Fi

#thfc #gufc ⚽️

[Fi @FifitotM]

James is 16 today ! This is the moment he got his present …

[Rktweets @RKTweets]

Never seen this before. But the kit, waddle and hoddle doing bits and martin Tyler. Used to be a proper side!

[Fi @FifitotM]

@N17Nose I’m over for Dortmund match - don’t get over much tbh with flights and all that and then we play shite - 🙄😩

[Fi @FifitotM]

@N17Nose How about yourself? It’s been years!!

[Fi @FifitotM]

@N17Nose I am very well thank you ☺️

[Fi @FifitotM]

@N17Nose Well Mr Nose 👃🏼

[Paul Coyte @Coytey]

😢

[Tottenham Hotspur @SpursOfficial]

Tottenham Hotspur has today launched a campaign to commemorate 125 years since we became the first and only ever non-league club to win the FA Cup.

To commemorate the historic achievement, our Men’s First Team will wear a special edition 1901 kit during tomorrow’s FA Cup third round tie against Aston Villa.

🔗 https://t.co/qVpaY5yLln

[Historic Vids @historyinmemes]

In 1705, an Irish woman named Margorie McCat was thought to have died of a fever and was hastily buried to prevent contagion. She was interred wearing a valuable ring that her husband John, a physician, could not remove because her swollen finger made it impossible, drawing the attention of grave robbers.

That very night, before the earth had fully settled, body snatchers began digging up the grave. Unable to slip the ring free, they attempted to cut off her finger. When blood flowed, Margorie suddenly revived from a coma, sat upright, and screamed. Accounts differ on the robbers’ fate, though one claims they fled in terror and abandoned their trade.

Margorie climbed out of the grave and walked home. Hearing a knock, John reportedly joked that if his wife were alive, he would swear it was her. Opening the door to find Margorie in burial clothes, bleeding but alive, he collapsed from shock and died. He was later buried in the grave prepared for her.

Margorie went on to remarry and have several children. When she eventually died years later, she was buried at Shankill Cemetery in Lurgan, Ireland. Her headstone bears the inscription: “Lived Once, Buried Twice.”

[80s Kidz @80s_Kidz]

MTV officially shut down its 24-hour music channels yesterday. They ended their final broadcast with 'Video killed the radio star' by The Buggles, the very first video broadcasted by MTV on August 1st, 1981.

[𝑺 @SZYComps]

forever on repeat 🎶 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

[Fi @FifitotM]

@jamesfahey15 Happy Christmas to you and your family James x

[Camus @newstart_2024]

A 7-year-old boy in a Serbia torn by war built a Wimbledon trophy out of cardboard and slept with it every night.

29 years later – exactly 29 – that same boy, now 36, stood on the Roland-Garros center court holding the real thing… as the greatest player who ever lived, with 23 Grand Slams in his arms.

Then Novak Djokovic did something unforgettable.
He stopped his victory speech, looked straight into the camera, and gave every kid on earth the most powerful 55 seconds of motivation you’ll ever hear:

“I had the power to create my own destiny.
I don’t just believe — I FEEL it with every cell in my body.
To every young person watching:
Forget what happened in the past.
The future doesn’t just happen.
YOU create it.
Take the means in your hands.
Visualize it.
Feel it.
Build it.”

From a war-torn balcony with a borrowed racket…
to the top of the world.

If he can do THAT, imagine what YOU can do.

Save this clip.
Play it when life feels heavy.
It hits harder every single time.

[HotspurReports. @hotspurreports]

Don’t ever blame our fanbase.

We have supported manger, after manager. Of course we will do the same to Frank, but players who don’t look like they play for the badge, you won’t go unheard.

This is the reception you get when your team fights.

[Vinnie Sullivan @VinnieSull1van]

Stick your head through times window and witness Tottenham Hotspur’s former White Hart Lane ground in North London during the 1980s. Like most sights of @BygoneBritain, it looks a damn sight more relatable than the new stadiums do today. @Lost___London ⏳️

[Fi @FifitotM]

@BestinDogs There is no other name… HAS to be Rolo !
She is gorgeous !

[Galway GAA Official @Galway_GAA]

Forvis Mazars Senior Hurling Championship Semi-Finals weekend!

🗓️Saturday October 18th
📍Pearse Stadium Double Header

🕠5:45PM @CraughwellGAA v @StThomassHC
🕢7.30PM @turloughmorehc v @LoughreaHurling

Match Tickets now on Sale 🎟️
https://t.co/yGuH4brqux

Our Special Guests are the All-Ireland winning Senior and U23 @GalwayCamogie96 teams 🏆

Full Details⤵️

[Travis Akers 🇺🇸 @travisakers]

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

[James Maddison @Madders10]

5pm TOMORROW @youtube 🚨 Behind the scenes into the first few weeks of ACL surgery and rehab. Trying to show you guys exactly what happens behind the scenes in a situation like this. Hope you all enjoy🤍