Archive | August 8, 2020

ON MY SOAPBOX….Get back in the basement


WRITTEN BY: SHEILA TOLLEY

 

The democrats have painted themselves into the corner of Joe’s basement. They were forced to endorse Senile Joe Biden to prevent Communist Bernie Sanders from further advancement. Now, Senile Joe has intermittent thoughts that the DNC are serious about him being the nominee. So, when he occasionally trips over an active video feed in his basement, he makes his Gaffe for the Day.

Obama has narrowed Senile Joe’s VP list down to Karen (I love Castro) Bass,  Kamala (I bedded Willie Brown) Harris, Susan (I lied about Bengazi) Rice and Elizabeth (I am a paleface) Warren.

The only other person with name recognition to replace Senile Joe is Crooked Hillary. The problem is they cannot locate Crooked Hillary. Word on the street is that she and Bill are hid in the basement of The Clinton Library in Arkansas.

Hillary will not come out of her basement until Ghislaine Maxwell reunites with Jeffrey Epstein. Until then, she remains nervous about a few things. Like, how many children did Bill (I love Blue Dresses) Clinton molest on Little Saint James Island and on The Lolita Express?

Yes, Indeed….politics makes strange bedfellows.

 

Petrina Ryan-Kleid, Parsing Bill (2012). Image via the New York Academy of Arts.

Seventeen Inches

“I have read this before, it tells an incredible story about life. I hope you will take the time to read it, as well as, my opinion at the end. It is a story you will remember.”
-Sheila Tolley-

Written by: Chris Sperry
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In Nashville, Tennessee, during the first week of January, 1996, more than 4,000 baseball coaches descended upon the Opryland Hotel for the 52nd annual ABCA convention. Nineteen times since, many of the same professional, college, high school, youth, and a slew of international coaches from passionate and developing baseball nations have gathered at various convention hotels across the country for two-and-half days of clinic presentations and industry exhibits. Sure, many members of the American Baseball Coaches Association have come and gone in those years; the leadership has been passed, nepotistically, from Dave Keilitz to his son, Craig; and the association — and baseball, in general — has lost some of its greatest coaches, including Rod Dedeaux, Gordie Gillespie, and Chuck “Bobo” Brayton.

I have attended all but three conventions in those nineteen years, and I have enjoyed and benefited from each of them. But ’96 was special — not just because it was held in the home of country music, a town I’d always wanted to visit. And not because I was attending my very first convention. Nashville in ’96 was special because it was there and then that I learned that baseball — the thing that had brought 4,000 of us together — was merely a metaphor for my own life and those of the players I hoped to impact.

While I waited in line to register with the hotel staff, I heard other more veteran coaches rumbling about the lineup of speakers scheduled to present during the weekend. One name, in particular, kept resurfacing, always with the same sentiment — “John Scolinos is here? Oh man, worth every penny of my airfare.”

Who the hell is John Scolinos, I wondered. No matter, I was just happy to be there.

Having sensed the size of the group during check-in, I woke early the next morning in order to ensure myself a good seat near the stage — first chair on the right side of the center isle, third row back — where I sat, alone, for an hour until the audio-visual techs arrived to fine-tune their equipment. The proverbial bee bee in a boxcar, I was surrounded by empty chairs in a room as large as a football field. Eventually, I was joined by other, slightly less eager, coaches until the room was filled to capacity. By the time Augie Garrido was introduced to deliver the traditional first presentation from the previous season’s College World Series winner, there wasn’t an empty chair in the room.

ABCA conventions have a certain party-like quality to them. They provide a wonderful opportunity to re-connect with old friends from a fraternal game that often spreads its coaches all over the country. As such, it is common for coaches to bail out of afternoon clinic sessions in favor of old friends and the bar. As a result, I discovered, the crowd is comparatively sparse after lunch, and I had no trouble getting my seat back, even after grabbing a plastic-wrapped sandwich off the shelf at the Opryland gift shop.

I woke early the next morning and once again found myself alone in the massive convention hall, reviewing my notes from the day before: pitching mechanics, hitting philosophy, team practice drills. All technical and typical — important stuff for a young coach, and I was in Heaven. At the end of the morning session, certain that I had accurately scouted the group dynamic and that my seat would again be waiting for me after lunch, I allowed myself a few extra minutes to sit down and enjoy an overpriced sandwich in one of the hotel restaurants. But when I returned to the convention hall thirty minutes before the lunch break ended, not only was my seat not available, barely any seats were available! I managed to find one between two high school coaches, both proudly adorned in their respective team caps and jackets. Disappointed in myself for losing my seat up front, I wondered what had pried all these coaches from their barstools. I found the clinic schedule in my bag: “1 PM John Scolinos, Cal Poly Pomona.” It was the man whose name I had heard buzzing around the lobby two days earlier. Could he be the reason that all 4,000 coaches had returned, early, to the convention hall? Wow, I thought, this guy must really be good.

I had no idea.

In 1996, Coach Scolinos was 78 years old and five years retired from a college coaching career that began in 1948. He shuffled to the stage to an impressive standing ovation, wearing dark polyester pants, a light blue shirt, and a string around his neck from which home plate hung — a full-sized, stark-white home plate.

Seriously, I wondered, who in the hell is this guy?

After speaking for twenty-five minutes, not once mentioning the prop hanging around his neck, Coach Scolinos appeared to notice the snickering among some of the coaches. Even those who knew Coach Scolinos had to wonder exactly where he was going with this, or if he had simply forgotten about home plate since he’d gotten on stage.

Then, finally …

“You’re probably all wondering why I’m wearing home plate around my neck. Or maybe you think I escaped from Camarillo State Hospital,” he said, his voice growing irascible. I laughed along with the others, acknowledging the possibility. “No,” he continued, “I may be old, but I’m not crazy. The reason I stand before you today is to share with you baseball people what I’ve learned in my life, what I’ve learned about home plate in my 78 years.”

Several hands went up when Scolinos asked how many Little League coaches were in the room. “Do you know how wide home plate is in Little League?” After a pause, someone offered, “Seventeen inches,” more question than answer.

“That’s right,” he said. “How about in Babe Ruth’s day? Any Babe Ruth coaches in the house?”

Another long pause.

“Seventeen inches?”came a guess from another reluctant coach.

“That’s right,” said Scolinos. “Now, how many high school coaches do we have in the room?” Hundreds of hands shot up, as the pattern began to appear. “How wide is home plate in high school baseball?”

“Seventeen inches,” they said, sounding more confident.

“You’re right!” Scolinos barked. “And you college coaches, how wide is home plate in college?”

“Seventeen inches!” we said, in unison.

“Any Minor League coaches here? How wide is home plate in pro ball?”

“Seventeen inches!”

“RIGHT! And in the Major Leagues, how wide is  home plate is in the Major Leagues?”

“Seventeen inches!”

“SEV-EN-TEEN INCHES!” he confirmed, his voice bellowing off the walls. “And what do they do with a a Big League pitcher who can’t throw the ball over seventeen inches?” Pause. “They send him to Pocatello!” he hollered, drawing raucous laughter.

“What they don’t do is this: they don’t say, ‘Ah, that’s okay, Jimmy. You can’t hit a seventeen-inch target? We’ll make it eighteen inches, or nineteen inches. We’ll make it twenty inches so you have a better chance of hitting it. If you can’t hit that, let us know so we can make it wider still, say twenty-five inches.’”

Pause.

“Coaches …”

Pause.

” … what do we do when our best player shows up late to practice? When our team rules forbid facial hair and a guy shows up unshaven? What if he gets caught drinking? Do we hold him accountable? Or do we change the rules to fit him, do we widen home plate?

The chuckles gradually faded as four thousand coaches grew quiet, the fog lifting as the old coach’s message began to unfold. He turned the plate toward himself and, using a Sharpie, began to draw something. When he turned it toward the crowd, point up, a house was revealed, complete with a freshly drawn door and two windows. “This is the problem in our homes today. With our marriages, with the way we parent our kids. With our discipline. We don’t teach accountability to our kids, and there is no consequence for failing to meet standards. We widen the plate!

Pause. Then, to the point at the top of the house he added a small American flag.

“This is the problem in our schools today. The quality of our education is going downhill fast and teachers have been stripped of the tools they need to be successful, and to educate and discipline our young people. We are allowing others to widen home plate! Where is that getting us?”

Silence. He replaced the flag with a Cross.

“And this is the problem in the Church, where powerful people in positions of authority have taken advantage of young children, only to have such an atrocity swept under the rug for years. Our church leaders are widening home plate!”

I was amazed. At a baseball convention where I expected to learn something about curveballs and bunting and how to run better practices, I had learned something far more valuable. From an old man with home plate strung around his neck, I had learned something about life, about myself, about my own weaknesses and about my responsibilities as a leader. I had to hold myself and others accountable to that which I knew to be right, lest our families, our faith, and our society continue down an undesirable path.

“If I am lucky,” Coach Scolinos concluded, “you will remember one thing from this old coach today. It is this: if we fail to hold ourselves to a higher standard, a standard of what we know to be right; if we fail to hold our spouses and our children to the same standards, if we are unwilling or unable to provide a consequence when they do not meet the standard; and if our schools and churches and our government fail to hold themselves accountable to those they serve, there is but one thing to look forward to …”

With that, he held home plate in front of his chest, turned it around, and revealed its dark black backside.

“… dark days ahead.”

Coach Scolinos died in 2009 at the age of 91, but not before touching the lives of hundreds of players and coaches, including mine. Meeting him at my first ABCA convention kept me returning year after year, looking for similar wisdom and inspiration from other coaches. He is the best clinic speaker the ABCA has ever known because he was so much more than a baseball coach.

His message was clear: “Coaches, keep your players — no matter how good they are — your own children, and most of all, keep yourself at seventeen inches.”

He was, indeed, worth the airfare.

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This speech by  John Scolinos was given 24 years ago. It has proven to be sadly prophetic. We have WIDENED the plate so much in America that a nappy headed man who could not make the football team has succeeded in making owners in all sports take a knee during our wonderful national anthem. Our American plate has become so wide that our cities are being burned and looted while the liberal mayors and governors could not care less. Police have been defunded and our right to bear arms is in serious jeopardy. With no hesitation, China sent us a virus that is holding America hostage.

 

We simply must NARROW the plate in our country. It is imperative that we re-elect Donald Trump in 2020.  If not…..

It is STRIKE THREE for America!

Sheila Tolley

21 lessons learned by women who have little boys!

Image result for mixing clorox and brake fluid

1.) A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.

2.) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.

3.) A 3-year old Boy’s voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant..

4.) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20×20 ft. room.

5.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.

6.) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn’t stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.

7.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words ‘uh oh’, it’s already too late.

8.) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.

9.) A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even  though a 36- year old Man says they can only do it in the movies.

10.) Certain Lego’s will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old Boy.

11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.

12.) Super glue is forever.

13.) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can’t walk on water.

14.) Pool filters do not like Jell-O.

15.) VCR’s do not eject ‘PB & J’ sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.

16.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.

17.) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.

18.) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.

19.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.

20. ) Fire departments have a 5-10 minute response time.

21.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy. It will, however, make cats dizzy. Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

 

80% of Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids…

80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.

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THE SPHINX—ANSWER CAT

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This is great news.  The comments are also good.

https://www.breitbart.com/sports/2020/08/05/espn-subscriber-losses-accelerate-network-returns-woke-programming/

https://www.breitbart.com/politics/2020/08/06/disney-theme-parks-report-3-5b-in-losses-due-to-coronavirus-pandemic/

https://pagesix.com/2020/08/05/layoffs-coming-at-nbc-news/?_ga=2.173923430.491620890.1580599220-1206601833.1577719306

Joe Biden and the Democrats say that African-Americans aren’t diverse, and they will vote Democratic forever if they can shoot basketball and each other.

https://www.breitbart.com/politics/2020/08/06/joe-biden-unlike-the-african-american-community-the-latino-community-is-an-incredibly-diverse-community-nabj/

https://www.breitbart.com/

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Your children are more at danger from this than the Wuhan Flu.

https://www.oann.com/cdc-warns-about-possible-acute-flaccid-myelitis-outbreak-in-2020/

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The Clinton-Maxwell Diaries can be graphic.  Viewer discretion is advised.

https://nypost.com/2020/08/06/princess-dianas-bridesmaid-says-she-spent-time-on-jeffrey-epsteins-island/

https://nypost.com/2020/08/06/alleged-epstein-maxwell-abuse-recounted-in-accusers-book/

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The Question Editor:  Did Amigo’s shoe shine franchise, from a few weeks ago, work out LL ?

See our archive from  7-2-20.

Shinola Cat:  It sure did.  Amigo is making so much money that Ellen Degenerate is leaving TV to get a franchise.  He avoided a near disaster when a United Kingdom company used a racial slur to name their shoes.

https://nypost.com/2020/08/04/amazon-drops-shoe-with-n-word-in-description-following-outrage/

Fortunately our Slur Department caught the offending word and changed the ad to read Latino Brown.

Pigleosi will wash our customers feet while we shine their shoes.

https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Pelosi-assists-in-Holy-Week-foot-washing-ritual-5411553.php#photo-6180576

Here is a new McConnell ad.

https://townhall.com/tipsheet/reaganmccarthy/2020/08/05/exclusive-mcconnell-campaign-hits-mcgrath-for-calling-portland-violence-peaceful-n2573785

Here is a tasteful anti Trump video.

Walmart will show drive-in movies in their parking lot.

https://nypost.com/2020/08/05/walmart-announces-free-drive-in-movies-theater-locations-and-dates/

Ben Stein says:

 

“This is a Great, Great country.”


Now for a few words about the criminal looters, arsonists, and murderers — and the good people — of today:

 

 Yes, of course black lives matter. But 99.9 percent of the blacks killed violently in this country are killed by other blacks. Very few are killed by the police. Let’s see the college boys and sexy upper-class white girls in their shorts demonstrate against the Crips and the Bloods. Let’s see the absolute idiot commentators on the news shows lambaste the gang-bangers. Of course they don’t because they’re chickens–t. They only march against people they know won’t harm them.


 If black lives matter, let’s shut down the abortion mills, where the great plurality of human beings killed are black babies. Of course no one does that, because the abortionists and the Democrat party and the judges are all in bed with each other. No one hates black life more than the Democrat leadership, in my humble opinion, if we are to judge honestly by the numbers. Why isn’t anyone protesting against them and their abortuary pals?


 Isn’t it interesting that the first stores the looters went after were super-high-end clothing and jewelry stores, shops far too expensive for me or my wife to go to, except for presents for close friends? Aren’t the looters supposed to be with the working class? Why didn’t they loot JCPenney or stores that sold work boots? Of course they want to look rich. They aspire to do that by stealing.


 Have you noticed that the overwhelming mass of the looters shown on TV are black? The overwhelming mass of the protesters against “racial injustice” are white prosperous-looking young people. Who is missing? Asians. They don’t loot. They don’t riot. They study and they work. And they get ahead, and they live in nice houses and buy at the stores the looters steal from. Why is that? Could there be some Asian mystery gene that does that? If so, when the Asians take over here, as my late pal Bob Bartley told me, they will not show the kindness to looters and killers of other races that we guilty, stupid whites do. They will crack down like Lee Kuan Yew and like the South Koreans.


 My favorite TV commentator is Tucker Carlson. He’s a genius. But even he got it wrong recently when he, a brilliant man, talked about “the system” trying to hoodwink the people by stirring up race hatred. That way, said Tucker, “the people” won’t notice how much the bosses are stealing from them. He’s partly right. The top bosses of public companies are wildly overpaid by us pitiful small stockholders. But that’s a tiny sum in the context of this economy. And who is stirring up race hatred? Not the bosses. The media commentators, Tucker. I have never seen or heard of a CEO stirring up race hatred. It’s the media that’s in the race hatred derby.


 There is nothing systemically wrong with the USA. Not racial injustice. That was gone long ago. Not class warfare. That’s ancient history. This is a super great country. It’s good to anyone who is willing to acquire human capital in the form of education as lawyer, doctor, plumber, or electrician. If there is a problem, it’s the looters, murderers, and arsonists, and their pals in the media.


This is a great, great country, and if the media tells you different, they are lying. And the cops, 99 percent of them, are great people. Let’s thank them — not kick them for protecting us.


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Astronomy Picture of the Day

Crescent Saturn
Image Credit: NASA, ESA, SSI, Cassini Imaging Team

Explanation: From Earth, Saturn never shows a crescent phase. But when viewed from a spacecraft the majestic giant planet can show just a sunlit slice. This image of crescent Saturn in natural color was taken by the robotic Cassini spacecraft in 2007. It captures Saturn’s rings from the side of the ring plane opposite the Sun — the unilluminated side — another vista not visible from Earth. Visible are subtle colors of cloud bands, the complex shadows of the rings on the planet, and the shadow of the planet on the rings. The moons Mimas, at 2 o’clock, and Janus 4 o’clock, can be seen as specks of light, but the real challenge is to find Pandora (8 o’clock). From Earth, Saturn’s disk is nearly full now and opposite the Sun. Along with bright fellow giant planet Jupiter it rises in the early evening.

Tomorrow’s picture: elementree