Shout out to @HuskyJW for a thread that delivered! Thought it would be fun to have a discussion about our all-time "Agony of Defeat" type moments in athletic competition.
For me: My eight lost to CAL once by a seat (fraction of a second) at a PAC 10 championship. We were down by a boat length or more the majority of the race and would have passed them if we had another 100 meters. This was especially humiliating because we were not a loser program and we hardly ever lost to CAL. Crushing agony of defeat type of moment.
You're a rower? How about "10 things you never new about rowing"
I think I would get WTF'd outta here in a hurry with a 10 things you never knew about rowing sort of post and I don't want to have to LEAVE.
Okay, I can start a fred with 10 questions about rowing. You'll be the poaster knocking the questions out of the park, star pupil kind of thing.
When I was sixteen I won a great victory. I felt in that moment that I should live to be one hundred, now I know I shall not see thirty. None of us know our end really, or what hand will guide us there. A doog may move a man, a father may claim a son. That man can also move himself. And only then does that man truly begin his own game. Remember that howsoever you are played, or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone. Even though those who presume to play you by Scout.com or doogs of power. When you stand before Allah, you cannot say "but I was told by others to do thus" or that "virtue was not convenient at the time." This will not suffice. Remember that.
When I was sixteen I won a great victory. I felt in that moment that I should live to be one hundred, now I know I shall not see thirty. None of us know our end really, or what hand will guide us there. A doog may move a man, a father may claim a son. That man can also move himself. And only then does that man truly begin his own game. Remember that howsoever you are played, or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone. Even though those who presume to play you by Scout.com or doogs of power. When you stand before Allah, you cannot say "but I was told by others to do thus" or that "virtue was not convenient at the time." This will not suffice. Remember that.
In 5th grade basketball, I grabbed a defensive rebound, and immediately tried to put the ball back into the hoop several times, which would have scored for the other team. Luckily, I sucked so bad at shooting that I missed all 4 uncontested attempts from right underneath the basket (I kept getting my own rebound). "No no! Wrong basket!" My parents screamed from the stands. But I couldn't hear them. I was too busy trying to score for the other team.
In 6th grade basketball, I was underneath the backboard when my teammate tried to make a shot. He was also underneath the backboard, because we were all fucking stupid and didn't realize that we should spread out while on offense. Anyway, he throws his shot up really hard, and it hit the bottom of the backboard right as I looked up to see his shot, and the ball bounced back down and smacked me in the face. My nose immediately started bleeding and I started crying. Up to that point, nobody had told me that there was no crying in basketball. But on that day, there was.
In 6th grade flag football, this big defensive lineman kid kept pushing me backwards immediately after the ball was snapped. Sounds fair, right? Wrong. In flag football, you're supposed to count to 5 banana before you can cross the line of scrimmage after the snap. In fact, the counting rule is why I played offensive lineman in the first place...because it made the position completely irrelevant to the outcome of the game. That's why my coach was so smart...he put his biggest, most athletic players at the skill positions, which is why we had a very successful season. Anyway, this guy shoved me down play after play to start the game. I eventually started crying, and then complained to the referee. The very next play, BAM, he gets flagged for a 5 yard penalty. In a way, that was kind of a victorious moment for me...but because everyone saw me crying, it didn't really feel that way.
Needless to say, I didn't play sports after 6th grade.
You sound like you may have eaten alot of paste as a kid. NTTAWWT
I didn't play organized sports past 9th grade since long hair and drugs and hanging out with girls was better than early 70's dictator high school coaches. (Hi Bobby Dunn)
My 9th grade line coach told me to enjoy the dance committee in high school so we did wheelies on his lawn when I got my license.
Nothing but good memories of gym rat ball and Sunday morning tackle football at Stevens Field.
9th grade hoops playing our arch rivals and I'm cheapshotting their PG at every opportunity....pulling his jersey to slow him down on their fast breaks, elbows to the body while going for rebounds, hip check when he tries to go around my screen. By the 3rd quarter he'd had enough and I could see the frustration boiling over. So of course I push his buttons once more with a love tap to his junk under the basket and he comes unglued. He gets a clean shot to my left eye before we go to the ground. I had his jersey up over his head hockey style and was getting ready to land a haymaker when my own fucking coach pulls me off of him.
All that antagonizing and I get a shiner to boot...and I didn't get one punch in. Didn't get kicked off the team, but ran a shit load of extra sprints the rest of the year
So I'm reading some of these poasts to my favorite wife and she says "what I love about you men is your ability to take things to the lowest possible level, I bet that guy has been waiting all week to use nutsack in a sentence."
In 5th grade basketball, I grabbed a defensive rebound, and immediately tried to put the ball back into the hoop several times, which would have scored for the other team. Luckily, I sucked so bad at shooting that I missed all 4 uncontested attempts from right underneath the basket (I kept getting my own rebound). "No no! Wrong basket!" My parents screamed from the stands. But I couldn't hear them. I was too busy trying to score for the other team.
In 6th grade basketball, I was underneath the backboard when my teammate tried to make a shot. He was also underneath the backboard, because we were all fucking stupid and didn't realize that we should spread out while on offense. Anyway, he throws his shot up really hard, and it hit the bottom of the backboard right as I looked up to see his shot, and the ball bounced back down and smacked me in the face. My nose immediately started bleeding and I started crying. Up to that point, nobody had told me that there was no crying in basketball. But on that day, there was.
In 6th grade flag football, this big defensive lineman kid kept pushing me backwards immediately after the ball was snapped. Sounds fair, right? Wrong. In flag football, you're supposed to count to 5 banana before you can cross the line of scrimmage after the snap. In fact, the counting rule is why I played offensive lineman in the first place...because it made the position completely irrelevant to the outcome of the game. That's why my coach was so smart...he put his biggest, most athletic players at the skill positions, which is why we had a very successful season. Anyway, this guy shoved me down play after play to start the game. I eventually started crying, and then complained to the referee. The very next play, BAM, he gets flagged for a 5 yard penalty. In a way, that was kind of a victorious moment for me...but because everyone saw me crying, it didn't really feel that way.
Needless to say, I didn't play sports after 6th grade.
Getting ejected for fighting the catcher in baseball. I started it for no reason other than frustration with things that weren't the catcher's fault. Grandpa told me how disappointed he was in me, I was suspended from baseball and my grandpa died before he was able to ever see me play again.
Comments
That fucking kid hit eight 3's and we lost by 8.
At least you got to be part of history.
Fucking double poast slow internet iphone post excuse.
My 9th grade line coach told me to enjoy the dance committee in high school so we did wheelies on his lawn when I got my license.
Nothing but good memories of gym rat ball and Sunday morning tackle football at Stevens Field.
Winners win I guess
All that antagonizing and I get a shiner to boot...and I didn't get one punch in. Didn't get kicked off the team, but ran a shit load of extra sprints the rest of the year