Six Nations: Scotland v Wales
Scotland (9) 29
Tries: Seymour, Visser Cons: Russell 2 Pens: Russell 5
Wales (13) 13
Try: Williams Con: Halfpenny Pens: Halfpenny 2
A spirited second-half performance at Murrayfield earned Scotland their first Six Nations win over Wales since 2007.
For all their superior physicality in the first half, Wales led by only 13-9 at the interval, Liam Williams rounding off a slick move for their sole try.
Scotland were dominant thereafter, with Tommy Seymour and Tim Visser crossing the line and stand-off Finn Russell earning 19 points with his kicking.
The Scots' success ended Wales's run of four consecutive wins in Edinburgh.
The result put Vern Cotter's team top of the championship table before Ireland's 19-9 win over France saw the Scots drop back to second. For Wales, though, it was a second loss in three matches in this year's campaign.
Fuck the Jocks
Fuck the Jocks
“If you trust in yourself, and believe in your dreams, and follow your star. . . you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy.”
-
MajGenl.Meade
- Posts: 21238
- Joined: Sun Apr 25, 2010 8:51 am
- Location: Groot Brakrivier
- Contact:
Re: Fuck the Jocks
The topmost thing in a heap of turds is but another turd
For Christianity, by identifying truth with faith, must teach-and, properly understood, does teach-that any interference with the truth is immoral. A Christian with faith has nothing to fear from the facts
Re: Fuck the Jocks
sbnation.com/mlb/2017/2/26/14742440/the-first-full-day-of-spring-training-is-in-books-baseball-mlb-cactus-league-grapefruitThe first full day of spring training is in the books
For all baseball-related intents and purposes, winter is now finally over. Spring training is here, and it's glorious — this week, in fact, it's when it's at its absolute best. This first week of games is when baseball feels fresh, and exciting, and beautiful on its own merits, when it doesn't matter who's playing or how badly so long as someone's playing at all. Essentially, this week is when how we feel about spring training is enough to dwarf the reality of what spring training actually is.
In a week or so, most of us will see spring training more clearly — meaningless games between lineups of non-roster invitees, with highlights delivered by poorly shot beat reporter cell phone videos. Spring training quickly becomes little more than the sum of the games that must be endured to get to Opening Day. Right now, though, it doesn't feel like that. Right now, the fact that it is here and the fact that it is baseball give us feeling enough.
The energy and excitement of these first few games is palpable: This weekend has already given us an inside-the-park home run for Maikel Franco and a walk-off win for the San Francisco Giants, both events that are relative rarities for spring training. This is when spring training feels good enough to give itself meaning — and that feeling is so, so good.
With the offseason now officially over, Devan Fink of Beyond the Box Score talks to five agents about the best time for a hypothetical player to get himself a new deal.
Bryce Harper kicked off his spring training with a moonshot in his first at-bat, part of an 8-6 Washington Nationals win over the New York Mets.
The Kansas City Royals paid tribute to fallen teammate Yordano Ventura before starting their first game.
The most improved New York Yankee of 2017 could be Aaron Hicks.
Cameron Maybin's trade to the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim may not have made waves, but he has the potential to make a serious impact in the clubhouse just as much as on the field.
Tony Gwynn Jr. will be part of the broadcast booth for San Diego Padres games this season.
What better way to celebrate tonight’s Oscars than by looking over MLB.com’s baseball-themed edition?
A one and a two...
Last edited by Lord Jim on Sun Feb 26, 2017 11:09 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Re: Fuck the Jocks
There have been so many great songs, movies, stage plays, books about baseball. I don't recall hearing any about rugby? Are there, any?
yrs,
rubato
yrs,
rubato
Re: Fuck the Jocks
Ireland's is the best...
And who could ever forget this great rugby song...
And who could ever forget this great rugby song...
Re: Fuck the Jocks
I have to admit that one's pretty good...Joe Guy wrote:Ireland's is the best...
(Though the second one you posted, The Wild Rover, while a superb classic Irish drinking song, isn't really a rugby song...)
Don't forget poems:rubato wrote:There have been so many great songs, movies, stage plays, books about baseball.
yrs,
rubato
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile lit Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his
shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the
air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—
“That ain’t my style," said Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled
roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his
hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, “Strike two!”
“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered
“Fraud!”
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles
strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children
shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.
-Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile lit Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his
shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the
air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—
“That ain’t my style," said Casey. “Strike one!” the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled
roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his
hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, “Strike two!”
“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered
“Fraud!”
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles
strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate,
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children
shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.
-Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Re: Fuck the Jocks
I recited that poem at the talent show in 5th grade.
For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.
~ Carl Sagan
~ Carl Sagan
-
Bicycle Bill
- Posts: 9745
- Joined: Thu Dec 03, 2015 1:10 pm
- Location: Living in a suburb of Berkeley on the Prairie along with my Yellow Rose of Texas
Re: Fuck the Jocks
You can't keep a good man down.....
There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more;
There were muttered oaths and curses — every fan in town was sore.
"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat,
And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that!"
All his past fame was forgotten — he was now a hopeless "shine."
They called him "Strike-Out Casey," from the mayor down the line;
And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,
While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.
He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king,
That when he strolled up to the plate they made the welkin ring;
But now his nerve had vanished, for when he heard them hoot
He "fanned" or "popped out" daily, like some minor league recruit.
He soon began to sulk and loaf, his batting eye went lame;
No home runs on the score card now were chalked against his name;
The fans without exception gave the manager no peace,
For one and all kept clamoring for Casey's quick release.
The Mudville squad began to slump, the team was in the air;
Their playing went from bad to worse — nobody seemed to care.
"Back to the woods with Casey!" was the cry from Rooters' Row.
"Get some one who can hit the ball, and let that big dub go!"
The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again,
And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men;
And Casey smiled; his rugged face no longer wore a frown —
The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.
All Mudville had assembled — ten thousand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;
And when he stepped into the box, the multitude went wild;
He doffed his cap in proud disdain, but Casey only smiled.
"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began.
But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
Who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun
Their hopes sank low — the rival team was leading four to one.
The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe, the crowd began to roar;
The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.
Three men on base — nobody out — three runs to tie the game!
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night,
When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" and the fifth "flew out to right."
A dismal groan in chorus came; a scowl was on each face
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed, his teeth were clenched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.
But fame is fleeting as the wind and glory fades away;
There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day;
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored: "Strike him out!"
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.
The pitcher smiled and cut one loose — across the plate it sped;
Another hiss, another groan. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot the second curve broke just below the knee.
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.
No roasting for the umpire now — his was an easy lot;
But here the pitcher whirled again — was that a rifle shot?
A whack, a crack, and out through the space the leather pellet flew,
A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.
Above the fence in center field in rapid whirling flight
The sphere sailed on — the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit,
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit.
O, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,
And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun!
And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall,
But Mudville hearts are happy now, for Casey hit the ball.
........Grantland Rice, 1907
There were muttered oaths and curses — every fan in town was sore.
"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat,
And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that!"
All his past fame was forgotten — he was now a hopeless "shine."
They called him "Strike-Out Casey," from the mayor down the line;
And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,
While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.
He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king,
That when he strolled up to the plate they made the welkin ring;
But now his nerve had vanished, for when he heard them hoot
He "fanned" or "popped out" daily, like some minor league recruit.
He soon began to sulk and loaf, his batting eye went lame;
No home runs on the score card now were chalked against his name;
The fans without exception gave the manager no peace,
For one and all kept clamoring for Casey's quick release.
The Mudville squad began to slump, the team was in the air;
Their playing went from bad to worse — nobody seemed to care.
"Back to the woods with Casey!" was the cry from Rooters' Row.
"Get some one who can hit the ball, and let that big dub go!"
The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again,
And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men;
And Casey smiled; his rugged face no longer wore a frown —
The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.
All Mudville had assembled — ten thousand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;
And when he stepped into the box, the multitude went wild;
He doffed his cap in proud disdain, but Casey only smiled.
"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began.
But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
Who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun
Their hopes sank low — the rival team was leading four to one.
The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe, the crowd began to roar;
The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.
Three men on base — nobody out — three runs to tie the game!
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night,
When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" and the fifth "flew out to right."
A dismal groan in chorus came; a scowl was on each face
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed, his teeth were clenched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.
But fame is fleeting as the wind and glory fades away;
There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day;
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored: "Strike him out!"
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.
The pitcher smiled and cut one loose — across the plate it sped;
Another hiss, another groan. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot the second curve broke just below the knee.
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.
No roasting for the umpire now — his was an easy lot;
But here the pitcher whirled again — was that a rifle shot?
A whack, a crack, and out through the space the leather pellet flew,
A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.
Above the fence in center field in rapid whirling flight
The sphere sailed on — the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit,
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit.
O, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,
And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun!
And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall,
But Mudville hearts are happy now, for Casey hit the ball.
........Grantland Rice, 1907
Yes, I suppose I could agree with you ... but then we'd both be wrong, wouldn't we?
Re: Fuck the Jocks
Oh, there was that movie about the Springboks w/ Nelson Mandela. That's a rugby team isn't it?
yrs,
rubato
yrs,
rubato
Re: Fuck the Jocks
Just saw this:
I'd never seen it before...
Thanks for posting that, BB...Bicycle Bill wrote:You can't keep a good man down.....
There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more;
There were muttered oaths and curses — every fan in town was sore.
"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat,
And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that!"
All his past fame was forgotten — he was now a hopeless "shine."
They called him "Strike-Out Casey," from the mayor down the line;
And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,
While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.
He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king,
That when he strolled up to the plate they made the welkin ring;
But now his nerve had vanished, for when he heard them hoot
He "fanned" or "popped out" daily, like some minor league recruit.
He soon began to sulk and loaf, his batting eye went lame;
No home runs on the score card now were chalked against his name;
The fans without exception gave the manager no peace,
For one and all kept clamoring for Casey's quick release.
The Mudville squad began to slump, the team was in the air;
Their playing went from bad to worse — nobody seemed to care.
"Back to the woods with Casey!" was the cry from Rooters' Row.
"Get some one who can hit the ball, and let that big dub go!"
The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again,
And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men;
And Casey smiled; his rugged face no longer wore a frown —
The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.
All Mudville had assembled — ten thousand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;
And when he stepped into the box, the multitude went wild;
He doffed his cap in proud disdain, but Casey only smiled.
"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began.
But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
Who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun
Their hopes sank low — the rival team was leading four to one.
The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe, the crowd began to roar;
The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.
Three men on base — nobody out — three runs to tie the game!
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night,
When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" and the fifth "flew out to right."
A dismal groan in chorus came; a scowl was on each face
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed, his teeth were clenched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.
But fame is fleeting as the wind and glory fades away;
There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day;
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored: "Strike him out!"
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.
The pitcher smiled and cut one loose — across the plate it sped;
Another hiss, another groan. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot the second curve broke just below the knee.
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.
No roasting for the umpire now — his was an easy lot;
But here the pitcher whirled again — was that a rifle shot?
A whack, a crack, and out through the space the leather pellet flew,
A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.
Above the fence in center field in rapid whirling flight
The sphere sailed on — the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit,
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit.
O, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,
And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun!
And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall,
But Mudville hearts are happy now, for Casey hit the ball.
........Grantland Rice, 1907
I'd never seen it before...
Fuck the Jocks
... said the cannibal who got sick after eating the missionary.Bicycle Bill wrote:You can't keep a good man down...
“In a world whose absurdity appears to be so impenetrable, we simply must reach a greater degree of understanding among us, a greater sincerity.”
Re: Fuck the Jocks
And rugby songs aside (and there are a lot of good ones) I do recall a Clint Eastwood directed movie called Invictus which was a pretty good rugby film.
Re: Fuck the Jocks
That is the film about the Springboks I referenced above.Big RR wrote:And rugby songs aside (and there are a lot of good ones) I do recall a Clint Eastwood directed movie called Invictus which was a pretty good rugby film.
yrs,
rubato
-
MajGenl.Meade
- Posts: 21238
- Joined: Sun Apr 25, 2010 8:51 am
- Location: Groot Brakrivier
- Contact:
Re: Fuck the Jocks
.... 'em all
.... 'em all
the long and the short and tall
We are England and we are the best
We are England so .... all the rest
(repeat 2016, 2017, 2018 and so on)
For Christianity, by identifying truth with faith, must teach-and, properly understood, does teach-that any interference with the truth is immoral. A Christian with faith has nothing to fear from the facts
-
ex-khobar Andy
- Posts: 5755
- Joined: Sat Dec 19, 2015 4:16 am
- Location: Louisville KY as of July 2018
Re: Fuck the Jocks
Late to the discussion about rugby songs. Although I am Scottish I am Welsh for the rugby. Max Boyce doing Hymns and Arias with the crowd at Cardiff Arms Park or Sospan Fach in Llanelli has to be the best. And for the true rugby fan of all types there is the equal opportunity offender The Jock Strapp Ensemble.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y0RDadPheNQ. Not a rugby setting but in concert.
As a bonus the lovely Katherine Jenkins singing the Welsh national anthem at Wales vs Italy. Has to be the most glorious national anthem I know.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mVtswmhmcxs
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y0RDadPheNQ. Not a rugby setting but in concert.
As a bonus the lovely Katherine Jenkins singing the Welsh national anthem at Wales vs Italy. Has to be the most glorious national anthem I know.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mVtswmhmcxs
Fuck the Jocks
No wonder Jenkins sings so well... great lungs.ex-khobar Andy wrote:... As a bonus the lovely Katherine Jenkins singing the Welsh national anthem at Wales vs Italy. Has to be the most glorious national anthem I know.
“In a world whose absurdity appears to be so impenetrable, we simply must reach a greater degree of understanding among us, a greater sincerity.”
Re: Fuck the Jocks
Llanelli is my home town, the song reflects the tinplate industry there, or more correctly, which was there.ex-khobar Andy wrote: Max Boyce doing Hymns and Arias with the crowd at Cardiff Arms Park or Sospan Fach in Llanelli has to be the best.
A few more Welsh Rugby Anthems here...
“If you trust in yourself, and believe in your dreams, and follow your star. . . you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy.”
-
ex-khobar Andy
- Posts: 5755
- Joined: Sat Dec 19, 2015 4:16 am
- Location: Louisville KY as of July 2018
Re: Fuck the Jocks
Gob - I was over the river in Penclawdd (north Gower) the night they beat the All Blacks in 1972. I swear I could hear the crowd from there. 9 - 3. A result which will never be forgotten in Stradey Park.