Deane Funk

@Aella_Girl Including lingu

i have never had anal sex

@MattLeinartQB Baseball.

Which sport requires the most athleticism overall?

@JacobsVegasLife It's not.

Why Las Vegas is Better Than Los Angeles 1⃣ Less Traffic 2⃣ Cheaper Cost of Living 3⃣ More Entertainment Options 4⃣ Better Mexican Food

@FightOnRusty No.

USC would break the internet if they released a white helmet to go with their traditional white uniforms 🥶❄️ What do you think about USC making a slight change to their uniforms? ✌🏻

@Microinteracti1 @neal_katyal The resonant truth of that is just heartwrenching, capturing the tears of foreboding I felt when I cried my eyes out election day 2016, and the helplessness and furious anger I've felt as people I've known since we were teens have been complicit against long declared values.

Robert Mueller died last night. He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving. He had integrity. And tonight the President of the United States said good! I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good. I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word. Good. This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather. That is what is happening. That is what has happened. The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming. America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner. And the church said nothing. Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary. Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him. Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart. JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn. These men are something more painful than monsters. They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again. Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing. Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less. That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him. And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it. When Trump is gone, they will still be here. Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous. That morning is coming. Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say. He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true. He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad. The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it. That is all it needed to be. A man died. His family is broken open with grief. That is all it needed to be. Instead the President said good. And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸 Gandalv / @Microinteracti1

@OleTimeHardball Redskins.

One pro sports logo returns Who gets the nod?

@OleTimeHardball Nolan Ryan is not even top 100. .500 pitcher, didn't win when it really mattered.

Top 50 baseball players of All-Time Too high: J. Robinson, Rose, Ryan, Jeter Too low: Bench, Schmidt, Speaker

@historyrock_ This sounds like a pile of steaming horseshit.

Quincy Jones on The Beatles

@nut_history Manny Mota.

When I say “pinch hitter” who’s the first player that pops in your head?

@JakeOlson61 @jostendorp68 And let's not forget that Todd McNair took the brunt of the penalty-- unfairly-- and it ruined his career. So pleased he sued the NCAA and won. The most egregious offense the NCAA did to any school, in part because Mike Garrett was an A-hole, too.

@jostendorp68 Absolutely

People always ask me if I knew USC was paying players back when I was around the team and was a player, and my answer is always the same: honestly, no — we weren’t. After the NCAA dropped unprecedented, program‑altering sanctions on USC because of a non‑affiliated, wannabe agent who gave benefits to Reggie Bush’s parents, USC had no choice but to go by the book in every possible way. Everyone in college football knew the truth: other big programs were paying players and everyone looked the other way. But not USC. Not after what happened. The NCAA, the media, and rival programs watched USC like a hawk. Compliance wasn’t just a department — it was a lifestyle. We refused to even sniff the line, let alone cross it. And here’s the part that always blows people’s minds: we all knew Alabama was paying players. Everybody did. It was the worst‑kept secret in college football. But USC? We were the one school that absolutely couldn’t. We were under a microscope while other programs operated in broad daylight. As long as I live, I won’t be able to say enough how unfairly and badly the NCAA treated USC — and how those sanctions reshaped not just our program, but the entire landscape of college football. And now, with players from other schools openly admitting what everyone already knew… it just makes the whole thing even more frustrating. USC wasn’t paying players. We couldn’t. We were the example the NCAA chose to make.

@Mr_Husky1 Maybe he mistook it for a $20?

My husby and I went out to dinner last night, and the bill came out to $200. I left a $50 tip on the table, thinking that was pretty reasonable. But the waiter looked at it and flat-out refused to take it. ​He told us that if we weren’t willing to leave at least $85, we shouldn’t be eating out in the first place. ​I was honestly caught off guard. I felt embarrassed sitting there, like we’d done something wrong. We weren’t trying to be cheap or disrespectful — I genuinely thought $50 was a fair tip for that bill. Now I keep replaying the whole thing in my head, wondering if I misjudged it and questioning whether $50 really wasn’t enough.😱 By Angela mcnutt

@nut_history Vince Young, though his knee hit, running into the end zone to win 2005 BCS .

What's sporting event had you like this this?

@MikeHiserman @sethmoulton @CNN You're babbling yourself...

I typically focus on the idiotic statements of our CA leadership, but having just listened to @sethmoulton on @CNN it’s clear that babbling dolts exist from coast to coast. Hi Doug.

@PeriklesGREAT She's hot.

First thought when you see an interracial couple ??

@HawkEmDownChris Nolan Ryan, a .500 pitcher, only won when it didn't matter.

Who’s the most overrated athlete of all time?

The history books quietly bypassed is that Barack Obama, during the most pressure-saturated nights of his presidency, would retreat alone to the Treaty Room on the second floor of the White House residence — not to strategize, not to take calls, but to handwrite personal letters to ten ordinary American citizens every single night, a practice he maintained with almost monastic devotion across all eight years, selecting the letters himself from the 40,000 that arrived daily at the White House, and his longtime correspondence director Fiona Reese confirmed that Obama would often weep privately while reading certain letters, folding them carefully before writing responses so personally detailed and emotionally present that recipients frequently described the experience of receiving them as the most significant moment of their lives, with one Ohio steelworker writing back to say that Obama's letter had physically stopped him from making a decision that would have permanently altered his family's future. What makes this practice almost unbearably moving is the detail that surfaced later — Obama never used a computer for these letters, always a black felt-tip pen, always legal yellow paper first as a draft, always rewritten onto White House stationery by hand a second time, because he believed, as he told historian Doris Kearns Goodwin in a rare private conversation later recounted in her 2018 work, that the physical act of pressing pen to paper forced a quality of attention that typing simply could not replicate, a philosophy rooted in his years as a constitutional law professor at the University of Chicago from 1992 to 2004 where he developed the conviction that democracy only functions when its leaders remain genuinely, uncomfortably close to the specific gravity of individual human suffering rather than processing it from behind the insulating distance of institutions and screens."

The most all time Olympic medals by school!

@greenfield64 It's as though everyone forgets that the Jays were inches from winning it all; that the Brewers were nearly as close, as were Mariners. The Dodgers winning was as close to a miracle as sports gets. No reason that a cap is necessary, especially with payrolls of Mets/Yankees.

@Roger774501171 Willie Davis.

We all the know the household names at Center Fielders from past to present.But give me some names of some tremendous Center Fielders ,that don’t get enough love. I’ll start off with two Paul Blair Devon white