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Discussion in 'Women of the Swamp' started by GboroGator, Jun 2, 2013.
Who is this?
Pat Murphy did some sort of rain dance. That rain delay totally messed up OU's psyche in that final game.
More importantly in game 2 he had his girls crowd the plate and move up in the box on Ricketts. They got 8 runs off of her that night.
Okie wins 4-0. Wins series 2-0. Oklahoma deserved it. They were clearly the best team in the country, and SEC or no SEC, I'm glad they won.
Why are you glad they won?
Walton is an OKie and worked with the Oklahoma coaches. I have no problem with them winning.
Because we certainly don't need another SEC team winning. To hell with UT.
I'm glad to see the Weekly's lose.
I want to grab Karen Weekly and give her a makeover. That hair is just awful. It's fine if she wants to hero the grey shock, but to spread it around like a starburst? Ugh. I just can't.
Agree on rootiing for Okla in that game. Not a fan of team's winning NC that dont win their conference, unless it's the Gators of course.
Not sure how long UT's coaches have been there, but I think the first time I watched a softball game on tv was when UT had Monica Abbott. Still find it hard to believe they couldnt win a title with her on the mound.
I thought that I had clearly stated my reasons. They were the best softball team in the country all year, and for that reason, they deserved to win. Moreover, Oklahoma is not one of our bitter SEC rivals.
However, there are other unstated reasons. I have always liked the Oklahoma athletic program, particularly their football program going all the way back to my childhood when Bud Wilkenson was the coach. I saw them play several times in the Orange Bowl, and I met Coach Wilkenson, who took about 20 minutes of his busy day to talk to me, along with their their first Heisman trophy winner, Billy Vessels, who moved to Coral Gables where I lived. I went to his house for a cocktail party shortly after I graduated from UF in 1966 and was looking to buy a house. His was up for sale, and as I walked in the front door, his Heisman trophy was sitting on a table in the entrance hallway. I was impressed.
I do not like the Vols or their athletic program. I couldn't stand Fulmer and the way he ran the football program, sweeping scandal after scandal under the rug. I played against some of the Vols' farm team, Colombia Military Academy, and most of those players could barely understand an eye chart. Moreover, UT spawned Doug Dickey, not one of my favorite people. Also, since I was from Miami and a Gator fan, I had to deal with their fanbase in school and around Chattanooga. Numerous times, I was accused of being a "Jewboy from Meeahmi" although both sides of my family, Southern Baptists all, migrated to Miami from South Georgia. McCallie has never been a military school, but when I went there we wore uniforms and drilled three times per week. Those uniforms were a magnet for the red-necked townies and hillbillies whenever we went into Chattanooga proper. Only the day students were allowed to have cars, and when we went into the city proper we were prohibited from thumbing. However, we were allowed to stand in designated places, and usually kind souls would pick us up and take us into town. However, the townies from Chattanooga Central High and other cretins, usually Vol fans, would pile into their cars and come looking for us. Usually, it would go like this: As the townies would pass a group of us waiting for a ride in front of the school, they would yell, "Hey, Bellhops!" And we would yell back, "And the best belle I ever hopped was your mother!" Their car would then come to a screeching halt; the cretins would pile out, sometimes with weapons, and sometimes without. If weapons were in their hands, we would pull off our belts, wrap them around our hands leaving about eight inches of the belt free with our beautiful, hand sharpened, big brass belt buckles dangling from our hand. Then the festivities would begin. Also, on Saturdays, the country hillbillies woud come down from the mountains and try to pick fights with us on the street. I still have a nice scar under my left eye from one of those dances. Also, a 13 year old hillbilly tried to eviscerate me in a movie theater with a switchblade for no reason other than I was wearing the McCallie uniform. Thankfully, years ago the school, which was excellent by the way, changed over from uniforms to blazers and ties. So, although I loved McCallie and got a great education there, I'm not fond of Chattanooga, the State of Tennessee or the Vols. And I hate "Rocky Top" and creamsicle orange.
As an aside, Ray Graves, who in '58-'59 was a Ga Tech assistant coach, spoke at our Winter sports banquet. The next year, in the Fall of '59, Coach Graves and I both started our careers at UF.
Now, see, by asking me what were my reasons for favoring Oklahoma, you got more information than you wanted.
You should write a book.
Sorry, I couldn't respond earlier. Whenever the temperature gets up into the low 80s here, everything wilts, the Mexicanos and the Internet provider, which is owned by Carlos Slim, the world's richest man (if you don't count the narcotraffickers up North, included. When the temperature hits 26 degrees Celcius (78 degrees F.), my Lady wilts and says, "Oh, hace much calor!" ("Oh, it's so hot!") I just laugh since I was born, raised, and spent most of my life in that miasma called Miami-Dade County. I have told her that she and the rest of the Chilangos and Chilangos are "p*****s", and she and all of her friends, students, and taxi drivers that she tells what I have said, all agree.
I am already working on a book.
Both of my grandfathers emigrated to Miami with their families from the same small town in Georgia during the boom after Henry Flagler brought the railway to Miami. My maternal grandfather was a physician and farmer, and my paternal grandfather was a lawyer who never went to law school but "read law" in Marietta, Ga. My maternal grandfather was a piece of work and all-around hell raiser, and my paternal grandfather loved criminal law and became the most prominent criminal lawyer in Fla. He represented all of the rum runners apprehended by the Coast Guard during prohibition, including "The Gulfstream Pirate", who was boarded by the Coast Guard when his speedboat broke down. He managed to get a Coast Guardman's 45 away from him and killed several of the Guardsman before he was overpowered. He was charged with murder and piracy on the high seas. It was pretty much an open and shut case, but while waiting for trial he became a born again Christian. I don't know if my Granddaddy had anything to do with that defense, but a jury wasn't buying that in 1927, and he was convicted and ordered to be hung on the Coast Guard base in Fort Lauderdale. The Federal judge who tried the case ordered that the hanging be closed to all of the public, including the press. Henry Reno, Janet's father, was the crime reporter for the Miami News, and bribed one of the ambulance drivers tasked with carrying the dead body of my Granddaddy's client away after the hanging. Mr. Reno attended the hanging in the ambulance driver's uniform and wrote a story about the hanging. However, his publisher refused to print the story out of deference to the judge but instead ran a blank column in the paper where Reno's story would have appeared and another column bitching about the judge's "censorship" and violation of the First Amendment.
My Father graduated from the UF College of Law in '28 and joined my Granddaddy in his practice. My Father hated criminal law, but he was the one who had to ride the train from Miami to New Orleans since there were no commercial flights in those days in order to present the appeal to the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeal.
Later, my Father told the tale of how he arrived at the office in the Seybold Building one day and found two "suits" in the office waiting room. They were emissaries of Al Capone who wanted my Granddaddy to be his "house counsel" in Miami. My Granddaddy would have taken the job too, but my Father talked him out of it. He recommended another lawyer who agreed to represent Capone and got rich doing it. Capone had a villa over on Star Island, and he was notoriously bad about paying his bills. Usually, nobody complained (for obvious reasons). However, he was way behind on this particular lawyer's bills, and the lawyer, an old time Cracker like my Granddad, got really pissed off. He went over to Star Island, and when he was stopped at the gate to the villa, told Capone's "Security", "Tell Capone to get out here. I've come to kick his ass!" Capone did, in fact, come out and was so amused that anyone dared come "to kick his ass" that he invited the lawyer inside. The lawyer left with a suitcase full of greenbacks and without any new holes in his body.
I know some interesting tales of Miami and also the location of many of the "bodies" in South Florida. My book will be about the history of my family in Miami and Georgia, the working title of the book is "Son Of A Son Of A Loller." The "Son Of A Son Of" part is recognizable to all Parrot Heads, and the "Loller" comes courtesy of my older daughter. In kindergarten she was asked what her father did for a living, and she couldn't say "Lawyer". That's better than my younger daughter's reply of "Liar" several years later, which was many years before Jim Carrey and "Liar, Liar!".
By the way, when my cousin Larry Rentz was a freshman, he and I spent a pleasant Sunday afternoon at Florida Field throwing a football around with some guy named Spurrier who amazed us with his ability to drop kick the football between the uprights from distances of the 25 yard line in to about 5 yards in front of the goalposts. Spurrier won a lot of money from fools betting against his ability to drop kick the ball through the goal posts from that close. SOS is the son of a preacher man, but he'll take your money at any game you want to play.
And, by the way, thank you Coach Walton and Ladies of the softball team for a helluva season. Do it again next year!