Marcello

Engenheiro e Palestrino.

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@cddlvrz @IvaanBlanco26 34°C (sensación térmica de casi 40°C), 2.200m de altitud, match decidido ...

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@Osvaldo54726353 @FlamenGOL_81 Imagina não escalar o cara que fez 10 jogos nas copas de 58 e 62 e teve nada menos que 11 participações em gols. Na final de 58 o Brasil saiu perdendo e virou ainda no 1° tempo com duas assistências do Garrincha para dois gols do Vavá (outro fundamental em duas copas)

[クレア @kureakurea01]

中学の頃、音楽の先生に一人、どう見ても普通の先生ではない人がおった。男の先生ではある。だが、歩き方はしなやかで、声は少し高く、手をひらひらさせながら、「はぁい、みなさん。今日も心の調律、狂ってないかしら？」などと言って音楽室に入ってくる。いわゆるオネエっぽい先生である。

男子がリコーダーを振り回せば、

「ちょっと男子ィ！ それは武器じゃないから！」

と叱る。教室は笑う。だが、その先生がピアノの前に座ると、空気が一変した。

最初の一音が鳴った瞬間、騒いでいた生徒まで黙る。先生はクラシックを、ただの古い音楽として教えなかった。

「クラシックってね、寝る時に聞くだけの音楽じゃないの。昔の人間が、恋して、失恋して、怒って、泣いて、それでも生きた証なのよ」

そう言ってベートーヴェンを弾いた。

「耳が聞こえなくなっても、彼は世界に音楽を奏でました」

その後に聴く『運命』は、ただの「ジャジャジャジャーン」ではなかった。人生が乱暴に扉を叩いてくる音に聞こえた。

モーツァルトは、明るいだけの天才ではなかった。

「可愛い顔して、けっこう毒もあるのよ。明るい曲の裏に、ふっと寂しさを忍ばせる。そういう子、クラスにもいるでしょ？」

そう言われると、遠い昔の作曲家が、急に同じ教室の誰かに見えた。

ショパンの時、先生は少し黙ってから言った。

「この人の曲には、帰りたい場所に帰れない人の感じがするの」

ノクターンは、夕方の窓みたいだった。部活帰りのグラウンド、誰もいない廊下、なぜか泣きたくなる帰り道。その全部が音になっていた。

その時、初めて知った。

音楽とは、音の並びではない。言葉にならなかった気持ちの居場所なのだ。

合唱コンクールでも先生は本気だった。

「大きな声を出せばいいと思ってる子、違うわよ。歌は叫びじゃない。誰かに手紙を渡すことなの」

男子には、

「あなたたちの声は地面。女子の声が空を飛ぶなら、男子は土台よ」

女子には、

「綺麗に歌おうとしすぎない。綺麗だけの声なんて退屈。少し本音を混ぜなさい」

そう言った。

すると合唱は、ただ音程を合わせるものではなくなった。照れも、不満も、仲の良さも、言えない気持ちも混ざって、一つの声になった。

先生はよく音楽室で一人、レコードを聴いていた。

「心って、放っておくとすぐ雑巾みたいになるんだから」

その言葉を、大人になってから思い出すことになる。仕事で疲れ、何も言えない夜に、ふとショパンを流した。すると、白いカーテン、西日のピアノ、先生の声が戻ってきた。

「心の調律、狂ってないかしら？」

あの先生は、音楽を教えていたのではない。感情に名前をつける方法を教えていたのである。

数学の先生が点の取り方を教える人なら、あの音楽の先生は、点数にならないものの大切さを教える人だった。

壊れないために。強くなるためではない。柔らかいまま生き残るために。

あの音楽室で起きていたのは、ただの授業ではない。

騒がしく、不器用で、傷つきやすい中学生たちが、自分の心に耳を澄ませるための、小さな演奏会だった。

思い返すとほんとに先生に恵まれた学生時代であった。あの人たちは天才である。

[vicki @swfltay]

essa aberração da natureza jogou no meu time 😭

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

When the President of France visited the United States in April 1960, he asked the FBI to help him find a man.
The man he was looking for was an American citizen. He was sixty-four years old. He had been awarded fifteen French military decorations and — six months earlier, in a ceremony in Paris — had been made a Knight of the Légion d'honneur, the highest civilian honor France can give. The medal had been pinned to his chest by the President himself, who had publicly called him un véritable héros français. A true French hero.
The FBI located the man within a few days.
He was operating an elevator at Rockefeller Center in New York City.
The elevator operator's name was Eugene Bullard. He had been born in Columbus, Georgia, in 1895, the son of a man whose own father had been a slave.

He had run away from Columbus at the age of eleven, after watching a white mob nearly lynch his father.
He spent the next several years drifting through the American South. At sixteen, he stowed away on a German freighter at Norfolk, Virginia. He landed in Aberdeen, Scotland. From there he made his way to London, where he learned to box. By 1913, at eighteen, he was prizefighting in Paris.
When Germany invaded France in August 1914, Bullard was nineteen years old. He had no legal obligation to fight. He had no French citizenship.
He went to the recruiting office on October 19, 1914, and signed up for the French Foreign Legion.
He spent the next eighteen months as an infantryman in some of the worst fighting of the war — at the Somme, at Champagne, at Verdun. He was wounded three times. The third wound, on March 5, 1916, tore open his thigh and left him with permanent damage to his leg.
He was twenty years old. The doctors told him he would not return to the infantry.
He decided he wanted to fly.

In a Paris café in the spring of 1916, while he was recovering, Bullard mentioned to three white American friends that he was thinking of joining the French air service. A Mississippian named Jeff Dickson laughed.
Gene, Dickson said, you know damn well there aren't any Negroes in aviation.
Bullard answered: Sure do. That's why I want to get into it. There has to be a first to everything, and I'm going to be the first.
Dickson bet him two thousand dollars he would not make it.
Bullard took the bet. He earned his pilot's license on May 5, 1917. He won the bet.
He reported to the front in August 1917 and flew approximately twenty combat missions over the next three months in a SPAD VII. The fuselage was painted with a bleeding heart pierced by a knife and the French phrase Tout le Sang qui Coule est Rouge — All Blood that Flows is Red.
He carried, on every combat flight, a small capuchin monkey named Jimmy in the front of his flight jacket.
The French press began calling him L'Hirondelle Noire — the Black Swallow.

When the United States entered the war in 1917, Bullard immediately applied to transfer to the U.S. Army Air Service.
His application was rejected.
The U.S. Army Air Service had a policy, in 1917, of not accepting Black pilots. The other American pilots flying for France in his unit, all of them white, were transferred to the U.S. Air Service.
He was the only one who was not.

For the next twenty years, he was one of the most familiar faces in the Montmartre nightlife of Paris between the wars. He owned a nightclub called L'Escadrille. He spoke fluent French, English, and German. Hemingway drank there. Fitzgerald drank there. Langston Hughes drank there. Josephine Baker performed there. Louis Armstrong was a personal friend.
When Germany invaded Poland in 1939, Bullard was forty-four. His fluent German and his ownership of a nightclub frequented by German officers made him useful to the French Resistance. He became an intelligence agent — eavesdropping in his own bar on conversations between German officers who did not know he understood every word.
When France fell in June 1940, friends in the Resistance smuggled him across the Spanish border before the Gestapo could arrest him.
He came back to the United States for the first time in twenty-eight years.
He arrived in New York with thirty dollars in his pocket and a permanent limp.

He did not return to a hero's welcome. He returned to a country that had no idea who he was.
He worked at a perfume counter. He worked as a security guard. He worked at the Staten Island shipyards. By the late 1940s, he had taken the job that he would hold for most of the rest of his life.
He operated the elevator at Rockefeller Center.
He was wearing the elevator uniform on the day a producer from NBC came down from the studios upstairs to ask if he was the man Charles de Gaulle had been looking for.
A few weeks later, NBC sent a film crew to interview him in the lobby. The studios where NBC produced The Today Show were on the floors above. He had operated the elevator that took the network executives up to those studios every morning for nearly ten years. He had not been recognized as he did it.
He went back to operating the elevator the following Monday.

He died of stomach cancer on October 12, 1961, three days after his sixty-sixth birthday.
He was buried in the French War Veterans' section of Flushing Cemetery, in Queens, in the uniform of the French Foreign Legion. The casket was draped with the French flag.
In 1994 — thirty-three years after his death — the United States Air Force formally commissioned Eugene Jacques Bullard as a Second Lieutenant, posthumously.
It was the first commission the U.S. military had ever offered him.
He had been the first Black combat pilot in American history.
The French had been calling him a hero since 1917.
The Americans got around to it in 1994.

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@Haddad_Fernando Vergonha

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@Noitedecopa @AvaiFC Aquele Rio x SP com quatro "campeões" está contabilizado?

[DataFut @DataFutebol]

Ontem viralizou o vídeo do fotógrafo caindo depois do gol do Endrick

Porém mesmo com o tombo, o fotógrafo Sam Robles tirou fotos excelentes! 👏

[Fabrizio Romano @FabrizioRomano]

Endrick. 💥🔫

@CanalWamo 🎥

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@madeinbajor

[Não é o Léo Lins @leolinshumor]

>Alberto Luiz Freitas Monção
>era presidente do PSOL de Timon, no Maranhão
>também era diretor-adjunto de uma creche
>suspeito de abusar sexualmente das crianças da creche
>todas entre dois e três anos
>ele escolhia crianças autistas não-verbais, pra dificultar as denúncias
>foi preso dia 27 de maio
>e você só ficou sabendo por esse post aqui

[Madrid Xtra @MadridXtra]

🚨 OFFICIAL: Endrick is Brazil’s MOTM.

[SE Palmeiras @Palmeiras]

Olha a #CriaDaAcademia aí… 🇧🇷

[Não Intendo @blognaointendo]

Na Argélia, milhares de fogos de artifício foram disparados simultaneamente para celebrar o título do clube de futebol MC Alger. O mais impressionante é que não se trata de inteligência artificial ou de um sistema centralizado: a coordenação aconteceu por meio de redes sociais e grupos de mensagens.

O negócio foi bonito, mas os bombeiros deviam estar tensos kkkkkk

[newscolina @newscolina]

Esquema de aposta tá acabando com o futebol mesmo.

[Olé do Brasil @Oledobrasil]

Na imagem, você vê Endrick, titular absoluto da Seleção Brasileira.

📸 reprodução / ge tv

[هشام محمد القريني @MrHeshamq]

يورغان كلينسمان النجم الألماني السابق يقول قبل مباراة نهائي أوروبا ضد نابولي وأثناء التسخين، شغلوا أغنية Life is life بالملعب .. وبدأ مارادونا يلعب بالكرة على مزاجه والكل مبهور فيه .. السبعين ألف متفرج وإحنا لاعبين الفريق الخصم .. يقول نفسيا خسرنا المباراة في هذه اللحظة.

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@Redblackpill83 Puta cérebro vagabundo, irrecuperável. QI de papel higiênico usado

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@pmarcelo1972 Tinha 18 e foi a copa que mais curti por uma série de razões

Mas contra a Itália alguns pipocaram, infelizmente. O silêncio na rua depois do jogo foi parecido com o do 01/05/1994

[Marcello @MarcelloMusico]

@Futebol_Linhas Tirando os dois gols da final de setenta, história sensacional

Pelé fez 1x0 de cabeça e teve um gol anulado. Os outros três gols foram de Gerson, Jairzinho e Carlos Alberto

O Rei fez dois na final de 58. Com 17 anos...

Inigualável