christina spinelli

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@halliecou @FoxTrueCrime Me too!

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

Happy Birthday mom; there are no words to describe how much I miss you. Somewhere there you are with your eyes shining so blue and maybe someday all our dreams will come true-I love you💕❤️💕

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

March Madness, at its finest! UCONN never quit and never gave up. Great post, so true in all of our lives. Mullins was so poised🏀💕@BStulberg

[Brad Stulberg @BStulberg]

You’re never out until you’re out.

Play the game in front of you. Not the game you wanted to happen. Not the game that just happened. Not the game you hoped would happen. But the game that is happening.

It's a remarkable lesson for basketball, for all of sport, and really, for all of life.

In the Elite 8 of the NCAA tournament, the UConn Huskies came out flat against the No. 1 seed Duke.

The Huskies trailed by 15 at halftime.

No. 1 seeds were 134-0 all time in the NCAA tournament when leading by 15 or more points at halftime.

That’s across the entire NCAA tournament history. Every round. Every year.

UConn had every reason to give up. But they simply refused. Most people check out when the odds turn against them. But UConn never stopped playing to win.

Their big man Tarris Reed Jr. put the Huskies on his back. He played incredibly on both sides of the ball.

The Huskies cut the lead to 13. Then to 11. Then to 7. Then to 5. And then, in the final seconds of the game, they cut the lead to two.

Duke inbounded the ball, UConn pressured and forced a turnover. With less than a second on the clock, Braylon Mullins—who had shot 0 for 4 from three—put up a deep 3 from the logo, and nailed it.

UConn 73. Duke 72.

134-1.

After the game, UConn coach Dan Hurley said this about Mullins:

"The courage. You have a young man, he's a rare human being. The toughness about him, to take the shot, on a tough shooting night, but he was due."

It was an off night. And yet with everything on the line you have no choice but to pull the trigger. Shooters shoot. That's confidence in the process.

March Madness is an ultimate test of emotional regulation. Over 3 weeks and 6 games, nothing ever goes to plan.

You prepare. You practice. You visualize. Then stuff happens.

The difference between those who collapse and those who rise? How they respond, especially when things don’t go their way.

What's true in basketball is true in life.

It's easy when everything is going your way. But things will go wrong. You'll fall behind. The score won't look good. Most people check out when the odds turn against them.

UConn never stopped playing their hardest.

Not when they were down 19. Not when they were 1 for 11 from three. Not when history said it was over.

It’s called having a next play mentality:

You can't control what already happened. You can't control the score. You can only control the next play.

One stop. One bucket. One possession at a time.

That's how you erase a historical deficit against the No. 1 team in the country. It's how you work through the biggest challenges in life too.

Excellence does not mean control. It does not mean perfection. It means refusing to quit on yourself when the situation looks hopeless. It means trusting your preparation even when nothing is falling.

It means playing the game in front of you. Not the game you wanted. Not the game you hoped for. The game that is happening.

Stay in the arena. Play the next play.

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@CrazyVibes_1 Wow, very nice! Good job 💕

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@MrPitbull07 Beautiful; thank you Raymond💕🙏🏼

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.

Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.

One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.

Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.

Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"

"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."

He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."

The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."

Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.

But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,

"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."

So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.

Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."

Let this story reach more hearts....

Credit: Mary Nelson

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@MichaelWilkie9 So true Mike!!

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@BurrowToAndrei I will pray for you; you are so brave. Not an easy road; you are in my thoughts and prayers! 🙏🏼

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@trustgodbrah Amen🙏🏼💕

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@CamCarignan @CoachFlipSJSU @coach__twalk @SanJoseStateBSB Congrats Cameron; good for you💕

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@sarahwroblewski ❤️🙏🏼❤️

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

💕🙏🏼💕

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

Stay strong Declan; you, like so many, are the bravest warriors that I have ever known.

❤️🙏🏼❤️

#keepfighting

[Sarah Wroblewski @sarahwroblewski]

11 months into his battle so far… *down* to 18.5 pills a day & 4 liquid medications. Learning to walk again… He’s not stopping & is rooting for everyone riding 🚴 the @PanMass this weekend! We thank you!🙏 #PanMass2024 #FindACure #BrainCancer #DeclanStrong🎗💛 #ThumbsUpForDec👍

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

I totally agree; having any man compete against a woman is totally unfair and should never happen.

Unacceptable, inequitable and dangerous!

[Oli London @OliLondonTV]

Olympic gold medalist Caitlyn Jenner slams Paris Olympics, branding it ‘Shameful’ for allowing a biological male to fight a female boxer.

“Men don’t belong in women’s sports, period.”

Jenner, who won a gold medal for decathlon at the 1976 Montreal Olympics, slammed the IOC for allowing Imane Khelif, who is biologically male, to fight against Angela Carini.

“I’ve been saying this for years; Men don’t belong in women’s sports, period.
Watching what the IOC allowed to happen (the women beat the hell out of by men) in boxing is SHAMEFUL! Shame on the IOC for letting men compete in women’s boxing events!”

-@Caitlyn_Jenner

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

@realTrumpNewsX Yes!!!

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

Congratulations Cam; I am so proud of you💕⚾️
#hardworkpaysoff
@CamCarignan @LAcarignan4 @Lisacarignan4

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

Derrick White had ZERO D-I scholarship offers out of HS.

▪Went from scout team to All-American at the D-II level
▪Transferred and played one season at Colorado (D-I)
▪Used his first NBA contract to pay off student loans

@DWhiteDFS @celticslife @BostonCeItlcs @celtics
💯🏀

[Savage @Savageboston]

Pastrnak legacy game.

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

Getting ready for a new day, new start!

Last week, I was honored to work with so many amazing students during February Acceleration Academy!

My week focused on The Power of Circles - El Poder De Los Circulos.

Bringing students together💕❤️

#inclusivity
@LPS_Education

[christina spinelli @christina10spin]

I am sorry for your loss; what a beautiful tribute to your dad!

Clearly, he was “one of the best”!

What a good man and words to live by for all…

“I believe my father taught me the keys to life: Love your wife. Love your children. And do whatever it takes for them.”

🙏🏼💕RIP

[Kevin Devaney Jr. @KDJmedia1]

This is my favorite picture of my father and I. It’s from 3 years ago, in his favorite place (Cancun, Mexico) on his 71st birthday. As you can see, the man had great hair and loved a good vacation shirt.

Early yesterday morning, Kevin Devaney Sr. passed away after months of health complications. He was 74.

While I never imagined I’d ever feel ready to let go, it was his time. He was struggling badly, especially in the final few days. We all got to see him and say our own goodbyes. He’s in a better place now. My mother and my two sisters are at peace.

Very few really knew my dad. I used to think that he and I were nothing alike. He had almost no interest in sports. He didn’t play golf. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter. He was quiet and rarely social. He kept an extremely low profile and a tight circle. My mother was his best friend. Maybe even, his only friend.

But as I’ve gotten older, I realized how similar we truly are. I learned to appreciate those qualities. I’ve never known anyone who worked harder, was more loyal and trusting, or cared more about providing for the people he loved. He was honest. He was genuine. He loved to tell a good story. The only thing he ever bragged about was his kids. All of the things I ever want to be in life, my father was. He was, and always will be, my idol.

Here’s the greatest thing I can tell you about my dad:

My parents 57 years ago today. They left home at 18 years old with almost no money to their name. As people did in the 1960s, they started off for San Francisco to begin a life together.

At 23, they had their first child, my sister Karen. During delivery, there were complications and she was soon diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. Doctors told my parents that Karen would never be normal. She had severe brain damage and physical disabilities. My dad didn’t blink. He decided then to not only devote his whole existence to caring for and protecting Karen — knowing he would face the unimaginable challenges of parenting a child with disabilities — he wanted to build a family around her.

Soon, my sister Erin and I came along. We learned young about sacrifice and feeling grateful for everything in life. My mother spoiled us. She still does. But my dad’s main focus in life, 51 years later up until the moment he died, was always on my sister Karen.

My dad built a successful business. He moved us from a cramped two-bedroom apartment and into a house we dreamed about. He took us on vacations, gave us unforgettable Christmas mornings, got us cars when we turned 16 and put us through college. He always ensured my mom got all the credit. As the son of Irish immigrants, he was the American Dream. We never wanted for anything. He sacrificed to provide an amazing life for us and asked for absolutely nothing in return.

I’m 43 now and I believe my father taught me the keys to life: Love your wife. Love your children. And do whatever it takes for them.

KDS never wanted attention for anything. But for one day, I’d like to give it to him.

Nothing makes me prouder than looking at the “Jr” at the end of my name. I hope I made him proud, too.

RIP Dad.