Protests are as American as apple pie, baseball, and neckin' at the drive-in movies.
Protests are supposed to hit you in the gut and make you think.
Protests are legal, especially at work. Workers protest at work all the time in the form of labor strikes, many of which are contractually forbidden, such as teachers, pilots, and sports personalities.
Don't confuse this latest iteration of Kaepernick's protest, as a continuation of his protesting injustice to people of color in America. This latest iteration is a clear and unmistakeable protesting of President Trump, and his statement during a GOP rally in Alabama a week ago. Its hard to blame the players, when the league, and team owners, even the cowboys owner, also protested the President's statement.
My friend pulled out of the football pool, and refuses to watch NFL football saying that this is tearing the country apart. Who is tearing the country apart? The protesters, or the Protested? Who's still showing up for the games, drinking beer, wearing team jerseys? Who's taking this just a little bit too harshly?
The truth can hurt. Whether a person is hurt because they supported President Trump, or even because they, like me, support the Office of the President, or because they don't agree with the original protest, I think this protest has hit a national nerve.
Either our President doesn't agree with the original protest, or he doesn't realize how his statements can affect the country, or he is impressively ignorant of both. Either way, the country has reacted, and is once again deeply divided, not over what the still unemployed Colin Kaeperlin achieved, but what our President said.
If President Trump had said nothing about football last Friday, we football watching citizens, would have less to be aware of, instead we, as a country, have two things to be aware of.
1. We needed to be aware of President Trumps general ignorance to the power of his office, or maybe it is sheer genius on his part, and his response was a planned, and expected social response, either of which is purely divisive, and worse than ignorance.
2. We needed to be aware of social injustice to people of color.
Peace,
Campy Out!
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/early-lead/wp/2017/09/25/cowboys-players-take-a-knee-with-owner-jerry-jones-before-standing-for-anthem/?utm_term=.a2409835f8ae
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Veteran on Rendering Honors to Our Flag
I'll say that as a 20 year veteran of the United States Navy, with over 11 years at sea, most on submarines...
I don't like the fact that someone wants to sit, kneel, drink beer, talk, buy peanuts, or wear their hat, during the national anthem.
However, I do support their Right to make a statement in protest as they see fit,
Because it is their "Unalienable Right" to do so, and is guaranteed by our Constitution.
Don't give into the emotion these people, and our president, are stirring in you.
Be smarter than that.
Lodge your own protest by showing the protesting kneelers, and sitters, that we are better than that.
Stand tall, be proud, take off your hat, put your hand over your left chest, and sing the anthem loud!
But don't begrudge those who protest! Protesting is just as patriotic as saluting the flag, and had been just as costly throughout history.
Respect YOUR Rights!
That's what this veteran, and my brothers and sisters who gave the ultimate price were protecting.
We continue to defend YOUR Constitution,
which includes
YOUR Bill of Rights.
Campy Out!
United States Flag, Our Old Glory, Our Flag
Our flag is a piece of cloth, most probably made in some other country, as was the thread, and the die that colors her red, white, and blue.
Our flag represents an idea, a philosophy of freedom, a government of free people, for free people, and by free people.
The flag is a piece of cloth, one that shows people where the truth can be found.
Our flag is a piece of cloth who's ideals have never let us down.
Our flag is just a piece of cloth, a piece of cloth that wraps her children who have given their lives to the belief that all men are created equal.
Our flag, that piece of cloth, has been folded neatly, and handed to mothers, and wives, of our fallen brothers and sisters.
Our flag was born out of protest, protesting a king that taxed, stole from, and jailed the people from his new world colonies.
The very idea of freedom, of liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, this piece of cloth we call our flag, our "Old Glory", hangs on the very pole of protest, and proudly waves in the faces of those who would limit our liberties.
And we Americans should settle for no less.
She's one kick ass flag! She has been beaten up, spit on, burned, trampled, muddied, shot at, and shredded, yet she still waves defiantly in the proud spirit of protest, ready for the next challenge.
Yeah... She's one "kicked assed" piece of cloth that wouldn't mean half as much as she would without the freedom to protest.
Campy Out!
Our flag represents an idea, a philosophy of freedom, a government of free people, for free people, and by free people.
The flag is a piece of cloth, one that shows people where the truth can be found.
Our flag is a piece of cloth who's ideals have never let us down.
Our flag is just a piece of cloth, a piece of cloth that wraps her children who have given their lives to the belief that all men are created equal.
Our flag, that piece of cloth, has been folded neatly, and handed to mothers, and wives, of our fallen brothers and sisters.
Our flag was born out of protest, protesting a king that taxed, stole from, and jailed the people from his new world colonies.
The very idea of freedom, of liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, this piece of cloth we call our flag, our "Old Glory", hangs on the very pole of protest, and proudly waves in the faces of those who would limit our liberties.
And we Americans should settle for no less.
She's one kick ass flag! She has been beaten up, spit on, burned, trampled, muddied, shot at, and shredded, yet she still waves defiantly in the proud spirit of protest, ready for the next challenge.
Yeah... She's one "kicked assed" piece of cloth that wouldn't mean half as much as she would without the freedom to protest.
Campy Out!
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Football season is here again!!
Okay Kideeeees!
Its story time... with your favorite uncle,
Uncle Stuck Shakey!
Yes... Football season is upon us again kids!!
Did you know that your Uncle Stuck, played football on the 1978 North Providence High School football team?
I was a "wide receiver," and a "split end," and to this day, I couldn't tell you what my job was. I ran four patterns, (the post, the flag, out left, and out right), I'd turn around to catch the ball, at practices, but the ball was never there. I had a nearly clean uniform every week I played during my first and last, 3 game season.
Two memorable things happened to me while playing football.
First, during my first week of football practice, Bruce, probably 80 pounds heavier than I was, hit me so hard, that I actually shit myself! Pretty embarrassed... I walked off the field with my padded football pants full of dookie. Needless to say, I wasn't going to let one minor embarrassment, end my football career.
Second, a short three weeks later, Coach Pena let me play in a game against I think it was Woonsocket, or maybe it was Situate, or Burriville... I don't remember. I only remember it was some other equally shitty, high school team, fighting for honor of last place against North Providence. Coach Pena probably figured the team had nothing to win, so he'd put that 120 pound Campanelli kid in the game.
The center snapped the ball, the quarterback fell back, I shot off to run my perfunctory, yet always fruitless, 25 yard out flag pattern.
I turned around... and the football hit me... right in the gut! Instinctively, I caught the ball, and stood there, unable to breathe. I can't say what was going through my head, I was probably stunned, breathless, and definitely guppy breathing, I mean... I couldn't frickin' breath!
Looking back at that situation now, almost 40 years later, I realize that there were a couple of actions I might have taken, that could have changed the outcome of that day. I could have taken a knee, which would have ended the play. I could have just covered the ball, and laid down, which would have ended the play after the other team, touched me. I could have sucked it up, take the pain, and run with the ball, and get some yardage for the team. I could have dropped, or fumbled, the ball and lay down to deal with my inability to breath. Not having any wisdom, experience, or training, to rely upon, I just stood there, holding the ball. Which turned out, to be a bad thing to do, yet it was a good thing to do, in order to gain some "life" experience.
Some kid, bigger than Bruce, hit me with all the ferocity he could muster. I'm sure he wasn't trying to kill me, but after flying to through the air in that 1970's, "6 Million Dollar Man," slow motion fashion, along with that "du nu nu nu nu nu..." sound, I sure felt like I was dying when I hit the ground. My ears were ringing, my eyes were blurry, my stomach was killing me, my back, shoulders, and legs were cramping up, and added to the fact that I still couldn't breath, my balls were on fire.
Yet, I held onto the ball, for a gain of something like 10 yards, pretty good for a wide receiver, eh?
When I couldn't get up after the play was over, and after the three 200 pound kids, who "pig piled" on top of me, to make sure I didn't go anywhere, got off of me, a referee called "Time Out!" I'm not sure what happened next, but I ended up in the hospital, with a bunch of bruises, a concussion, and a hernia. My second hit, like many things in my life, was pivotal in changing the course of my life. There was to be no "third hit," or third strike.
I quit the football team. Looking back, retrospectively, I can say that in my life, I've taken loads of first strikes, a few second strikes, but very little third strikes. It seems that I am capable of learning from my mistakes, and occasionally, I have to make similar mistakes, only to reinforce previous lessons.
So, now I choose to go easy on people I think might be "screw ups." Chances are, they're probably like me, and yet, maybe they're a little "thicker," and just might need to get a concept physically "drilled" into them... a few times.
PEACE!!!
Campy Out!
Its story time... with your favorite uncle,
Uncle Stuck Shakey!
Yes... Football season is upon us again kids!!
Did you know that your Uncle Stuck, played football on the 1978 North Providence High School football team?
I was a "wide receiver," and a "split end," and to this day, I couldn't tell you what my job was. I ran four patterns, (the post, the flag, out left, and out right), I'd turn around to catch the ball, at practices, but the ball was never there. I had a nearly clean uniform every week I played during my first and last, 3 game season.
Two memorable things happened to me while playing football.
First, during my first week of football practice, Bruce, probably 80 pounds heavier than I was, hit me so hard, that I actually shit myself! Pretty embarrassed... I walked off the field with my padded football pants full of dookie. Needless to say, I wasn't going to let one minor embarrassment, end my football career.
Second, a short three weeks later, Coach Pena let me play in a game against I think it was Woonsocket, or maybe it was Situate, or Burriville... I don't remember. I only remember it was some other equally shitty, high school team, fighting for honor of last place against North Providence. Coach Pena probably figured the team had nothing to win, so he'd put that 120 pound Campanelli kid in the game.
The center snapped the ball, the quarterback fell back, I shot off to run my perfunctory, yet always fruitless, 25 yard out flag pattern.
I turned around... and the football hit me... right in the gut! Instinctively, I caught the ball, and stood there, unable to breathe. I can't say what was going through my head, I was probably stunned, breathless, and definitely guppy breathing, I mean... I couldn't frickin' breath!
Looking back at that situation now, almost 40 years later, I realize that there were a couple of actions I might have taken, that could have changed the outcome of that day. I could have taken a knee, which would have ended the play. I could have just covered the ball, and laid down, which would have ended the play after the other team, touched me. I could have sucked it up, take the pain, and run with the ball, and get some yardage for the team. I could have dropped, or fumbled, the ball and lay down to deal with my inability to breath. Not having any wisdom, experience, or training, to rely upon, I just stood there, holding the ball. Which turned out, to be a bad thing to do, yet it was a good thing to do, in order to gain some "life" experience.
Some kid, bigger than Bruce, hit me with all the ferocity he could muster. I'm sure he wasn't trying to kill me, but after flying to through the air in that 1970's, "6 Million Dollar Man," slow motion fashion, along with that "du nu nu nu nu nu..." sound, I sure felt like I was dying when I hit the ground. My ears were ringing, my eyes were blurry, my stomach was killing me, my back, shoulders, and legs were cramping up, and added to the fact that I still couldn't breath, my balls were on fire.
Yet, I held onto the ball, for a gain of something like 10 yards, pretty good for a wide receiver, eh?
When I couldn't get up after the play was over, and after the three 200 pound kids, who "pig piled" on top of me, to make sure I didn't go anywhere, got off of me, a referee called "Time Out!" I'm not sure what happened next, but I ended up in the hospital, with a bunch of bruises, a concussion, and a hernia. My second hit, like many things in my life, was pivotal in changing the course of my life. There was to be no "third hit," or third strike.
I quit the football team. Looking back, retrospectively, I can say that in my life, I've taken loads of first strikes, a few second strikes, but very little third strikes. It seems that I am capable of learning from my mistakes, and occasionally, I have to make similar mistakes, only to reinforce previous lessons.
So, now I choose to go easy on people I think might be "screw ups." Chances are, they're probably like me, and yet, maybe they're a little "thicker," and just might need to get a concept physically "drilled" into them... a few times.
PEACE!!!
Campy Out!
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