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Zach
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25 YEARS AGO, TODAY
@steveaustinBSR . @TheRock . ‘My Way’ by Limp Bizkit
Never gets old. Still generates goosebumps. The greatest hype video for the greatest rivalry in WrestleMania history. Put this on a loop all day
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Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi

Crazy story at yesterdays @Mets game - Guy in section 121 had a heart attack and his wife started frantically yelling for help or a doctor or nurse to come over - One random guy in the section who said he was neither started doing chest compressions and saved the mans life. Eventually paramedics showed up to take over and assist the fallen man. The hero went back to his seat, sat down and watched the rest of the game with zero fanfare or attention. He just wanted to watch the Mets win. When the game ended he walked out like nothing had happened. Don't know his name but he saved a mans life and is a hero.
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Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi

Six weeks after September 11, 2001, twelve American soldiers were quietly loaded onto a helicopter in Uzbekistan and flown over the Hindu Kush mountains in the dead of night.
No tanks. No armored vehicles. No air support waiting on the ground.
Just twelve Green Berets, over a hundred pounds of gear each, and a mission that their own commanders privately doubted any of them would survive.
They landed in a remote Afghan village called Dehi, in the pitch black, surrounded by a country they barely had maps for.
And then someone handed them horses.
Not metaphorically. Actual horses — Afghan stallions, tough as nails and famously difficult to control. Wooden saddles covered in carpet scraps. Stirrups so short their knees rode up around their ears.
Captain Mark Nutsch, who'd grown up on a cattle ranch in Kansas and competed in collegiate rodeos, became trail boss on the spot. For the other ten men on his team — Operational Detachment Alpha 595 of the 5th Special Forces Group — the learning curve was immediate and unforgiving. The first words one of his sergeants learned in Dari were: "How do you make him stop?"
They had linked up with General Abdul Rashid Dostum, a Northern Alliance warlord who controlled thousands of fighters and knew this territory like the back of his hand. The deal was simple: the Americans would call in precision airstrikes from horseback. Dostum's cavalry would do the charging. Together, they would take Mazar-i-Sharif — a Taliban stronghold of 250,000 people — and crack open northern Afghanistan.
Military planners had estimated it would take two years.
Task Force Dagger gave ODA 595 three weeks.
For 23 days of nearly continuous combat, the Horse Soldiers lived like men from a different century. They ate what the Afghans ate. They slept on the ground in freezing mountain passes. They rode trails so narrow and sheer that one wrong step meant a thousand-foot drop. Staff Sergeant Will Summers started the mission at 185 pounds. He left Afghanistan five weeks later weighing 143.
The Taliban had tanks. Soviet-era armor, antiaircraft guns, fortified positions dug into the mountains. Against this, twelve Americans on horseback radioed coordinates to aircraft circling invisibly above, and watched the positions erupt.
On November 9, 2001, they rode into the kind of moment that people are not supposed to experience in the modern world.
Nutsch and his team joined hundreds of Dostum's horsemen in a thundering cavalry charge across an open plain — directly into entrenched Taliban lines. Under fire. At a gallop. Calling in close air support between strides.
It was the first cavalry charge of the 21st century.
It was also the last.
The next day, Mazar-i-Sharif fell. The Taliban's northern stronghold collapsed. Within weeks, the regime itself began to unravel — a domino effect that started with twelve men and borrowed horses in the mountains.
All twelve of them came home.
Zero American fatalities. Against a fortified enemy that outnumbered and outgunned them at every turn.
Today, across from Ground Zero in New York City, there is a bronze statue — sixteen feet tall — of a Special Forces soldier on horseback, rifle across his lap, looking west. It honors ODA 595 and the teams who rode with them.
Most Americans walk past it every day without knowing the story.
Now you do.

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Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi

you only get:
1 summer with them as a baby
3 as a toddler
5 as a child
3 as a preteen
6 as a teen
so let them run barefoot,
turn on the sprinkler,
cut up the watermelon,
chase fireflies under fading golden skies
because the summers of sticky hands, sun tired kids, and slow evenings filled with the sounds of childhood
do not last forever 🤍
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Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi
Zach retweetledi

Sixteen years ago, one man stood alone on a grassy hill at a music festival in Washington State, USA, and started dancing by himself. People glanced over and looked away. Some laughed. His roommate leaned in and warned him people were filming him.
He did not stop.
Then one stranger got up and joined him.
Then another.
Then the hillside tipped. Within minutes, hundreds of people were sprinting from across the field to be part of something that, thirty seconds earlier, had been one man being laughed at in a field.
Someone filming from higher up the hill said quietly: "See what one man can do. One man can change the world."
The clip spread across the internet in 2009. Entrepreneur Derek Sivers played it at a TED conference to explain how movements actually begin. Not with the first person brave enough to start, he argued, but with the first person willing to join them.
Collin Wynter, the man dancing alone, later said he had no idea he had done anything special. He was just tired of watching everyone sit still.
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