Matthew Smith

Know your worth! Know what your goals are! Invest in yourself!

150 days until NFL RedZone returns

Zack Wheeler pitches for the Fightin Phils TONIGHT!!

Wishing a Happy Easter to all who celebrate! 🐰

Couldn't paint a better picture

Happy Autism Acceptance Month!💚 We are proud to celebrate inclusion, advocacy, and neurodiversity acceptance 365-days a year!

NEW: NBC will broadcast Jim Cornelison’s National Anthem before the Bears / Rams game this Sunday night. SNF Broadcaster @miketirico shared the news with @WaddleandSilvy on @ESPN1000 and said… “That’s the best anthem you’re going to get at any game in any year.” 🇺🇸 🐻 ⬇️

So we’re just not watching Monday Night Football huh? I’m not buying another streaming subscription…

A lil something to celebrate 4⃣ straight dubs Repost for the chance to win a @DAndreSwift signed mini helmet

On the road. Refs wanted us to lose. Broadcast wanted us to lose. This team found a way to win. 3-2 🐻⬇️

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 The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.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

Can't end the regular season without giving a huge shoutout to these two!

JJ McCarthy after getting the ref to extend drives multiple times

Your 2025 Captains 🫡

NBC Sports Philadelphia will show Jhoan Duran’s full intro live during evening home games for the rest of the season, per @RobTornoe.

No words.

The best entrance in baseball meets the best atmosphere in baseball 🔥

Redemption.

Per Stathead, @CALEBcsw is the only rookie QB in @NFL history to pass for over 3,500 yards, with 20+ Passing TDs, 6 or fewer INTs, and over 400 Rushing Yards in a season. There are 4 QBs in total, including Williams, that have done it. Williams joins Jackson (2024), Allen (2024), and Hurts (2022). Two of them are current MVP candidates, and Hurts was an All-Pro, Pro Bowler, who finished 2nd in MVP voting and 3rd in OPoY voting in 2022. @ChicagoBears #Bears

@jacobinfante24 *That you know of

As bad as the McCaskeys can be, at least they’ve never stopped the #Bears from making a trade due to someone’s goddamn Madden rating

Pinkies up ☕️