Standing at the bottom of the escalator, 20-something year old Cpl. Will Bennett. Fresh from the land of sand that did the best it could to try and kill him.
It's my favorite part of sports, the renewal. The promise of it all. Sports are spring, without the allergies.
As I looked at his hand with no wrist, and a bent thumb that won't move, held in place with a metal rod, a hand without any feeling left, an arm missing most of the arm, twisted and scared, I look up to his young face to say, Hello/Thank You/I'm honored to meet you...
Losing keeps you awake.Those competing in the Bassmaster Classic know this feeling. Fifty-one dreaming of a win.
Every gift you open this season comes wrapped in freedom. And it's given to you by people like Cpl. William Bennett.
I grew up in a week to week family. Some weeks were of seven days, some weeks ended by Thursday. Grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup weekends.
We are all children, posing as adults. Folks, it's not about the WHAT in our life, it's about the WHO in our life. Who, is what makes you.
The Red River is now vanilla latte brown. I am ten floors above it, but still moved.
Ladies of the WBT Championship, you need to know just one thing, you are one cast from glory. Destiny rides on your line.
In a small town in Connecticut, there is a very happy young man. I'm writing about, Victor, and his baseball cap.