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Pat Dye Field => War Damn Eagle => Topic started by: Saniflush on January 22, 2014, 09:25:59 AM
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I bet he could still whip your ass.
http://www.montgomeryadvertiser.com/article/20140122/NEWS01/301220035/Former-Jeff-Davis-coach-humbled-by-lifetime-achievement-award (http://www.montgomeryadvertiser.com/article/20140122/NEWS01/301220035/Former-Jeff-Davis-coach-humbled-by-lifetime-achievement-award)
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He had a way of motivating players like no one else. I was pitching one day at Huntingdon College, where we played a lot of our home games. Ground ball in front of the plate. Ran up to get it, hurried the throw and promptly fired one into the fence behind 1st base. Coach Lee calls time, slowly walks out to the mound, long, silent pause. Then he spoke those inspirational words I'll never forget.
"Shit.....Just shit!"
The shortstop said, "Okay, that went well. Let's get two."
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Those were the good ole days...poor Jefferson David High School now...
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PHS ain't skeert of ole Lee. Whipped his ass twiced in one season, we did...
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Those were the good ole days...poor Jefferson David High School now...
Times, they have a changed.
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Times, they have a changed.
People stopped caring
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People stopped caring
The caring just moved towards the southeast a bit.
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PHS ain't skeert of ole Lee. Whipped his ass twiced in one season, we did...
That's when PHS became what JD was...
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Capitol City smack talk is where it's at.
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Capitol City smack talk is where it's at.
also known as Gump Dump.
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Don't know this guy. But coaches have a way of scarring you for life.
Sophomore year playing baseball. The elementary school was over behind the fence down the first base line. I'm batting and hit a twisting foul ball that clears the fence and is headed way over on the elementary school roof. I know there's a skylight over the lunch room so I stand there in the batter's box admiring the foul and wondering if I'm going to get the satisfaction of a crash through the skylight. And then I hear this noise.
Sounds like a cross between a freight train and a momma grizzly. I look toward the dugout and here comes my coach looking like George Brett after the pine tar incident. Face red, eyes bulging, veins popping. He's thrashing his arms and charging at me, tobacco spit spraying from his mouth.
This is an in-school game so the stands are full which adds to the humiliation that's about to commence.
He's thundering toward me and I make out what he's saying... "Don't you haaaaaave any gottDAAAAAM priiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide?"
Deer in the headlights. Pride? What's that? Do I have any? Where did I put it? So I stand there looking slack jawed at this rage monster boiling toward me. He gets nose to nose and bellows "We run foul balls out here, son, we don't stand there like we just hit the game winning gottdam home run."
In a moment of weakness, I tried to defend myself. "That ball wasn't coming back into play..."
Epic rage. I have no idea what words he was trying to form other than "ass" and "bench" and "GOTdamn" I didn't even get to finish the at-bat. I didn't see the field for about ten games and when I went in, I was so afraid of doing something wrong that I was watching him and got picked off second.
I noticed something later, though. Earnest -- our all conference first baseman -- never ran out a foul ball. Neither did Fig or Chris or JC or Donny who were seniors. Neither did Hutch or Dobs or Jarvis or Eddie who were juniors. Only the freshmen and sophs were expected to run out fouls.
For what it's worth I ran out every foul ball from then on. Even in softball. For 20+ years I ran them. I got pride.
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For what it's worth I ran out every foul ball from then on. Even in softball. For 20+ years I ran them. I got pride.
I don't know if you had pride or not, but I bet your ass was looking over your shoulder for 20+ years making sure that crazy guy or his ghost was not chasing you.
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Epic rage. I have no idea what words he was trying to form other than "ass" and "bench" and "GOTdamn" I didn't even get to finish the at-bat. I didn't see the field for about ten games and when I went in, I was so afraid of doing something wrong that I was watching him and got picked off second.
When I had a coach doing stupid crap like that I always wanted to reply, "I do have some self control and discipline, do you?"
If a math teacher went on a yelling rant like that when some kid screwed up his home work then they would be fired, never really understood why it was accepted from coaches.
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http://tv.esquire.com/shows/friday-night-tykes (http://tv.esquire.com/shows/friday-night-tykes)
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Don't know this guy. But coaches have a way of scarring you for life.
Sophomore year playing baseball. The elementary school was over behind the fence down the first base line. I'm batting and hit a twisting foul ball that clears the fence and is headed way over on the elementary school roof. I know there's a skylight over the lunch room so I stand there in the batter's box admiring the foul and wondering if I'm going to get the satisfaction of a crash through the skylight. And then I hear this noise.
Sounds like a cross between a freight train and a momma grizzly. I look toward the dugout and here comes my coach looking like George Brett after the pine tar incident. Face red, eyes bulging, veins popping. He's thrashing his arms and charging at me, tobacco spit spraying from his mouth.
This is an in-school game so the stands are full which adds to the humiliation that's about to commence.
He's thundering toward me and I make out what he's saying... "Don't you haaaaaave any gottDAAAAAM priiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide?"
Deer in the headlights. Pride? What's that? Do I have any? Where did I put it? So I stand there looking slack jawed at this rage monster boiling toward me. He gets nose to nose and bellows "We run foul balls out here, son, we don't stand there like we just hit the game winning gottdam home run."
In a moment of weakness, I tried to defend myself. "That ball wasn't coming back into play..."
Epic rage. I have no idea what words he was trying to form other than "ass" and "bench" and "GOTdamn" I didn't even get to finish the at-bat. I didn't see the field for about ten games and when I went in, I was so afraid of doing something wrong that I was watching him and got picked off second.
I noticed something later, though. Earnest -- our all conference first baseman -- never ran out a foul ball. Neither did Fig or Chris or JC or Donny who were seniors. Neither did Hutch or Dobs or Jarvis or Eddie who were juniors. Only the freshmen and sophs were expected to run out fouls.
For what it's worth I ran out every foul ball from then on. Even in softball. For 20+ years I ran them. I got pride.
I'm curious to know if you have since been able to develop any sense of pride?
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http://tv.esquire.com/shows/friday-night-tykes (http://tv.esquire.com/shows/friday-night-tykes)
Great candidates for castration.