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Everything posted by AHamilton

  1. He was on the national team in 2000 however, and he had beaten McCoy. And why would an ex-NFL player try to make a world team? The money?
  2. Also scrambling with Spencer. Askren had him rated as the best scrambler in NCAA in 2020, I think. JB conditioning for a fast twitch guy Brands brothers- technique. This is according to Bruce Burnett. What technique is better than being able to snap a guy down and run behind. Dennis Hall says Terry's club made him feel like he had been electrically shocked from neck to tailbone... and it was a matter of technique and not brute force.
  3. If I remember correctly: Jones - Tsar/old guard leadership from Tsarist Russia Alcohol= power over and neglect of masses Old Major= Marx/Lenin The "dream" was Animalism/communism MANor Farm becomes Animal Farm
  4. Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a last glass of beer from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to bed, where Mrs. Jones was already snoring. As soon as the light in the bedroom went out there was a stirring and a fluttering all through the farm buildings. Word had gone round during the day that old Major, the prize Middle White boar, had had a strange dream on the previous night and wished to communicate it to the other animals. It had been agreed that they should all meet in the big barn as soon as Mr. Jones was safely out of the way. Old Major (so he was always called, though the name under which he had been exhibited was Willingdon Beauty) was so highly regarded on the farm that everyone was quite ready to lose an hour’s sleep in order to hear what he had to say.
  5. Did that team change their schedule to salvage a November dual? Otherwise, Iowa doesn't travel to wrestle non-league in 900 seat venues. Vincenzo Joseph was joking about the supposedly "hostile" crowd at Cornell. I mean: Hofstra, Columbia, Rutgers (league), and even Lehigh are all closer to West Point than a 4 hour + bus ride to Ithaca. Heck, I'm probably missing some. And at least Hofstra and Columbia are near major airports.
  6. I've always been a huge Burnett fan. I was at a clinic for high school wrestlers and coaches. Some senior national team members were in the vicinity loosening up. Burnett was showing something to the high schoolers and coaches, and a world medalist came up to ask Bruce about some of that techniques intricacies. That says a lot about the world medalist, but also about the esteem that our national team held him in.
  7. I think the brothers will like that. Both love military history and will probably enjoy the atmosphere. I was able to compete at West Point twice, and ate in the dining hall with the cadets. Some of my favorite college wrestling memories.
  8. 4 days was too much before. How does this young man cope with tournaments?
  9. Zeke and Joe Seay are great additions to any list
  10. I completely agree on the technique, strategy, etc. Great wrestling mind and is still innovating. I am just saying that he had several physical attributes that were probably in the top 10% of D1 wrestlers if you could measure them.
  11. Except Ben Askren is extremely physically strong in wrestling situations, has a great gas tank, and unbelievable kinesthetic awareness. He just happens to look sloppy and has very little in the way of fast twitch fiber.
  12. His death may be another reason why USA dropped off in the early 2000s.
  13. Great post! But also spoiled several of my upcoming posts!
  14. Bruce Burnett did a pretty good job with this stuff before the whole RTC situation and money made life easier. (Yes I know Foxcatcher was a thing, but guys still were not nearly as financially solvent back then)
  15. Honestly Dr. Evil and myself are not that different. I have been referred to as the "evil genius of his country"
  16. My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
  17. I actually got 760 on my SAT verbal, so I think the problem is with someone that has never been to Weehawken.
  18. Lennie turned his head and looked off across the pool and up the darkening slopes of the Gabilans. “We gonna get a little place,” George began. He reached in his side pocket and brought out Carlson’s Luger; he snapped off the safety, and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Lennie’s back. He looked at the back of Lennie’s head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined. A man’s voice called from up the river, and another man answered. “Go on,” said Lennie. George raised the gun and his hand shook, and he dropped his hand to the ground again. “Go on,” said Lennie. “How’s it gonna be. We gonna get a little place.” “We’ll have a cow,” said George. “An’ we’ll have maybe a pig an’ chickens . . . . an’ down the flat we’ll have a . . . . little piece alfalfa—” “For the rabbits,” Lennie shouted. “For the rabbits,” George repeated. “And I get to tend the rabbits.” “An’ you get to tend the rabbits.” Lennie giggled with happiness. “An’ live on the fatta the lan’.” “Yes.” Lennie turned his head. “No, Lennie. Look down there acrost the river, like you can almost see the place.” Lennie obeyed him. George looked down at the gun. There were crashing footsteps in the brush now. George turned and looked toward them. “Go on, George. When we gonna do it?” “Gonna do it soon.” “Me an’ you.” “You . . . . an’ me. Ever’body gonna be nice to you. Ain’t gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal from ‘em.” Lennie said, “I thought you was mad at me, George.” “No,” said George. “No, Lennie. I ain’t mad. I never been mad, an’ I ain’t now. That’s a thing I want ya to know.” The voices came close now. George raised the gun and listened to the voices. Lennie begged, “Le’s do it now. Le’s get that place now.” “Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta.” And George raised the gun and steadied it, and he brought the muzzle of it close to the back of Lennie’s head. The hand shook violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again. Lennie jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, and he lay without quivering. George shivered and looked at the gun, and then he threw it from him, back up on the bank, near the pile of old ashes. The brush seemed filled with cries and with the sound of running feet. Slim’s voice shouted. “George. Where you at, George?” But George sat stiffly on the bank and looked at his right hand that had thrown the gun away. The group burst into the clearing, and Curley was ahead. He saw Lennie lying on the sand. “Got him, by God.” He went over and looked down at Lennie, and then he looked back at George. “Right in the back of the head,” he said softly. Slim came directly to George and sat down beside him, sat very close to him. “Never you mind,” said Slim. “A guy got to sometimes.” But Carlson was standing over George. “How’d you do it?” he asked. “I just done it,” George said tiredly. “Did he have my gun?” “Yeah. He had your gun.” “An’ you got it away from him and you took it an’ you killed him?” “Yeah. Tha’s how.” George’s voice was almost a whisper. He looked steadily at his right hand that had held the gun. Slim twitched George’s elbow. “Come on, George. Me an’ you’ll go in an’ get a drink.” George let himself be helped to his feet. “Yeah, a drink.” Slim said, “You hadda, George. I swear you hadda. Come on with me.” He led George into the entrance of the trail and up toward the highway. Curley and Carlson looked after them. And Carlson said, “Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin’ them two guys?
  19. I think you are the obtuse one. I am being very acute. Answer the question. He knew Lee wasn't wrestling. Still went. Missed weight. Awful. Kid has a big mouth. Came back to bite himself.
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