Passionate DC native, sports fan & Hoya Alum. Time spent in SFO, CLT, DFW and RIC. Sports brings people together and provides valuable life lessons. Dog lover.
5/18 🤔’s from Albuquerque
🌵🏜️🥵
We live in a world that constantly asks, "What are you doing with your life?" But maybe the better question is, "How are you living it?" You don't have to turn your existence into a performance.
You're allowed to walk slowly, notice small joys, laugh often, and simply participate in life without constantly trying to prove your value. Just take your time. I don’t know his many years I have left in my life however I’m focused on putting more life in the years I have left.
Let me give you an example of how conscious I was about living a life to please everyone else and neglecting myself……
I spent money I didn’t have to buy things I didn’t need to impress people I didn’t like.
🤷♂️🤷♂️🤷♂️🤷♂️
Brilliant!
Make a difference today
Love Clint
I was on the cover of Sports Illustrated at 20 years old before I'd played a full season in the big leagues.
I walked into my local 7-Eleven one morning, put a honey bun and a quart of milk on the counter, looked down, and saw my own face staring back at me.
I walked out without buying either one.
What followed was 10 years of trying to live up to something I hadn't earned yet. I wanted to please everybody in the stadium.
Make every scout right. Justify the cover.
Turns out that's the fastest way to please nobody, including yourself.
By the time I became a manager, there wasn't much a player could bring into my office that I hadn't already walked through myself.
In a league of killers, Jalen Brunson is one of the best winners of his generation. He won two chips at Villanova in three years, and he's made the New York Knicks into NBA champions. At 6-foot-1-ish. He's a great, GREAT basketball player.
June 9, 1978: Tens of thousands of fans greet the NBA World Champion Washington Bullets as the team parades throughout the D.C. area, holding celebrations at Capital Centre, The White House and RFK Stadium.
📺 WTOP-TV
82 years ago nearly all of the men on the first few boats that landed on the beach in Normandy were dead before days end.
Sit here with that for a while.
Look at them.
Really look at them.
Look into their eyes.
Many of them are boys, they are someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s sweetheart someone’s father.
They never came home.
And every privilege, every convenience, every freedom and every little thing that you want to bitch about you have because of them and they paid the ultimate price for you to have those freedoms. #dday #FreedomIsNeverFree
Underrated life advice: Spend more time with people older than you. Your 60-year-old neighbor has already made most of the mistakes you're about to make. They'll save you years if you let them.
Tonight, as I do every year at this time, I’ll be raising a glass to a scared young man, who 82 years ago was preparing to go ashore on the beaches of Normandy as part of an event code-named Operation Overlord.
D-Day.
I can’t imagine what was going through his mind. I’d be scared to death and I’m sure he was too. But in that first wave was a 21-year-old Private First Class from Henry County, VA by the name of Allen Homer Sink.
Fortunately, he would survive that initial wave, participate in battle until it ended in August, then come home to marry and raise a family of four, including two daughters after the war ended.
He would also become my father-in-law until his death in 2006.
His nickname for some reason was “Hank” and when I asked him how he got it, he said some guy in the Army said he “looked like a Hank.” From the time I first met him, he was a salt-of-the-earth man who was never afraid of anything. He was a carpenter by trade, and he’d stand up on the tallest roofs, grab bumblebees with his bare hands when they tried to persuade him to move elsewhere, and never be bothered by anything.
His hands were tough and leathery, but he was a softie. He spoiled his children, complained when my mother-in-law would gripe about something involving one of his alleged misdeeds, and always thought he was fooling everybody when he snuck around the back of the house and lit a cigarette, a habit everyone opposed but he could never part himself from.
He could talk your ear off for hours at a time, and I always suggested he become a greeter at Wal-Mart when he retired because then he could talk all day to strangers and none of them would – like his wife and daughters often did – tell him to be quiet for a few moments. Yet for all his love of talking, there was one subject he just wouldn’t discuss.
June 6, 1944. Omaha Beach.
In 1998, when he was 76 years old, the subject came up again. The movie “Saving Private Ryan” came out and the beginning was gruesome. Reviews said it was incredibly realistic to what really happened that day. I asked Hank if he wanted to go see it.
“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t ever want to see any of that again.”
He did offer that he remembered the night before when troops were loaded into the boats for the amphibious assault. He said it was raining and that once everyone was in place, they gave everybody ice cream and told them to try to get some sleep. Then the next thing he knew, they were waking everybody up telling them to stay low and head for the beach.
No, that doesn’t sound like somebody drugged the ice cream. Not at all.
That’s all he would say about the subject, and he never said another word about it until the final months of his life. Alzheimer’s would gradually rob him of his mind, and as his condition deteriorated, memories of the past would briefly spill out. One evening he thought I was his commanding officer and he was back at Normandy. It is the only time I ever saw him where he appeared to be scared. Ever.
It reminds me every day of something I had unknowingly taken for granted. The greatest generation did fight in and win World War II, then did incredible things over the next 50 to 60 years after the war. But many carried unspeakable memories from the War, ones they would never talk about and carry inside them to their graves. Those veterans lost a piece of themselves in battle they would never, ever, get back.
I mean, how can you at the tender age of 21 storm a beach, see friends die only a few feet from you, wonder each night if you will wake up alive the next morning and then return home a year later and try to pick up on the same normal life you had before you left? I told him once that after seeing “Saving Private Ryan”, I understood why he was never afraid of anything; after you’ve made it through something like that, everything else pales in comparison.
So tonight, I raise a glass to Hank and the 150,000-plus men, who like my father-in-law, were very young, very scared, and still charged that beach, paying a price that even for the survivors would last the rest of their days.
Rest In Peace...
@Charlottean28 Thanks for posting this. I was 10 years old and either I fell asleep, the game was on tape delay or both. I just remember waking up the next morning and my neighborhood playground crew couldn’t stop talking about it (and this was in DC)! All time classic game.
Half of the starters in the NBA Finals are out of the Big East:
Knicks:
Jalen Brunson (Villanova)
Mikal Bridges (Villanova)
Josh Hart (Villanova)
Spurs:
Stephon Castle (Connecticut)
Julian Champagnie (St. John’s)
The Sentinels of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier stand guard day and night, rain or shine, at @ArlingtonNatl. Here are five facts about this elite position within the @USArmyOldGuard, a role few can claim. (1/7) 🧵
📸 Elizabeth Fraser, Arlington National Cemetery