Wednesday, November 07, 2007
The Important Matter of Bad Nicknames
A long time ago, "little Fly" was a kick ass baseball player, a pitcher of course.
I must have been 12 years old, on the mound, striking batters out--as usual.
Then, all of a sudden, my Mother started screaming from the stands-- a nickname that I had never heard before.
Much to my chagrin, she was cheering: "go Scooter go, go Scooter gooo!"
What the fuck!
As you know, being the rock star little league pitcher that I was, this was an alarming turn of events--having my own Mother heckle me, with queer nicknames, from the stands.
I stepped off the mound and gave my Mother one of the looks--but it was too late.
The other team had caught on, appreciating the femininity of this nickname, and began chanting "Scooter."
Being the level headed pre-teen that I was, I planned to ignore them, while mowing down their bullshit lineup.
But, then it happened.
The Scooter shit reached a fevered pitch, with laughter everywhere, making "little Fly" embarrassed/agitated.
I stepped off the fucking mound and threw a fastball into the opposing teams dugout, screaming: "fuck you assholes."
Shortly thereafter, "little Fly" was removed from the game, kicking and screaming, ordered to leave the ball park.
As I walked home with my Mother, all I heard was "Scooter, Scooter."
The first kid I hit in the ribs and he dropped like he was shot with a gun, crying and screaming.
The next kid I hit in the calf and he jumped around and hobbled like he had lost his leg.
The last guy I hit was already bailing out of the batter's box but I still managed to hit him in the thigh. I felt so bad but I had absolutely no control.
I recall my coach coming out to the mound and just telling me to slow down my pitches and get the ball over the plate.
I then proceeded to strike out the next 3 batters with my curveball as they were all totally scared of getting drilled.
Suffice it to say that I did not come out and pitch the next inning, however.
As a kid, I threw unmercifully hard but had absolutely ZERO control as a pitcher. If I'd have hit a kid in the dome they'd likely have hauled my ass to jail for murder.
Thank God I ended up in centerfield ...
Lenny Dykstra? No.
Speaking of which, how in the world did that guy ever get around to giving stock market advice - moreover - how in the world did ANYONE in their right mind ever decide to listen to what he had to say about the markets ?
I have nothing personally against Dykstra whatsoever other than to say that I care little as to what stocks he likes or dislikes.
Freshman year, I wanted to play football. Coach said sure, come to our walk on. Unfortunately, there was only one position available to try out for: right guard. Coach was worried I would get hurt. I was 1/3 the size of the other linemen. I looked ridiculous.
Fuckers made fun of me. Said they were gonna kill me. Snorted and snuffed. Called me names. Especially Paul Chacon, a 400 lbs latino who was rumored to be in a "gang."
What these dicks, including Paul, didnt realize was:
a) I rode my 40 lbs Schwinn 10 speed for hours a day in the foothills of Boulder.
b) I understood space alien concepts like "leverage."
c) I wanted to hurt them, because I was an angry young man.
d) I had something to prove.
First play off scrimmage I tore a ligament in Paul's right knee. Chopped him down with my space alien lower body leverage. Second play I bit someone. Third play I started a fight with the star quarterback because he "wasn't doing his job."
Started every game. We went 7-0. To this day coach still uses me as a lesson on heart, crazy, and also...leverage.
To this day Paul Chacon is probably pushing a broom with a limp.
I went to Summerville High School, of coach John MiKissick fame. Winningest coach in HS football history. I hated all things football in HS because that's all Summerville was.
It's a great Costanza play at a mere 30 Price to sales and 100 TTM PE (forward is over 60)
Growing up, whenever school got called on account of snow, I'd walk to the park with a basketball in one hand and a snow shovel in the other. I'd scoop the snow off the court, then proceed to burn the net off the rim until dark even though I was freezing my ass off. Everyone thought I was nuts.
But it eventually paid off.
During the state tournament, we scored to tie the game with about a minute to go. The opposing team "surprised" us with a full court press. They gave me the ball. I started to dribble upcourt and got trapped near the sideline. The guys who trapped me made the fatal error of fouling me. The opposing team's coach went ballistic, screaming at the refs that I wasn't fouled. He got slapped with a technical.
I went to the line. Of course, I made the first two shots. I looked at my coach to see if he wanted me to shoot the two shots for the technical. He gave me the nod. Of course, I made those two shots as well. Then when we brought the ball inbounds, the fuckers immediately fouled me again. Of course, I made those two shots as well. So, I scored 6 points and only two seconds had ticked off the clock. True story.
And nobody ever called me Scooter, or Chuckie.
Apparently nobody wants to Own WM or COF
10% Div WM. The only problem is you lose 50% of principal.
Normally it would seem stupid to buy a stock with htose multiple, but it seems the general China rule is stock with 100 P/Es go to 200. And those with 200 go to 300.
So it is likely a screaminbg buy here.
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