MT @GWBLibrary: #OTD President George W. Bush presented the Congressional Gold Medal to Tuskegee Airman Earl Middleton, joined by Middleton’s son, Kenny, and family friend, Joy Barnes, Charleston, SC.- July 24, 2007 #HonoringHeroes
https://t.co/eCN3lkTe9L
After careful consideration and reviewing the current eligibility guidelines,
I’m officially declaring myself a @WNBA prospect.
If simply declaring who you are is all that’s required, then I meet every single requirement necessary to compete in the WNBA.
My team and I have carefully examined the WNBA’s eligibility criteria and governing framework surrounding self-identification and inclusion. Based on the current guidelines, I can and am officially declaring my eligibility for the upcoming WNBA draft in April 2027.
I know my presence on the court will stir up strong opinions.
I am definitely not here to mock, make fun of, or disrespect any community or personal choices.
I’m simply asking that the current rules be applied equally to everyone — the rules that represent the very values many WNBA players and coaches have publicly advocated for.
My team and I are prepared to ensure these guidelines are applied equally, consistently, and without exception, and I look forward to the #WNBA honoring its stated principles.
See you at training camp.
https://t.co/zlwWpVF0Ou
I was talking about my weekend plans when my T-38 instructor interrupted me with a question I'd remember for the next 37 years.
We were in the traffic pattern after a formation sortie.
While scanning for traffic I mentioned my plans to go two-stepping that weekend.
He interrupted before I could finish.
"Hey, Urban Cowboy," he growled. "What's the correct airspeed for outside downwind?"
"250 knots,” I said.
"Then why are we at 253?"
Three lousy knots.
I remember thinking, Seriously?
I’d just flown a solid formation sortie. Three knots fast on downwind didn't seem worth mentioning.
During the debrief he handed me a training manual and pointed to a highlighted sentence.
"Read it aloud.”
Several classmates were within earshot, and I felt the heat rise on my face at what was rapidly becoming a semi-public berating.
I swallowed my embarrassment. “Aggressiveness is a persistent unwillingness to accept deviations."
"If you've got the free brain cells to talk about your weekend," he said, "you can maintain 250 knots."
That evening I was at the Officers' Club nursing my wounded ego when he approached carrying two shots of Jeremiah Weed.
He handed me one.
"Don't settle for 'three knots is close enough.'"
We clinked glasses.
Then he poked me in the chest. "You're better than that."
Thirty-seven years later, I can still hear his voice.
That afternoon he taught me the biggest mistakes usually don't begin with dramatic failures.
They begin when we decide three knots is close enough.
🔥HOLY SMOKES!
THIS is what “protect and serve” actually looks like.
“You Go baby!”😅
Georgia State Trooper pulls up on street-racers shutting down traffic, spinning donuts and harming people.
This is NOT Iran and this cop does NOT negotiate!
He drives through the nonsense, pins the car, and puts the fear of God into every last one of them.
One badass cop!
Back the blue 🚔🇺🇸
Alex Golesh says they are moving the team to the Marriott hotel and resort at Robert Trent Jones for 13 days to start camp.
"There are no girlfriends, dogs, cats, whatever guys are into. It's us for the next 13 days, which is huge for us."
Tuberville: "I'll be the governor of Alabama and I promise you we will find out if there's a possibility that we can bring him to Alabama to put him in front of a court and a jury to see if we can put this guy in prison. He killed millions of people, folks."
A brigadier general once unknowingly sat on a hidden remote-controlled fart machine during one of the most serious debriefs of my fighter pilot career.
It happened while I was a captain deployed to Incirlik Air Base, Turkey, in support of Operation Northern Watch.
After a week in theater, I flew a combat search-and-rescue exercise.
The mission was successful.
The debrief was not.
The culprit was a fighter pilot whose callsign is “Bummer.” He was an outstanding aviator. Outside the cockpit, however, Bummer’s judgment occasionally wandered off unsupervised.
Minutes before the debrief, Bummer hid a remote-controlled fart machine inside the computer desk at the front of the room. Of the eighty aviators in the room, every captain was in on the joke.
Every field-grade officer and one unsuspecting brigadier general was not.
We all watched as the mission commander--an A-10 pilot--stepped to the desk.
The room fell silent.
Courtesy of Bummer, the machine did not.
A few majors snickered.
Every lieutenant colonel suddenly became an amateur detective.
A British exchange officer looked embarrassed on behalf of the entire coalition and actually apologized.
Every captain suddenly found his boots fascinating.
A few minutes later the machine struck again. At this point, meaningful learning had largely ceased.
The squadron commander attempted to restore order, but this proved optimistic. Then the situation escalated.
The Brigadier General joined the discussion.
He sat down on the desk …
… directly above the machine.
Every captain froze. We were all thinking the same thing:
Is Bummer actually going to press that button?
Bummer bit the inside of his cheek, smothered a smile, and stared straight ahead.
The general began speaking.
Nothing.
He shifted in his seat.
Nothing.
He leaned back.
Nothing.
By now we were certain Bummer was simply waiting for the perfect moment. Then, without warning, the debrief ended.
The general stood and walked away—unscathed.
Bummer slipped out the back door without retrieving his machine. That night at the O’Club he refused to discuss the incident.
Years later, fighter pilots still debate what happened. Some insist Bummer finally exercised restraint. Others swear the batteries died.
Only I know the truth. I was the last one out of the briefing room.
Lying on the floor near the back row was a small device with a single, red button--Bummer's remote control.
I couldn't resist. I picked it up and pressed the button. For a moment there was silence. Then, from the front of the room, came a sound so magnificent it echoed through the empty briefing room.
The batteries had not died.
To this day, Bummer still doesn't know whether he passed up the funniest moment of his military career...
… or narrowly avoided ending it.
While Obama, Hillary, and Panetta were at Andrews AFB on September 14, 2012 putting on the dignified transfer show for our brothers…
The Annex team and DS team was still in Germany. We got left there on purpose so we couldn’t be at that ceremony.
When we landed at Ramstein, the USO was waiting on the tarmac. They knew we left everything behind in Benghazi, so they had clothes, shoes, socks, and toiletries set up for us.
The Tripoli Embassy people who had all their luggage and plenty of time to pack went through the line first. As we sat there just watching, they took every last damn thing. Socks, Underwear, Pants, Toothpaste, Toothbrushes, Mouthwash, all of it. Looked like flies hoarding on a fresh pile of shit. They couldn’t get to the stuff fast enough. Nothing left for the guys who still had blood on their boots.
As the whole team from Benghazi just sat there looking at these flies, the @The_USO team came up, talked to us, and asked if we were the guys from Benghazi. They left and came back with a couple hundred bucks each on a card so we could go buy clothes and toiletries the next morning, thank GOD!
We got debriefed again in Germany and asked if we wanted to talk to the FBI. We looked at each other this was a terrorist attack. The military should be handling it, not treating it like some criminal case.
We learned about the ceremony and had to watch that whole thing from Germany. Then once their ceremony was over, they came to us and said, “You can go home now… but you got to find and buy your own plane ticket back.”
We watched the whole “it was a video protest that turned into a riot” lie from Germany as well and knew every word of it was bullshit.
That’s what we were doing while they put on the show.
Never forget. Never stop telling the truth.
#alwaysmoveforward #benghazi #tig #13hours
In the C-17, we would practice assault (short field) go around after touchdown, called GOATs. It was a way to practice precise touchdowns in the 1st 500 feet, then go around thus saving the brake wear and time involved. Thus, rarely do you see a C-17 tailstrike on go around because of the familiarity.