Gorilla Hunter

gorilla hunter

A man wakes up one morning to find a gorilla on his roof
so he looks up the yellow pages and sure enough, there’s an ad for “Gorilla Removers”. He calls the number, and the gorilla remover says he”ll be there in 30 minutes.

The gorilla remover arrives and gets out of his van. He’s got a ladder, a baseball bat, a shotgun and a huge, ferocious looking dog.

“What are you going to do?”, the homeowner asks.

“I’m going to put up this ladder against the roof, then I’m going to go up there and knock the gorilla off the roof with the bat. When the gorilla falls off, the dog is trained to grab the gorilla’s testicles and squeeze. The gorilla will be subdued enough for me to lock him in the cage in the back of the van.”, says the gorilla remover and hands him the shotgun.

“What’s the shotgun for?”, asks the homeowner.

“If the gorilla knocks ME off the roof, shoot the dog.”




Live Well Now

Richard Gere

Richard Gere

I don’t know if Richard Gere actually said this or not, but it’s worth repeating. Enjoy!

“My friend’s mom has eaten healthy all her life. Never ever consumed alcohol or any “bad” food, exercised every day, very limber, very active, took all supplements suggested by her doctor, never went in the sun without sunscreen and when she did it was for as short a period as possible- so pretty much she protected her health with the utmost that anyone could. She is now 76 and has skin cancer, bone marrow cancer and extreme osteoporosis.

My friend’s father eats bacon on top of bacon, butter on top of butter, fat on top of fat, never and I mean never exercised, was out in the sun burnt to a crisp every summer, he basically took the approach to live life to his fullest and not as others suggest. He is 81 and the doctors says his health is that of a young person.

People you cannot hide from your poison. It’s out there and it will find you so in the words of my friend’s still living mother: ” if I would have known my life would end this way I would have lived it more to the fullest enjoying everything I was told not to!”

None of us are getting out of here alive, so please stop treating yourself like an afterthought. Eat the delicious food. Walk in the sunshine. Jump in the ocean. Say the truth that you’re carrying in your heart like hidden treasure. Be silly. Be kind. Be weird. There’s no time for anything else.”

buy me coffee

Tim Tebow: Love What Matters

“I was traveling on Delta Airlines Flight Number 1772 from Atlanta, Georgia to Phoenix, Arizona when there was a medical emergency on board.

Love what matters.An older gentleman began having what appeared to be heart problems, and he went unconscious. I watched strangers from all over the world and every ethnicity come to the help of this man for over an hour! Whether it was chest compressions, starting an IV, helping breathe life into this man, or praying everyone helped! I listened to shock after shock from the AED machine and still no pulse.

No one gave up.

I observed people praying and lifting this man up to the Lord in a way that I’ve never seen before. The crew of Delta Airlines were amazing. They acted in a fast and professional manner!

Then all of a sudden, I observed a guy walking down the aisle. That guy was Tim Tebow. He met with the family as they cried on his shoulder!

I watched Tim pray with the entire section of the plane for this man. He made a stand for God in a difficult situation.

The plane landed in Phoenix and that was the first time they got a pulse back! Please share this with your friends!

Pray for this man and his family, and also thank God that we still have people of faith who in times of difficulty look to the Lord!”

Colorado Miracle




Integrity Matters

A friend of mine was shopping at a garage sale. He was talking to the lady running the sale. He discovered that she was selling her husbands things. Her husband had passed away. My friend said that he was interested in buying guns and the lady said, “My husband has an old shotgun that he kept under the bed and I certainly don’t have any use for it.” She brought it out for my friend to see. He said his eyes almost popped out of his head. The shotgun was a very high grade collector’s item. He asked how much she might be willing to sell it for and she said, “Would a hundred dollars be too much to ask?” He said he was trying to figure out what he should say and she said, “How about fifty?” He quickly pulled out his wallet and gave her the fifty dollars.

He was headed for the car cradling his new treasure when he heard a still small voice. “Did you buy that or did you steal it?”
He said he made the longest trip he had ever made in his life as he walked back to the garage. He said, “Ma’am, I’m a Christian and I need to make this right. This shotgun is probably worth more money than I have in this world. There are people who would give you a lot of money for it. I need to give this back to you.” She said, “I wouldn’t know how to sell it. You seem to know all about it. If you’ll sell it for me I’ll split whatever you get out of it with you.”

He said it took him two hours to find a dealer who paid five thousand dollars for the shotgun. As he counted the money out to her she began to cry and then he began to cry. She said, “I was hoping to make a few dollars to make my house payment this month. Now this is going to pay my house off.” She offered him half and he turned her down. He said, “We’ll call it square it you’ll go to church with me and my wife this Sunday.” She still goes to his church.




Seventeen Inches

Worth the read… Such small things can mean so much. This had to be eye opening for all these coaches.




In Nashville, Tennessee, during the first week of January, 1996, more than 4,000 baseball coaches descended upon the Opryland Hotel for the 52nd annual ABCA convention.

While I waited in line to register with the hotel staff, I heard other more veteran coaches rumbling about the lineup of speakers scheduled to present during the weekend. One name, in particular, kept resurfacing, always with the same sentiment — “John Scolinos is here? Oh man, worth every penny of my airfare.”

Who the hell is John Scolinos, I wondered. Well, in 1996 Coach Scolinos was 78 years old and five years retired from a college coaching career that began in 1948. No matter, I was just happy to be there.

He shuffled to the stage to an impressive standing ovation, wearing dark polyester pants, a light blue shirt, and a string around his neck from which home plate hung — a full-sized, stark-white home plate. Pointed side down.

Seriously, I wondered, who in the hell is this guy?

After speaking for twenty-five minutes, not once mentioning the prop hanging around his neck, Coach Scolinos appeared to notice the snickering among some of the coaches. Even those who knew Coach Scolinos had to wonder exactly where he was going with this, or if he had simply forgotten about home plate since he’d gotten on stage.





Then, finally …

“You’re probably all wondering why I’m wearing home plate around my neck. Or maybe you think I escaped from Camarillo State Hospital,” he said, his voice growing irascible. I laughed along with the others, acknowledging the possibility.

“No,” he continued, “I may be old, but I’m not crazy. The reason I stand before you today is to share with you baseball people what I’ve learned in my life, what I’ve learned about home plate in my 78 years.”

Several hands went up when Scolinos asked how many Little League coaches were in the room. “Do you know how wide home plate is in Little League?” After a pause, someone offered, “Seventeen inches,” more question than answer.

“That’s right,” he said. “How about in Babe Ruth? Any Babe Ruth coaches in the house?”

Another long pause.

“Seventeen inches?”came a guess from another reluctant coach.

“That’s right,” said Scolinos. “Now, how many high school coaches do we have in the room?” Hundreds of hands shot up, as the pattern began to appear. “How wide is home plate in high school baseball?”

“Seventeen inches,” they said, sounding more confident.

“You’re right!” Scolinos barked. “And you college coaches, how wide is home plate in college?”

“Seventeen inches!” we said, in unison.

“Any Minor League coaches here? How wide is home plate in pro ball?”

“Seventeen inches!”

“RIGHT! And in the Major Leagues, how wide home plate is in the Major Leagues?”

“Seventeen inches!”

“SEV-EN-TEEN INCHES!” he confirmed, his voice bellowing off the walls.

“And what do they do with a a Big League pitcher who can’t throw the ball over these seventeen inches?” Pause. “They send him to Pocatello!” he hollered, drawing raucous laughter.

“What they don’t do is this: they don’t say, ‘Ah, that’s okay, Bobby. You can’t hit a seventeen-inch target? We’ll make it eighteen inches, or nineteen inches. We’ll make it twenty inches so you have a better chance of throwing the ball over it. If you can’t hit that, let us know so we can make it wider still, say twenty-five inches.’”

Pause.

“Coaches …”

Pause.

” … what do we do when our best player shows up late to practice? What do we do if he violates curfew? What if he uses drugs? Do we hold him accountable? Or do we change the rules to fit him? Do we widen home plate?

The chuckles gradually faded as four thousand coaches grew quiet, the fog lifting as the old coach’s message began to unfold.

Then he turned the plate toward himself and, using a Sharpie, began to draw something. When he turned it toward the crowd, point up, a house was revealed, complete with a freshly drawn door and two windows. “This is the problem in our homes today. With our marriages, with the way we parent our kids. With our discipline. We don’t teach accountability to our kids, and there is no consequence for failing to meet standards. We widen the plate!”

Pause. Then, to the point at the top of the house he added a small American flag.

“This is the problem in our schools today. The quality of our education is going downhill fast and teachers have been stripped of the tools they need to be successful….to educate and discipline our young people. We are allowing others to widen home plate! Where is that getting us?”

“And this is the problem in the Church, where powerful people in positions of authority have taken advantage of young children, only to have such an atrocity swept under the rug for years. Our church leaders are widening home plate!”

I was amazed. At a baseball convention where I expected to learn something about curveballs and bunting and how to run better practices, I had learned something far more valuable. From an old man with home plate strung around his neck, I had learned something about life, about myself, about my own weaknesses and about my responsibilities as a leader. I had to hold myself and others accountable to that which I knew to be right, lest our families, our faith, and our society continue down an undesirable path.

“If I am lucky,” Coach Scolinos concluded, “you will remember one thing from this old coach today. It is this: if we fail to hold ourselves to a higher standard, a standard of what we know to be right; if we fail to hold our spouses and our children to the same standards, if we are unwilling or unable to provide a consequence when they do not meet the standard; and if our schools and churches and our government fail to hold themselves accountable to those they serve, there is but one thing to look forward to …”

With that, he held home plate in front of his chest, turned it around, and revealed its dark black backside.

“… dark days ahead.”

Coach Scolinos died in 2009 at the age of 91, but not before touching the lives of hundreds of players and coaches, including mine. Meeting him at my first ABCA convention kept me returning year after year, looking for similar wisdom and inspiration from other coaches. He is the best clinic speaker the ABCA has ever known because he was so much more than a baseball coach.

His message was clear: “Coaches, keep your players — no matter how good they are — your own children, and most of all, keep yourself at seventeen inches.




The Girls Hussle the Winner

Somewhere in your makeup lies sleeping, the seed of achievement which, if aroused and put into action, would carry you to heights, such as you may never have hoped to attain.

~Napoleon Hill

I had just pissed off the one man on this boat I did not want to piss off. He was drunk. He was mean. He smelled of buffalo or worse, and he held his Colt aimed at my belly button. I did not know if he was her husband, or her beau, or her brother. I had met her less than an hour earlier. She was really sweet and nice to me. She had her hands all over me like I had just found the mother lode.

Pony Reads Ditch

Pony Reads Ditch

“Oh, Bill, help me get away from those mean men,” she had whispered just a minute before.

She had led me to her bunk and kissed me like she knew what kissing did to a man’s heart. She was 19 and the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She knew I was going up the Missouri to the headwaters and that I had won a few pots at the poker table.

“We can’t be doing this Cheri, I smell like cows and the mud from the stockyards,” I begged off, holding onto the handle of my pistol.

I had heard about girls hustling the winner, only to find him with his head split open and his purse gone in the morning. This rickety old boat leaked badly and I doubted it would make it through the night. I excused myself for the moment, to go to the side and relieve myself. I heard footsteps behind me.

Before they got close I dove in. I surfaced and heard them yelling about a man overboard. I laughed and said, “Nope, boys, I just felt like a swim. I’ll see you up the river, but you won’t see me. Spend some money on some soap. I smelled you coming before I heard you, idiot.”

This excerpt shared from DITCH – get your copy here!

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