goes as follows: “Trump Cuts US Aid to 3 Mexican Countries” Trump didn’t say this, but he had said worse. The nations referred to, El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras, are and have been politically unstable for decades, mostly due to American interference in their governments. In 1933, Major General Smedley Butler, two-time winner of the Medal of Honor, made the following statement during a speech: “War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses. I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we’ll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag. I wouldn’t go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket. There isn’t a trick in the racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its “finger men” to point out enemies, its “muscle men” to destroy enemies, its “brain men” to plan war preparations, and a “Big Boss” Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism. It may seem odd for me, a military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country’s most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high-class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism. I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service. I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912 (where have I heard that name before?). I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested. During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents.” Butler may have been the only 20th century military commander ever to speak out openly with the exception of General George Patton. Crushing the military careers of each became a major goal of Washington’s “fat backside” ruling order. Butler was, at one time, put under arrest for citing an incident where Italy’s Fascist leader Benito Mussolini ran down a child with his automobile, thinking little or nothing of it. You see, Mussolini was quite popular in Washington as was Adolf Hitler, Time Magazine’s “Man of the Year” in 1940. Patton, sharing the title of “America’s Greatest General” with Robert E. Lee, was repeatedly removed from command and, in all probability assassinated, most likely for his open defense of the German people who he was ordered to starve to death under American occupation. With Mexico, South and Central America, the air of racism that now floods Washington, wildly inaccurate stories about massed assaults on America’s Southern border, are little more than a distraction from America’s targeting of nation after nation in that region, a follow up to America’s dismal failures in Afghanistan and Syria. When we add this to fake reports of “no go zones” in America’s cities where imaginary Sharia Law is enforced by an Islamic population made up largely of business owners and highly educated professionals, the majority of whom are conservatives with ties to Trump’s own party, and the newfound war on, well whom? One might ask why the continual focus on transsexuals. In 70 years, I haven’t knowingly met one yet I am warned, on a daily basis, of the threat they pose to my moral wellbeing. For those of us, the “baby boomers,” born during or after the Second World War, born in an America that was over 90% “whites only,” few accurately remember the highly charged atmosphere of our youth, race hatred and fear permeated everything. “Good negroes” swept our floors, cleaned our homes, those of us, and I was hardly one of “those,” who could afford such things. The “rest,” were purported to be “layabouts” or violent criminals. Few of us ever met these criminals who did exist, but not in the numbers or under the circumstances alleged. In fact, the most radically racist states, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, Kansas, I could add a dozen more to the list, had no African American population whatsoever. What residents of these Red States knew then and know now is based on what they see on television. A reminder, much of what is on television or even the print media, is made up by people working for Rupert Murdoch. In fact, Donald Trump watches nothing that isn’t Rupert Murdoch approved. Donald Trump doesn’t read anything at all, ever. Conclusion A question, can we look back to 9/11 as a watershed event, replacing the hatred of African Americans with fear and hatred of Muslims? Was this done to polarize a sector of America voters, one sector motivated by fear and hate, while other sectors drown in ambivalence and hopelessness? Is this how America is ruled, though fear and racism fed “populism?”

[minijenn]

Universe Falls Preview 2

Eh, progress on this is turning out to be a little better tonight than it has been. Still, I’m not anywhere close to done, but... its getting there. Its getting there.... (plus I forgot how fun it was to write for Pacifica, like even now pre her redemption arc, wow?) 

“Oh, would you look at that?” Pacifica asked dryly, casually positioning her putter over her shoulder as she sent the Pines and the Gems a snide glance. “I didn’t know if was ‘hobos golf-free’ day!”

“Pacifica!” Connie growled hotly, gripping her golf club in tight anger.

“Oh come on!” Mabel huffed just as bitterly. “First the newspaper, and now this! How many other things can she ruin for me today?!”

The heiress didn’t happen overhear this as she strode over to the group confidently, her parents following not too far behind as they shared their daughter’s conceited demeanor. “Well if it isn’t the Pines family!” Pacifica remarked with faux delight as she launched an insult at each one of them. “Fat,” she pointed to Soos. “Old,” she said, nodding at Stan. “Lame,” she rolled her eyes as she got to Dipper. “And Braces!” she sneered, smirking at Mabel.

“Would it be wrong to punch a child?” Stan muttered, quite incensed as he clenched his fists.

“Maybe for you, but not for me!” Connie replied, already cracking her knuckles in anticipation.

“D-do we really have to resort to violence?” Steven asked with apt concern, though Pacifica was quick to cut in once more.

“Oh, and look who else turned up,” she raised an eyebrow as she turned to Steven, Connie, and the Gems. “Goofball, Glasses, and the Rhinestone Gems!”

“Oh, I’ll show her rhinestones!” Pearl hissed crossly, taking a step forward only for Garnet to stop her.

“Easy,” the Gem leader advised, as calm as ever until the heiress happened to throw a scathing remark her way.

“Nice pants by the way,” Pacifica mocked, pointing to Garnet’s golf pants. “They really go with that whole cringeworthy ‘stuck in the 70s’ look you’re trying to pull off and failing at”

The Gem leader’s expression darkened upon hearing this, and it was instantly clear to see she was anything but amused as her teammates looked to her expectantly. “On second thought…”

“Guys, I got this,” Dipper interjected before turning to the heiress with a smug grin. “Hey, Pacifica, how’s that whole ‘your family being frauds’ thing working out for you?”

“Great, actually!” Pacifica replied triumphantly. “That’s the thing about money. It makes problems go away!”

“Well it can’t buy you skill!” Mabel remarked. “You just walked into the game of two mini-golf champions, right Connie?”

“Right!” Connie readily agreed. “You may have gotten lucky on this hole, but we’d love to see you do half as good on any other whole here.”

“Pfft, ‘luck’ has nothing to do with it,” Pacifica scoffed before snapping her fingers. “Sergei!” At this command, a tall, lanky Russian man stepped forward, toting the heiresses’ golf clubs and other gear as he stood firmly beside her. “This is Sergei, my trainer.”

“The Sportlympics had mini-golf once,” Sergei said, his accent quite thick. “I took gold!” He pulled his shirt open a bit to reveal the large gold medal hanging from his neck, which was indeed for first place in mini-golf.

“Whoa… I wish I was good enough to get a medal in mini-golf,” Steven mused, amazed. His wonder was cut short however, as Amethyst quickly elbowed him as a reminder that they were against Pacifica in this. “Oh, uh, I mean…. I-it’s not that great.”

“Well, trainer or no trainer, Mabel and Connie could still kick your butt at mini-golf any day!” Dipper asserted, sending the heiress a harsh glare.

“Please. Don’t make me laugh,” Pacifica sneered, rolling her eyes as she moved onto the bonus hole, coldly addressing the girls on her way there. “Now, if you two don’t mind moving out of the way of the professionals…” With her usual pointed flare, the heiress stepped up to the hole and effortlessly took her swing, which landed right in the volcanic bonus hole and prompting a momentous explosion of celebration. “Enjoy sharing second place,” she remarked to Mabel and Connie, who had only watched on in severe unified frustration. “Give them a hand, folks!”

As the nearby crowd launched into a patronizing round of applause, neither of the girls were really paying them any mind. After all, they were far too incensed now after hearing Pacifica mock the skill that they were both rather proud of themselves over. “Ok, that’s it!” Connie seethed, gripping her golf club tightly. “Time to knock that dumb smirk right off her ‘perfect’ little face!”

“Yeah! Now we’re talking!” Amethyst cheered, more than ready to put her club to good use.

[earaercircular]

E-Waste Offers an Economic Opportunity as Well as Toxicity

The police raid on a junkyard on the outskirts of Bangkok had all the trappings of a drug bust. Swarming onto the open-air property in late May, officers from the Royal Thai Police found undocumented workers from Laos and Myanmar engaged in dangerous work that exposed them to blasts of toxic fumes and dust — a common hazard on the lowest rung of their illegal and booming international trade. The products these workers handled, however, were not heroin or methamphetamines but vast piles of discarded computers, electrical wires and circuit boards. And it’s very likely that much of this electronic waste came from one of the world’s biggest producers: the United States.

E-waste has become the world’s fastest-growing trash stream. For all of us who have discarded a phone or computer for a newer, sleeker model, the reasons are hardly a mystery. Still, the growth is staggering: The worldwide accumulation of e-waste has more than doubled in the last nine years. In 2016, according to the United Nations University, a global think tank that tracks the problem, the yearly accumulation reached 49.3 million tons — enough to fill more than a million 18-wheel trucks stretching from New York to Bangkok and back. By 2021, the annual total is predicted to surpass 57 million tons.

The explosion of e-waste highlights its dual (and dueling) identities as both environmental scourge and potential economic resource. Though often laced with lead, mercury or other toxic substances, laptops and phones also contain valuable elements like gold, silver and copper. Yet barely 20 percent of the world’s e-waste is collected and delivered to formal recyclers. The fate of the rest is largely unknown. Only 41 nations compile e-waste statistics, and their partial data can’t keep up with the expansion of electronic devices into so many consumer categories — toys and toilets, watches and refrigerators. In the United States, which generated an estimated 6.9 million tons of e-waste in 2016 (42 pounds per person), most e-waste probably goes straight into the trash. By one account, e-waste makes up just 2 percent of the total volume in American landfills — but more than two-thirds of heavy metals.

Despite being the world’s second-largest producer — China recently claimed the top spot — the United States is the only developed country that hasn’t ratified the Basel Convention on hazardous waste, a treaty that restricts the exports of e-waste and that has the support of 186 parties. Moreover, the United States has no national law for managing e-waste, leaving the issue to the states. (Fifteen states still have no e-waste legislation in effect.) The European Union, by contrast, has some of the toughest enforcement of e-waste laws in the world, banning exports to developing countries and compelling manufacturers to help fund recycling. Europe’s recycling rates for electronics — around 35 percent overall — are much higher than the American rate. “The U.S. has always been the elephant in room that nobody wants to talk about,” says Deepali Sinha Khetriwal, a Mumbai-based research associate at the United Nations University. “Until it decides to play a part, we can’t really solve the problem of e-waste shipments.”

A significant but ultimately unquantified portion of American e-waste is quietly exported, mostly to Asia. Until last year, China was handling an estimated 70 percent of the world’s processed e-waste. In January, Beijing imposed a sweeping ban on the import of e-waste as part of its “National Sword” campaign to slash the levels of what it calls “foreign garbage.” Though spurred by environmental concerns — rivers choked with toxic chemicals, local children with high levels of lead in their blood — Beijing’s move also seems emblematic of its increasing self-sufficiency and growing rejection of the West. The ban has caused upheaval in the global trade in e-waste, diverting huge amounts to smaller nations ill equipped to handle the overflow.

Even before the ban came into full effect, Chinese waste traders were setting up shop in Thailand. Days after the May raid outside Bangkok, the Thai police displayed seven containers at a local port, each packed with 24 tons of mostly broken electronics. So far, the Thai police have suspended the operations of five illegal e-waste processing facilities and found evidence of dozens of smaller high-polluting operations that risk contaminating the countryside. “Thailand is getting hit by a tidal wave of electronic waste,” says Jim Puckett, executive director of the Basel Action Network, a Seattle-based nonprofit that has used GPS devices to track illegal exports of e-waste to Asia. “The rest of Asia better get ready, because they are next.”

The bulk of used electronics shipped to the developing world are meant to give second and third lives to devices and help bridge the world’s digital divide. But the cloak of “reuse and repair” is often used to hide illegal exports of e-waste. This is ostensibly scrap, but the frenzy of hazardous e-waste activity in cities in Pakistan and Ghana, for example, testifies to the riches hidden in the piles of discarded electronics. According to researchers at U.N.U., the raw materials contained in e-waste were worth roughly $61 billion in 2016, more than the gross domestic product of even middle-income countries like Croatia or Costa Rica.

The precious metals in e-waste, found especially in circuit boards, are more concentrated than in the most productive mines. In 2016, the gold in the world’s e-waste equaled more than a tenth of the gold mined globally that year. And yet much of this treasure is simply reburied in landfills. Based on e-waste disposal rates, Americans alone throw out phones worth $60 million in gold and silver every year.

The idea of “mining” e-waste has tantalized the recycling and electronics industries for decades. Until recently, most methods to extract value have been costly, inefficient and hazardous. Backyard recyclers in places like India and Indonesia recover gold by bathing circuit boards in nitric and hydrochloric acid, thus poisoning waterways and communities. Others, like the migrant workers in Thailand, break down used electronics with cooking stoves and shredders and wear no protection against the emissions.

Over the last few years, however, innovators have devised safer techniques in the lab that would wrest value from e-waste. One isolates rare-earth elements with carbon nanotube technology; another recovers key minerals by bombarding them with underwater sound waves. Josh Lepawsky, a Canadian geographer and the author of “Reassembling Rubbish,” finds hope in a curious phenomenon: the growing re-export of e-waste from the developing world back to advanced countries that have greater recycling capacity. An “e-waste offset” by which countries importing high-quality used electronics send back an equal volume of e-waste “is very promising,” Lepawsky says.

As the extraction of metals becomes more efficient and eco-friendly, tech manufacturers may feel compelled to get raw materials from their own end-of-life products rather than from the earth. Apple, for instance, has pledged to make all of its future laptops and iPhones out of renewable resources or recycled materials. The idea goes beyond business to national security. “Governments are starting to take a more strategic view of e-waste, too,” Khetriwal says. “They ask, ‘How can we secure the raw materials we need for the future?’ ” Some of these metals and rare-earth elements are scarce, and some, like cobalt, are found mostly in conflict zones. By mining the ever-expanding mountains of e-waste, countries could steel themselves against the volatility in prices and supplies of the global market.

Some e-waste optimists envision a “circular economy” in which refurbished, reused and recycled raw materials help fuel a sustainable future. Japan was an early leader of this movement, pushing e-waste recycling with tough laws and, more recently, appealing gimmicks. At the 2020 Olympic Games in Tokyo, athletes will receive gold, silver and bronze medals forged from recycled e-waste — emblems of a world in which e-waste can take on the sheen of immortality.

The utopian vision of a circular economy is a long way off, though. E-waste recycling remains stubbornly low in most parts of the world. Even the extraction of precious metals has proved hard for companies to capitalize on. And the remaining mass of e-waste — mainly plastics laced with metals, chemicals and flame retardant — pose a more intractable problem. The recycling of these complex plastics would probably need to be subsidized or enforced through legislation — and few countries outside Europe or Japan have shown the commitment to make that happen.

To move toward a circular economy, manufacturers would also need to embrace a “green design” that minimizes the generation of e-waste in the first place. Companies like Apple and Dell, though, have not taken enough measures to make their products easier to use longer. “Planned obsolescence,” the intentional creation of products that rapidly become outdated so customers must replace them with ever-newer models, remains the modus operandi of the tech industry. Manufacturers argue that the approach stimulates not only profits but also the very innovation that drives the global economy. And it has produced a Pavlovian response in consumers, for whom the temptation to buy a slightly cooler phone every couple of years has hardened into a seeming necessity. Not long ago, one tech manufacturer introduced a cheaper, longer-lasting phone — the perfect antidote to planned obsolescence. It was not a hit — but it was a reminder that we all share some responsibility for the explosion of e-waste in scrap yards across the world.

Source

Brook Larmer, in New York Times, July 5, 2018 https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/05/magazine/e-waste-offers-an-economic-opportunity-as-well-as-toxicity.html

[biofunmy]

She’s 14, Disabled From a Bomb Blast and One of Iraq’s Top Table Tennis Players

BAQUBA, Iraq — The Iraqi teenager does not look like a traditional athlete: Her right leg is amputated at the thigh, her left at the knee, and her right arm ends at the biceps.

But when Najla Imad Lafta, 14, plays table tennis, her torso turns as smoothly as a dancer’s to meet the ball and she returns it so fast her opponents are hard put to send it back.

She just brought home her fourth silver and her fourth bronze medal from an international sporting tournament for the disabled in Egypt in June.

“In fourth grade, I realized I was different from the other girls,” said Najla as she sat in a narrow wheelchair in her family’s home on the outskirts of Baquba, a provincial capital in Iraq. She lives on an unpaved street where no one has indoor plumbing and the electricity is erratic.

“I saw my friends were running at school, walking and playing, and they were thinking about what they would do in the future,” she said. “And all I could do was sit in my wheelchair and think that I wanted to run like them.”

Najla was 3 when a bomb magnetically attached beneath her father’s car went off. The sabotage was likely the work of Al Qaeda in Iraq, which targeted her father because he worked at the local military base with American soldiers.

In a matter of seconds she became one of the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis seriously wounded in the civil war that followed the American invasion in 2003. Civilians young and old were caught in the crossfire, crippling them physically and psychologically.

Not all became amputees. Many have less visible scars: back injuries that make it impossible to walk and carry anything; hearing loss; or a missing eye from flying shrapnel. Some families, with their top wage earners unable to work, ended up homeless and many more now live diminished lives.

Each struggles to find a way to cope, and Najla is one of a growing number of Iraqi athletes who are competing in sports at a high level after losing one or more limbs.

Since 2003, there has been an approximately 70 percent increase in the number of Iraqis participating in the Paralympic Games whose injuries are terrorism related, according to Mohammed Abbas al-Salami, the deputy head of the Iraqi Paralympic Committee.

Players injured in the war are extraordinarily driven and talented, said Mr. al-Salami. But they struggle more emotionally because they remember the time before their injuries.

That emotional struggle is part of Najla’s story, too.

One of eight children born to a close-knit family, Najla was an active child and every day would run to meet her father’s car as he returned from his work at a joint Iraqi-American army base.

“It was April 19, 2008, and as I drove up to the house, Najla ran towards me, holding out her arms and smiling,” recalled her father, Imad Lafta, 56, who worked at the time on communications technology for the Iraqi Army.

“I got out of the car to help her get into the passenger seat, but as she pulled open the door, the sticky bomb exploded,” he said, looking away from his daughter as he recalled the moment.

“You know, I was so careful. I never parked in the base because I was afraid of my car being seen coming and going and being targeted, but someone must have seen me.”

When the bomb exploded, Najla said she felt “a huge blow; it was like a fire was in my body and I saw my arm fly into the air to near to our neighbor’s house.”

She could not feel her legs.

Her father rushed her to the hospital, but she was losing so much blood the doctors were not sure they could save her.

“I was at the hospital three months and once I realized I had lost my legs and arms I cried and cried and became angry because I knew I had lost everything,” she said.

It was this depression, in part, that brought Najla to table tennis.

Five years ago, sad that she could not run like her classmates, she bought a table tennis paddle to give herself something to do when she finished her homework. But it quickly proved frustrating.

She had begun life as a right-handed person but with that hand gone and no prostheses, she struggled to learn to use her left, hitting the ball over and over against the wall of her family house.

She kept thinking that if she could just have legs, she could run to the ball instead of having to reach and hope it would not fly too high or too low.

Her father went to a hospital in Baghdad and implored the staff members to give prostheses to his daughter.

Eventually they did, but they were poorly made and hurt so much she could not walk in them. Then her father heard that there might be better prostheses in another province. After scrimping together the cash to pay for them, he brought the new ones home, only to find that these too were a poor fit. A third and fourth attempt also failed to get her prostheses that did not hurt.

“The quality matters,” he said. “The best are from England.”

But a prosthetic leg from Britain can cost $15,000 and one fitted for an athlete costs much more. Najla needed three limbs and with her father’s retirement income of $400 a month, even one prosthetic limb was beyond the family’s reach.

Dejected over his inability to help his daughter, Mr. Lafta asked a friend who coached table tennis and scouted for Iraq’s Paralympic team to stop by and give her some lessons.

Najla remembers the day Hossam Hussein al-Bayat came to the family’s house — a traditional Iraqi compound with individual rooms built around a common courtyard with an outdoor toilet and water from a communal well down the street.

“He said to me, ‘I want you to take that paddle and start training daily,’” she recalled.

She took him at his word and began to work one to two hours a day on her strokes.

After watching her and seeing her improvement in a short time, his assessment was that because of her drive, “she has the potential to be very good,” Mr. al-Bayat said.

Once a week he would bring her to his house to practice, coaching her until she was ready to compete against disabled players from other provinces.

She was only 12 when she won a place on the country’s Paralympic team. The key for her success, she said, was not to look at the other players — table tennis is a game where players routinely use psychological tricks to disarm their opponents.

“I was a little scared,” she recalled. “I was talking to myself, saying ‘just focus on the ball, just focus on myself, if I focus on her, I will be afraid,’” she said referring to her opponent.

When Najla plays, her eye is always on the ball — it is her friend and her enemy; its speed, spin and arc are her sole concern.

“What amazed me in Najla is that she is from a very poor family and lives in a neighborhood where squatters live and she has only one arm and she is the champion of Iraq and took the golden medal in the Iraqi championship and took the silver medal in Asia,” said Aqil Hameed, the head of Iraq’s Paralympic Committee.

“Really I consider this a miracle and the persistence and the effort and the hope that Najla has must be a big lesson for us and for all of the Iraqis,” Mr. Hameed added.

Najla practices two or three hours a day at home — her family bought a playing table that takes up almost all the space in one of the compound’s rooms — barely leaving enough space for her to practice with her sisters.

She is closest with an older sister, Zainab Emad Lafta, 17. “I am with her in everything,” said Zainab. “We go to school together and we read together and go out together and we go to the markets together to buy clothes.”

Once a week Najla travels to Baghdad to practice at the Paralympic team’s training center with Jamal Jalal Hussein, a former member of Iraq’s national table tennis team and the coach of the country’s Paralympic team.

The atmosphere at the center lifts her spirits, Najla said, as she trains with other disabled athletes of all ages.

The Paralympics committee recently bought prostheses for Najla, and these are far better than the ones she had before but they are still not the kind made for athletes.

“To be honest, nothing compares to having legs and arms,” Najla said with a wistful look on her face. “But at least I am happy with what I have done.”

Falih Hassan contributed reporting.

Sahred From Source link Sports

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2Zeo7hN via IFTTT

[reneeacaseyfl]

She’s 14, Disabled From a Bomb Blast and One of Iraq’s Top Table Tennis Players

BAQUBA, Iraq — The Iraqi teenager does not look like a traditional athlete: Her right leg is amputated at the thigh, her left at the knee, and her right arm ends at the biceps.

But when Najla Imad Lafta, 14, plays table tennis, her torso turns as smoothly as a dancer’s to meet the ball and she returns it so fast her opponents are hard put to send it back.

She just brought home her fourth silver and her fourth bronze medal from an international sporting tournament for the disabled in Egypt in June.

“In fourth grade, I realized I was different from the other girls,” said Najla as she sat in a narrow wheelchair in her family’s home on the outskirts of Baquba, a provincial capital in Iraq. She lives on an unpaved street where no one has indoor plumbing and the electricity is erratic.

“I saw my friends were running at school, walking and playing, and they were thinking about what they would do in the future,” she said. “And all I could do was sit in my wheelchair and think that I wanted to run like them.”

Najla was 3 when a bomb magnetically attached beneath her father’s car went off. The sabotage was likely the work of Al Qaeda in Iraq, which targeted her father because he worked at the local military base with American soldiers.

In a matter of seconds she became one of the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis seriously wounded in the civil war that followed the American invasion in 2003.

She is also one of a growing number of Iraqi athletes who are competing in sports at a high level after being caught in crossfire or a bombing and losing one or more limbs.

Since 2003, there has been an approximately 70 percent increase in the number of Iraqis participating in the Paralympic Games whose injuries are terrorism related, according to Mohammed Abbas al-Salami, the deputy head of the Iraqi Paralympic Committee.

Of the 286 disabled athletes participating now, nearly 30 percent were injured in terrorism-related attacks, he said, as opposed to those Paralympic athletes who were born disabled or contracted a disease in childhood.

Players injured in the war are extraordinarily driven and talented, Mr. al-Salami said, but struggle more emotionally.

“Because he cannot forget that time when he used to be happy and play with his friends and his neighbors and had all his limbs, he will often keep himself isolated and introverted,” Mr. al-Salami said.

That sense of isolation and despair was what happened to Najla after the bombing.

One of eight children born to a close-knit family, she was an active child and every day would run to meet her father’s car as he returned from his work at a joint Iraqi-American army base.

“It was April 19, 2008, and as I drove up to the house, Najla ran towards me, holding out her arms and smiling,” recalled her father, Imad Lafta, 56, who worked at the time on communications technology for the Iraqi Army.

“I got out of the car to help her get into the passenger seat, but as she pulled open the door, the sticky bomb exploded,” he said, looking away from his daughter as he recalled the moment.

“You know, I was so careful. I never parked in the base because I was afraid of my car being seen coming and going and being targeted, but someone must have seen me.”

When the bomb exploded, Najla said she felt “a huge blow; it was like a fire was in my body and I saw my arm fly into the air to near to our neighbor’s house.”

She could not feel her legs.

Her father rushed her to the hospital, but she was losing so much blood that the doctors were not sure they could save her.

“I was at the hospital three months and once I realized I had lost my legs and arms I cried and cried and became angry because I knew I had lost everything,” she said.

It was this depression, in part, that brought Najla to table tennis.

Five years ago, sad that she could not run like her classmates, she bought a table tennis paddle to give herself something to do when she finished her homework. But it quickly proved frustrating.

She had begun life as a right-handed person but with that hand gone and no prostheses, she struggled to learn to use her left, hitting the ball over and over against the wall of her family house.

She kept thinking that if she could just have legs, she could run to the ball instead of having to reach and hope it would not fly too high or too low.

Her father went to a hospital in Baghdad and implored the staff members to give prostheses to his daughter.

Eventually they did, but they were poorly made and hurt so much she could not walk in them. Then her father heard that there might be better prostheses in another province. After scrimping together the cash to pay for them, he brought the new ones home, only to find that these too were a poor fit. A third and fourth attempt also failed to get her prostheses that did not hurt.

“The quality matters,” he said. “The best are from England.”

But a prosthetic leg from Britain can cost $15,000 and one fitted for an athlete costs much more. Najla needed three limbs and with her father’s retirement income of $400 a month, even one prosthetic limb was beyond the family’s reach.

Dejected over his inability to help his daughter, Mr. Lafta asked a friend who coached table tennis and scouted for Iraq’s Paralympic team to stop by and give her some lessons.

Najla remembers the day Hossam Hussein al-Bayat came to the family’s house — a traditional Iraqi compound with individual rooms built around a common courtyard with an outdoor toilet and water from a communal well down the street.

“He said to me, ‘I want you to take that paddle and start training daily,’” she recalled.

She took him at his word and began to work one to two hours a day on her strokes.

After watching her and seeing her improvement in a short time, his assessment was that because of her drive, “she has the potential to be very good,” Mr. al-Bayat said.

Once a week he would bring her to his house to practice, coaching her until she was ready to compete against disabled players from other provinces.

She was only 12 when she won a place on the country’s Paralympic team. The key for her success, she said, was not to look at the other players — table tennis is a game where players routinely use psychological tricks to disarm their opponents.

“I was a little scared,” she recalled. “I was talking to myself, saying ‘just focus on the ball, just focus on myself, if I focus on her, I will be afraid,’” she said referring to her opponent.

When Najla plays, her eye is always on the ball — it is her friend and her enemy; its speed, spin and arc are her sole concern.

“What amazed me in Najla is that she is from a very poor family and lives in a neighborhood where squatters live and she has only one arm and she is the champion of Iraq and took the golden medal in the Iraqi championship and took the silver medal in Asia,” said Aqil Hameed, the head of Iraq’s Paralympic Committee.

“Really I consider this a miracle and the persistence and the effort and the hope that Najla has must be a big lesson for us and for all of the Iraqis,” Mr. Hameed added.

Najla practices two or three hours a day at home — her family bought a playing table that takes up almost all the space in one of the compound’s rooms — barely leaving enough space for her to practice with her sisters.

She is closest with an older sister, Zainab Emad Lafta, 17. “I am with her in everything,” said Zainab. “We go to school together and we read together and go out together and we go to the markets together to buy clothes.”

Once a week Najla travels to Baghdad to practice at the Paralympic team’s training center with Jamal Jalal Hussein, a former member of Iraq’s national table tennis team and the coach of the country’s Paralympic team.

The atmosphere at the center lifts her spirits, Najla said, as she trains with other disabled athletes of all ages.

The Paralympics committee recently bought prostheses for Najla, and these are far better than the ones she had before but they are still not the kind made for athletes.

“To be honest, nothing compares to having legs and arms,” Najla said with a wistful look on her face. “But at least I am happy with what I have done.”

Falih Hassan contributed reporting.

Credit: Source link

The post She’s 14, Disabled From a Bomb Blast and One of Iraq’s Top Table Tennis Players appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.com/shes-14-disabled-from-a-bomb-blast-and-one-of-iraqs-top-table-tennis-players/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=shes-14-disabled-from-a-bomb-blast-and-one-of-iraqs-top-table-tennis-players from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.tumblr.com/post/186565757132

[velmaemyers88]

She’s 14, Disabled From a Bomb Blast and One of Iraq’s Top Table Tennis Players

BAQUBA, Iraq — The Iraqi teenager does not look like a traditional athlete: Her right leg is amputated at the thigh, her left at the knee, and her right arm ends at the biceps.

But when Najla Imad Lafta, 14, plays table tennis, her torso turns as smoothly as a dancer’s to meet the ball and she returns it so fast her opponents are hard put to send it back.

She just brought home her fourth silver and her fourth bronze medal from an international sporting tournament for the disabled in Egypt in June.

“In fourth grade, I realized I was different from the other girls,” said Najla as she sat in a narrow wheelchair in her family’s home on the outskirts of Baquba, a provincial capital in Iraq. She lives on an unpaved street where no one has indoor plumbing and the electricity is erratic.

“I saw my friends were running at school, walking and playing, and they were thinking about what they would do in the future,” she said. “And all I could do was sit in my wheelchair and think that I wanted to run like them.”

Najla was 3 when a bomb magnetically attached beneath her father’s car went off. The sabotage was likely the work of Al Qaeda in Iraq, which targeted her father because he worked at the local military base with American soldiers.

In a matter of seconds she became one of the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis seriously wounded in the civil war that followed the American invasion in 2003.

She is also one of a growing number of Iraqi athletes who are competing in sports at a high level after being caught in crossfire or a bombing and losing one or more limbs.

Since 2003, there has been an approximately 70 percent increase in the number of Iraqis participating in the Paralympic Games whose injuries are terrorism related, according to Mohammed Abbas al-Salami, the deputy head of the Iraqi Paralympic Committee.

Of the 286 disabled athletes participating now, nearly 30 percent were injured in terrorism-related attacks, he said, as opposed to those Paralympic athletes who were born disabled or contracted a disease in childhood.

Players injured in the war are extraordinarily driven and talented, Mr. al-Salami said, but struggle more emotionally.

“Because he cannot forget that time when he used to be happy and play with his friends and his neighbors and had all his limbs, he will often keep himself isolated and introverted,” Mr. al-Salami said.

That sense of isolation and despair was what happened to Najla after the bombing.

One of eight children born to a close-knit family, she was an active child and every day would run to meet her father’s car as he returned from his work at a joint Iraqi-American army base.

“It was April 19, 2008, and as I drove up to the house, Najla ran towards me, holding out her arms and smiling,” recalled her father, Imad Lafta, 56, who worked at the time on communications technology for the Iraqi Army.

“I got out of the car to help her get into the passenger seat, but as she pulled open the door, the sticky bomb exploded,” he said, looking away from his daughter as he recalled the moment.

“You know, I was so careful. I never parked in the base because I was afraid of my car being seen coming and going and being targeted, but someone must have seen me.”

When the bomb exploded, Najla said she felt “a huge blow; it was like a fire was in my body and I saw my arm fly into the air to near to our neighbor’s house.”

She could not feel her legs.

Her father rushed her to the hospital, but she was losing so much blood that the doctors were not sure they could save her.

“I was at the hospital three months and once I realized I had lost my legs and arms I cried and cried and became angry because I knew I had lost everything,” she said.

It was this depression, in part, that brought Najla to table tennis.

Five years ago, sad that she could not run like her classmates, she bought a table tennis paddle to give herself something to do when she finished her homework. But it quickly proved frustrating.

She had begun life as a right-handed person but with that hand gone and no prostheses, she struggled to learn to use her left, hitting the ball over and over against the wall of her family house.

She kept thinking that if she could just have legs, she could run to the ball instead of having to reach and hope it would not fly too high or too low.

Her father went to a hospital in Baghdad and implored the staff members to give prostheses to his daughter.

Eventually they did, but they were poorly made and hurt so much she could not walk in them. Then her father heard that there might be better prostheses in another province. After scrimping together the cash to pay for them, he brought the new ones home, only to find that these too were a poor fit. A third and fourth attempt also failed to get her prostheses that did not hurt.

“The quality matters,” he said. “The best are from England.”

But a prosthetic leg from Britain can cost $15,000 and one fitted for an athlete costs much more. Najla needed three limbs and with her father’s retirement income of $400 a month, even one prosthetic limb was beyond the family’s reach.

Dejected over his inability to help his daughter, Mr. Lafta asked a friend who coached table tennis and scouted for Iraq’s Paralympic team to stop by and give her some lessons.

Najla remembers the day Hossam Hussein al-Bayat came to the family’s house — a traditional Iraqi compound with individual rooms built around a common courtyard with an outdoor toilet and water from a communal well down the street.

“He said to me, ‘I want you to take that paddle and start training daily,’” she recalled.

She took him at his word and began to work one to two hours a day on her strokes.

After watching her and seeing her improvement in a short time, his assessment was that because of her drive, “she has the potential to be very good,” Mr. al-Bayat said.

Once a week he would bring her to his house to practice, coaching her until she was ready to compete against disabled players from other provinces.

She was only 12 when she won a place on the country’s Paralympic team. The key for her success, she said, was not to look at the other players — table tennis is a game where players routinely use psychological tricks to disarm their opponents.

“I was a little scared,” she recalled. “I was talking to myself, saying ‘just focus on the ball, just focus on myself, if I focus on her, I will be afraid,’” she said referring to her opponent.

When Najla plays, her eye is always on the ball — it is her friend and her enemy; its speed, spin and arc are her sole concern.

“What amazed me in Najla is that she is from a very poor family and lives in a neighborhood where squatters live and she has only one arm and she is the champion of Iraq and took the golden medal in the Iraqi championship and took the silver medal in Asia,” said Aqil Hameed, the head of Iraq’s Paralympic Committee.

“Really I consider this a miracle and the persistence and the effort and the hope that Najla has must be a big lesson for us and for all of the Iraqis,” Mr. Hameed added.

Najla practices two or three hours a day at home — her family bought a playing table that takes up almost all the space in one of the compound’s rooms — barely leaving enough space for her to practice with her sisters.

She is closest with an older sister, Zainab Emad Lafta, 17. “I am with her in everything,” said Zainab. “We go to school together and we read together and go out together and we go to the markets together to buy clothes.”

Once a week Najla travels to Baghdad to practice at the Paralympic team’s training center with Jamal Jalal Hussein, a former member of Iraq’s national table tennis team and the coach of the country’s Paralympic team.

The atmosphere at the center lifts her spirits, Najla said, as she trains with other disabled athletes of all ages.

The Paralympics committee recently bought prostheses for Najla, and these are far better than the ones she had before but they are still not the kind made for athletes.

“To be honest, nothing compares to having legs and arms,” Najla said with a wistful look on her face. “But at least I am happy with what I have done.”

Falih Hassan contributed reporting.

Credit: Source link

The post She’s 14, Disabled From a Bomb Blast and One of Iraq’s Top Table Tennis Players appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.com/shes-14-disabled-from-a-bomb-blast-and-one-of-iraqs-top-table-tennis-players/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=shes-14-disabled-from-a-bomb-blast-and-one-of-iraqs-top-table-tennis-players from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.tumblr.com/post/186565757132

[weeklyreviewer]

She’s 14, Disabled From a Bomb Blast and One of Iraq’s Top Table Tennis Players

BAQUBA, Iraq — The Iraqi teenager does not look like a traditional athlete: Her right leg is amputated at the thigh, her left at the knee, and her right arm ends at the biceps.

But when Najla Imad Lafta, 14, plays table tennis, her torso turns as smoothly as a dancer’s to meet the ball and she returns it so fast her opponents are hard put to send it back.

She just brought home her fourth silver and her fourth bronze medal from an international sporting tournament for the disabled in Egypt in June.

“In fourth grade, I realized I was different from the other girls,” said Najla as she sat in a narrow wheelchair in her family’s home on the outskirts of Baquba, a provincial capital in Iraq. She lives on an unpaved street where no one has indoor plumbing and the electricity is erratic.

“I saw my friends were running at school, walking and playing, and they were thinking about what they would do in the future,” she said. “And all I could do was sit in my wheelchair and think that I wanted to run like them.”

Najla was 3 when a bomb magnetically attached beneath her father’s car went off. The sabotage was likely the work of Al Qaeda in Iraq, which targeted her father because he worked at the local military base with American soldiers.

In a matter of seconds she became one of the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis seriously wounded in the civil war that followed the American invasion in 2003.

She is also one of a growing number of Iraqi athletes who are competing in sports at a high level after being caught in crossfire or a bombing and losing one or more limbs.

Since 2003, there has been an approximately 70 percent increase in the number of Iraqis participating in the Paralympic Games whose injuries are terrorism related, according to Mohammed Abbas al-Salami, the deputy head of the Iraqi Paralympic Committee.

Of the 286 disabled athletes participating now, nearly 30 percent were injured in terrorism-related attacks, he said, as opposed to those Paralympic athletes who were born disabled or contracted a disease in childhood.

Players injured in the war are extraordinarily driven and talented, Mr. al-Salami said, but struggle more emotionally.

“Because he cannot forget that time when he used to be happy and play with his friends and his neighbors and had all his limbs, he will often keep himself isolated and introverted,” Mr. al-Salami said.

That sense of isolation and despair was what happened to Najla after the bombing.

One of eight children born to a close-knit family, she was an active child and every day would run to meet her father’s car as he returned from his work at a joint Iraqi-American army base.

“It was April 19, 2008, and as I drove up to the house, Najla ran towards me, holding out her arms and smiling,” recalled her father, Imad Lafta, 56, who worked at the time on communications technology for the Iraqi Army.

“I got out of the car to help her get into the passenger seat, but as she pulled open the door, the sticky bomb exploded,” he said, looking away from his daughter as he recalled the moment.

“You know, I was so careful. I never parked in the base because I was afraid of my car being seen coming and going and being targeted, but someone must have seen me.”

When the bomb exploded, Najla said she felt “a huge blow; it was like a fire was in my body and I saw my arm fly into the air to near to our neighbor’s house.”

She could not feel her legs.

Her father rushed her to the hospital, but she was losing so much blood that the doctors were not sure they could save her.

“I was at the hospital three months and once I realized I had lost my legs and arms I cried and cried and became angry because I knew I had lost everything,” she said.

It was this depression, in part, that brought Najla to table tennis.

Five years ago, sad that she could not run like her classmates, she bought a table tennis paddle to give herself something to do when she finished her homework. But it quickly proved frustrating.

She had begun life as a right-handed person but with that hand gone and no prostheses, she struggled to learn to use her left, hitting the ball over and over against the wall of her family house.

She kept thinking that if she could just have legs, she could run to the ball instead of having to reach and hope it would not fly too high or too low.

Her father went to a hospital in Baghdad and implored the staff members to give prostheses to his daughter.

Eventually they did, but they were poorly made and hurt so much she could not walk in them. Then her father heard that there might be better prostheses in another province. After scrimping together the cash to pay for them, he brought the new ones home, only to find that these too were a poor fit. A third and fourth attempt also failed to get her prostheses that did not hurt.

“The quality matters,” he said. “The best are from England.”

But a prosthetic leg from Britain can cost $15,000 and one fitted for an athlete costs much more. Najla needed three limbs and with her father’s retirement income of $400 a month, even one prosthetic limb was beyond the family’s reach.

Dejected over his inability to help his daughter, Mr. Lafta asked a friend who coached table tennis and scouted for Iraq’s Paralympic team to stop by and give her some lessons.

Najla remembers the day Hossam Hussein al-Bayat came to the family’s house — a traditional Iraqi compound with individual rooms built around a common courtyard with an outdoor toilet and water from a communal well down the street.

“He said to me, ‘I want you to take that paddle and start training daily,’” she recalled.

She took him at his word and began to work one to two hours a day on her strokes.

After watching her and seeing her improvement in a short time, his assessment was that because of her drive, “she has the potential to be very good,” Mr. al-Bayat said.

Once a week he would bring her to his house to practice, coaching her until she was ready to compete against disabled players from other provinces.

She was only 12 when she won a place on the country’s Paralympic team. The key for her success, she said, was not to look at the other players — table tennis is a game where players routinely use psychological tricks to disarm their opponents.

“I was a little scared,” she recalled. “I was talking to myself, saying ‘just focus on the ball, just focus on myself, if I focus on her, I will be afraid,’” she said referring to her opponent.

When Najla plays, her eye is always on the ball — it is her friend and her enemy; its speed, spin and arc are her sole concern.

“What amazed me in Najla is that she is from a very poor family and lives in a neighborhood where squatters live and she has only one arm and she is the champion of Iraq and took the golden medal in the Iraqi championship and took the silver medal in Asia,” said Aqil Hameed, the head of Iraq’s Paralympic Committee.

“Really I consider this a miracle and the persistence and the effort and the hope that Najla has must be a big lesson for us and for all of the Iraqis,” Mr. Hameed added.

Najla practices two or three hours a day at home — her family bought a playing table that takes up almost all the space in one of the compound’s rooms — barely leaving enough space for her to practice with her sisters.

She is closest with an older sister, Zainab Emad Lafta, 17. “I am with her in everything,” said Zainab. “We go to school together and we read together and go out together and we go to the markets together to buy clothes.”

Once a week Najla travels to Baghdad to practice at the Paralympic team’s training center with Jamal Jalal Hussein, a former member of Iraq’s national table tennis team and the coach of the country’s Paralympic team.

The atmosphere at the center lifts her spirits, Najla said, as she trains with other disabled athletes of all ages.

The Paralympics committee recently bought prostheses for Najla, and these are far better than the ones she had before but they are still not the kind made for athletes.

“To be honest, nothing compares to having legs and arms,” Najla said with a wistful look on her face. “But at least I am happy with what I have done.”

Falih Hassan contributed reporting.

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Tokyo 1-Year Out: Scandal, high costs but unrivaled demand

TOKYO (AP) — Despite scandals, rising costs and doubts about the economic payoff, the Tokyo Olympics will be a must-see event — if you can find a ticket or a hotel room — when they open in a year.

Tokyo was supposed to be a “safe pair of hands” after Rio de Janeiro’s corruption and near-meltdown three years ago.

Mostly, it has been.

Local sponsorship revenue has passed $3 billion, about three times more than any previous games, driven by Japan’s giant advertising and marketing company Dentsu Inc., the exclusive marketing agency for the Tokyo Games caught in a French probe into alleged vote-buying connected with Tokyo winning the 2020 Olympics.

Ticket demand is unprecedented and few Japanese can even get them. Estimates suggest up to 90% of Japan residents who applied were unsuccessful in the first phase of a ticket lottery in June. Tickets prices are sure to soar with scalping a certainty, though Japan just passed a law banning the practice.

“This is probably going to be the most popular Olympics, and possibly one of the most popular events of all time,” Ken Hanscom told The Associated Press. He follows ticketing around the globe as the chief operating officer of Los Angeles-based TicketManager.

Roy Tomizawa, a Japanese American who lives in Japan and published the most definitive book on Tokyo’s 1964 Olympics, said he applied for 16 tickets and got zero in the June lottery.

Organizers have quickly thrown together a so-called second-chance lottery in August, and have another lottery set for later in the year. But this will not change the reality: Demand exceeds supply in Japan by at least 10 times. And it’s a similar story for buyers outside Japan.

“I thought that putting myself down for the most expensive tickets would ensure me of winning seats, but that wasn’t the case,” Tomizawa told the AP. “I struck out resoundingly. The high demand appeared to surprise everyone, Japanese and non-Japanese alike.”

Tomizawa, whose father was a producer for NBC News at the ’64 Olympics, said the “measured demeanor” of the Japanese hides their Olympic enthusiasm. There are great expectations. Japan is shooting for a record 30 gold medals, almost twice the previous best of 16 in Tokyo.

This is also the second of three straight Olympics in Asia, another factor driving interest.

And don’t forget: Greater Tokyo has a population of more than 35 million — the world’s largest metropolitan area.

The Olympics will be simply a sideshow for some Tokyo visitors, astounded by the cleanliness, courtesy and order. Japan’s sprawling capital is a dense mix of the traditional and eccentric where bowing meets bustle. Small shrines or temples nestle alongside gleaming towers, passengers wedge silently into commuter trains and pedestrians meander through a labyrinth of alleyways, always lined with places to eat and drink.

“I’ve never, never seen interest in attending the Olympics like I have for Tokyo,” said Greg Harney, who works at Cartan Global, an Authorized Ticket Reseller for much of Latin American and the Caribbean, and is preparing to attend his 19th Olympics.

Tokyo’s 1964 Olympics marked a turning point for Japan, highlighting the country’s recovery just 19 years after World War II. It was the first games in Asia and left behind breathtaking architecture — such as Kenzo Tange’s Yoyogi National Gymnasium and its suspension roof — and showcased dozens of consumer brands that became household names around the world.

Ambitions are more modest this time. Organizers are emphasizing the rebuilding of the Fukushima area northeast of Tokyo, which was devastated by a 2011 earthquake, tsunami and the meltdown of three nuclear reactors. Some baseball and softball is being played there, a gesture to convince the world the area is safe.

Tokyo appears to be a watershed for the International Olympic Committee, which is recasting the Olympics and its bidding process as “cost-sensitive” after years of coaxing cites to splurge on white elephant sports venues. Rio de Janeiro is the last example, still littered three years later with money-sapping arenas, bribery trials and an organizing committee facing bankruptcy.

The IOC already has awarded the next two Summer Olympics to Paris and Los Angeles, cities that promise to control costs and use existing venues.

“The Olympics have become more sponsor- and television-driven,” David Wallechinsky, president of the International Society of Olympic Historians, told the AP. “In Rio it was a mess, yet on television it looked fine. Let’s face it, 99% of the people who follow the Olympics do so on TV. So whatever you present them on TV is reality, though those of us on the ground see a different reality.”

The games will open on July 24, 2020, at the height of Tokyo’s hot, humid summer. Events like the marathon will start just after dawn. Beating the heat is a worry, which it wasn’t in ’64 when the Olympics were held in October. That was before the demands of television.

Tokyo is building eight new venues. The other 35 venues are defined as “temporary” or older buildings being reused, which Tokyo organizers say has saved billions. The centerpiece is the $1.25 billion National Stadium, and the Olympic Village for more than 10,000 athletes on the edge of Tokyo Bay.

The Summer Olympics don’t come cheaply, and even existing venues need renovation when the games come to town. Exact costs — what are, and are not Olympic expenses — are difficult to sort out. But Tokyo is spending at least $20 billion to get ready, 70% of which is taxpayers’ money.

Critics point out that the biggest Olympic sponsor is the Japanese government, which is picking up many of the bills.

IOC President Thomas Bach will be in Tokyo on Wednesday for the one-year countdown ceremony as the gold, silver, and bronze medals are unveiled. A small group called “Hangorin no kai” — roughly translated “No Olympics” — is also scheduling seminars and protests around the date.

Scandal has also lingered.

Tsunekazu Takeda, the head of the Japanese Olympic Committee, was forced to resign earlier this year when he was implicated in a vote-buying scheme to land the games. He has denied wrongdoing but acknowledged he signed off on about $2 million that French investigators allege went to buy votes of some IOC members.

Yasuhiro Yamashita, who won a judo gold medal in the 1984 Olympics, took over recently for Takeda and acknowledged: “We have seen some scandals in sports, including the JOC. And therefore the trust and confidence is now in question. We have to grapple with these issues very seriously.”

Organizers were also forced to redesign their logo when the original draft faced charges of plagiarism, and an international labor union has alleged work-safety violations at Olympic venues, largely regarding migrant labor.

A futuristic design for the new stadium by the late British architect Zaha Hadid was scrapped when costs soared to $2 billion. Japanese architect Kengo Kuma was chosen instead with a design focused on wood lattice and greenery that will be finished by the end of the year.

Sports economist Rob Baade has written extensively on the Olympics. He says the games have reached an “inflection point” as cities realize they are expensive, the short-term benefits are scant and the long-term payoffs are unclear.

“There are fewer cities and nations wiling to compete in this international auction of the games,” Baade, who teaches at Lake Forest College outside Chicago, told the AP. “And in absence of this, the IOC is not going to be able to wring the kind of concessions from potential host cities that they did before.”

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Stephen Wade on Twitter: http://twitter.com/StephenWadeAP

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More AP sports: https://apnews.com/apf-sports and https://twitter.com/AP_Sports

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