I hope the past few days have been restful and rejuvenating for you all, but -- as I'm sure you must have learned by this point -- the journey to personal betterment is an eternal endeavor. We haven't got a moment to waste, so let's bid adieu to the sunny serenity of the California coast and settle in down South with Real Housewives of Atlanta's Phaedra Parks, as she descends from her ivory porch swing and illuminates the esoteric in Secrets of the Southern Belle: How to Be Nice, Work Hard, Look Pretty, Have Fun, and Never Have an Off Moment.
True to the title's descriptive and straightforward sentiments, Phaedra begins the book with a concise synthesis of the worldview she hopes to present:

I believe every woman should be a Southern Belle or minimally aspire to being more ladylike, charming, and intelligent, because we should all be treated well.

As she continues, we get our first glimpse of the deep well of compassion that underlies Phaedra's mission to improve the lives of those around her.

Honestly, I sometimes feel sorry for women of northern persuasion. There they are rushing around in their baggy, drab clothes, doing everything for themselves and looking like they just rolled out of bed. They don't seem to understand there's a better way.

Thankfully, I no longer have to count myself among that witless horde. I feel like, until this fateful moment, I have been living like one of those people from the black-and-white "before" footage of an infomercial -- haphazardly bumbling through the most menial of daily tasks with no way of knowing how much brighter my world could be. Phaedra has freed me from Plato's Cave, and I have no choice but to follow her instruction and strive to shape myself in her image.
A true Southern Belle is known -- first and foremost -- for her fundamental kindness and compassion towards others, so it is only appropriate that the book's first section is succinctly titled, "Be Nice." However, even this simple directive has been trampled by the corrupting influence of the modern world. As Phaedra laments,

Unfortunately, as we see more migration from other parts of the world, we also see an increase of poor manners and rude behavior.

She elaborates, providing specific examples of the personal injuries incurred as a result of these unmannered interlopers.

I find it particularly odd in business, when the salespeople or tellers don't speak or thank you for your patronage. Don't they realize that without customers they would not have a job?

I, too, find it offensive when minimum-wage workers have the nerve to act like actual human beings rather than automatons at the mercy of my personal whims, and I appreciate that Phaedra is bold enough to ask the question that has undoubtedly been on the tip of our collective tongue. Yet somehow, she still remains humble enough to freely admit where she has room to learn; here, she lets the reader in on "something I've never quite understood about non-southerners:"

They're suspicious of basic southern warmth because they're worried it's insincere. But at the same time, they will tell you the most inappropriate things! They tell you stuff about their health that you don't want to know. They launch into crazy stories about their terrible childhoods and how misunderstood they are. They complain about what happened long ago, and they fret openly about the future. Then they tell you what they paid for things and you want to crawl under the table.
Frankly, that's not very attractive.

What is attractive, then, you may ask? Effusive compliments, for one thing -- "I don't know why some people are so concerned with being sincere, when being nice is so much more effective." We also learn to "never contradict anyone, even if you know they are wrong." Phaedra illustrates this particular lesson with the following example:

If someone tells you that your taxes are due on April 30 instead of April 15, you look puzzled and say, "Goodness, I had no idea. Did they change the date?"

And what happens after that? Either the person says yes and you're forced to play along with whatever bizarre delusion and/or power-play your companion is currently indulging, or they say no and you say -- what? "Right, of course, I knew that the whole time!" Or, "Gotcha! It's April 15th, you incompetent fraud!" Or maybe, "I don't even know what taxes are -- money is for menfolk!" I just can't imagine any of those scenarios playing out with less discomfort than a simple correction, but after four years living in New England, I can only assume that's just northern negativity clouding my vision.
We are next presented with a list of "compliments that come in handy," a few of which I've transcribed below for immediate incorporation into your own phrasal repertoire.

What an interesting way to think about it. (Good for a point on which you disagree with someone.)

You thought of every little detail; I love a meticulous lady!

Wow! That is so original. I would never have put it together like that. (In this South this might mean, "I hate it," but in a polite way.)

Boss Babe is out -- Meticulous Lady is in! Phaedra reminds us to keep health concerns -- "especially female issues" -- far from polite conversation, then shifts gears to a much-needed lesson in verbal comportment. It's not just their "attractive regional accents" that distinguish Southern Belles from their less-attractive northern counterparts; they also devote great attention to evoking grace through their cadence and tone.

Sometimes northern women can sound awfully abrupt. It's just a habit they have, poor things.

If you'd like to take your place amongst esteemed gentility, however, I urge you to change your ways! For one thing, when speaking, "slip in something affectionate so that a very harsh reality doesn't come across as rude or abrupt." For example, see how much unpleasant confrontation is avoided with the following turn of phrase:

Darling, don't you know you're too smart and pretty to be the town drunk?

Silly girl, haven't you heard? Addiction is for ugly people! You should also feel free to use these compliments liberally throughout conversation -- "You don't have to mean it, you know." As an example:

If you can tell that someone has put a lot of effort into a particular aspect of her outfit, just draw attention to it. Sparkly stars-and-stripes high heels could be terribly tacky, but you bet they're supposed to be noticed, so go ahead and do it. "Those are certainly patriotic shoes!"

Let me take a crack at it -- This book certainly has a lot of words in it! Writing a book is such an impressive achievement -- I'm sure it feels so rewarding to finally see it In print! And I love the way you occasionally use infinity signs as bullet points -- it's so evocative! I think I'm getting the hang of this!
"Another southern difference?" As Phaedra informs us, "we try not to make direct requests. It just sounds so forward and frankly unpleasant if someone comes right out and says what they want from you." Phaedra's Starbucks barista must really despise her -- If it isn't too much trouble, could I bother you for something to drink? No, anything's fine -- I wouldn't want to impose.
Almost like a modern-day Rosetta Stone, the next passage introduces us to the nuanced connotations that pervade a true Belle's vocabulary. For example, Phaedra tells the reader that "if I tell someone 'Goodness, you must have spent all day on your hair. I am so impressed!' it really means I hate it." Before I manage to convey how impressed I am by the book before me, I read on to learn that "when you're discussing a homely girl, you generally say, 'She's so smart!' The general thought is you can't be both ugly and dumb. God wouldn't be that cruel." Please excuse me while I take a few hours to re-analyze every compliment I've ever been given in my entire life.
Now that that's done, here are a few more translations to help you decipher the Belles in your life.

Belle-Speak: She's a nurse-in-training.
Unvarnished Truth: She dates only old men.

Belle-Speak: She's a butter face.
Unvarnished Truth: Everything looks good but her face.

Belle-Speak: Hope he's got money.
Unvarnished Truth: He's unattractive and pays for affection.

The second one is not even really a euphemism so much as Phaedra trying to demonstrate her knowledge of hip modern slang, but I digress. We transition into advice for conversation starters -- "don't throw them complicated or controversial subjects like politics, animal rights, or local zoning." Truly, I can't tell you how many times I've been approached at a party with an opener about municipal ordinances, and it just kills the mood like nothing else. Worried about how you'll ever find something to talk about under these restrictions?

Don't worry about sounding interesting. "Interesting" is an overrated notion. Just fill the empty air.

That…explains a lot, actually.
Our next lesson is in reference to dinner parties -- "don't make a fuss, unless you're complimenting the cook." In case you're confused as to how this guidance should be interpreted, Phaedra clarifies with some examples -- "'Is there meat in here? I'm a vegetarian' is the wrong kind of fuss." Since I typically ask this question while flailing my arms wildly and making intermittent whooping noises, I completely understand how it could be disruptive amongst refined company. Although I'm starting to get a bit nervous that I won't be able to keep track of these seemingly countless rules, Phaedra's next assurance puts my mind at ease: "If all else fails, remember the secret weapon of the Southern Belle is delicate helplessness."
In the next passage, we learn that, "if there's any characteristic that defines a Southern Belle, it's her habit of firing off little notes on any occasion." Just as with verbal compliments, these notes require little to no basis in factual reality -- "obviously it's perfectly all right to exaggerate." But while truthfulness is more or less dispensable, your choice of writing implement could have grave repercussions. As Phaedra exhorts, "Never, ever write a letter in pencil. You might as well not bother at all." Within the realm of pens, however, "blue and black are perfectly acceptable, even if they do lack panache."
We return once again to the topic of appropriate subjects for conversation, and are cautioned against asking anyone their age. Of course, wild speculation is encouraged, "as long as you're out of earshot." In the next tip, Phaedra declares: "Don't discuss the cost of anything. Any discussion of cost is just in poor taste." I just can't help picture how much of a nightmare this woman must be at a fast-food drive-through. Our final instruction?

Don't discuss hair color. Men always pretend they don't dye their hair, so you just have to go with it.

At first glance, this seems reasonable enough, especially in the context of the social graces espoused by the book so far. However, Phaedra's attempt at further explanation quickly begins to careen off-course.

For women, it's a little bit more complicated because you have the question of whether the drapes match the carpet, so to speak. And I do know some who dye the carpet to match -- that was the big thing in high school. Now with all this weird waxing, you don't have to do as much dyeing, but that's another thing you don't talk about either!

Let's see if I've got this straight: I should always believe a man about his purported hair color no matter what, but if a woman tries to lie about hers, she'll get caught…because I will inevitably be forced to confront the realities of her pubic hair? An intimate partner, sure, but I just can't imagine this situation arises with enough frequency to merit even the few lines its given in this text. And honestly, at this point, I don't even think I want to know what Phaedra means by "weird waxing."
This section of the book concludes with a final catalog of "the 'She did what?' mistakes." The list starts off strong with "wearing white to another woman's wedding." However, by the time we end on the most unimaginable of atrocities -- "drinking beer from a bottle" -- I'm beginning to wonder if this list was actually supposed to have been titled "things the sexy homewrecker does in a bro-country music video."
The following section is titled, "Work Hard," and I am immediately inspired to do exactly so by the implicit challenge thrown down in Phaedra's opening lines, in which she coquettishly asks, "Who always delivers a presentation on time, with the printed materials perfectly written and proofread?" I'm usually quite good at taming my most pedantic impulses, but contrarian passions I never knew I had are foaming at the mouth to find an upcoming typo and self-righteously call her bluff. Although perhaps I should find a more feminine way to phrase that; as Phaedra cautions, "we don't like to think of ourselves as driven, because that sounds so neurotic and unpleasant."
We next learn that "you cannot be a Southern Belle unless you understand what it is to be ladylike." But unfortunately, it is all too easy to be caught up in the ways of the world and lose sight of this primary calling.

A lot of women today enjoy being the feisty, brassy, foul-mouthed kind of gal who drinks with men and shows a lot of flesh. They think it's cool.

Phaedra continues and reflects that, "I've heard the argument that this is progress, from the feminist point of view, but I don't necessarily agree." I can never remember -- which wave of feminism was the one with all the feisty gals? But clearly, their agenda has gone too far! How, in contrast, does a delicate Southern Belle behave?

She looks as if she's heard of sex, probably has had sex, but has no plans to have sex with anybody in the immediate surroundings.

I'm not sure exactly how to convey this highly specific sentiment in any other way than purchasing a t-shirt custom-printed with the phrase, "I have heard of sex, have probably had sex, but have no plans to have sex with anybody in the immediate surroundings," so I hope that approach will suffice for now. Phaedra follows up by cautioning us that,

A lady never puts in the shop window what isn't for sale.

Personally, I like to think of myself as more of a museum than a gift shop, but to each their own! We next learn more about the delicate balance a Southern Belle must achieve in order to maintain her esteemed position. For example, while "she doesn't cuss and doesn't talk dirty," frigidity is similarly unbecoming -- "if somebody tells a good dirty joke in her vicinity, she'll laugh." I'm barely a third of the way through this book, and I'm already exhausted at the prospect of having to remember all of these hyper-specific edicts. It's no surprise that the Southern Belle has to remain consistently vigilant; as Phaedra intones, "coming from a Pentecostal family, I hate to see a woman down more than two drinks." It seems to me like the simplest way to avoid such emotional turmoil would be to simply refrain from compulsively tallying the beverage intake of strangers, but I soon learn there are far more perilous hazards lurking around every corner. Phaedra shares her personal strategy for avoiding the very implication of incivility in the following excerpt:

I don't ever go to the bar at a party; I think that just looks terrible. If I must have a glass of wine or crave a fruity adult libation, I'll ask a nearby man to procure it for me.

Sir! Procure me a fruity adult libation -- tout de suite! But I would hate to diminish the male gender by implying that they're only good for the acquisition of potables; no -- men can be leveraged in an increasingly broad array of day-to-day tasks. As Phaedra shares:

I have friends who have never in their lives pumped gas for their own cars. They will ask a complete stranger to do it for them. One of my besties from New Orleans will flag down a man, give him her credit card, and have him pump and pay for her gas.

Honestly, I can't help but wonder if this might actually be some kind of avantgarde performance art, in the tradition of Marina Abramović's Rhythm 0. Because the idea that this gambit has never gone horribly, horribly awry truly strains credulity. As I read on, however, I learn that my current train of thinking is sorely misguided.

Sometimes when I'm at a grocery store the fellow bagging the groceries will ask if he can take them out to my car. Why would you say no to this? But sometimes women do. And I look at them and sigh and think, "Poor thing. She has a lot to learn."

Thankfully for my personal development, the next chapter — titled "A Crash Course in Being (Selectively) Helpless" — promises exactly the sort of content that I so desperately need to understand. As Phaedra explains, a Southern Belle is "never intimidating, because some things she just can't do on her own." She goes on to offer concrete examples of how to incorporate this ethos into your life on beginner, intermediate, and expert levels.

Experts: assume help will arrive. Flat tire? Pull over to the curb, and don't sweat it. Can't figure out which wrench to buy at Home Depot? Or how to program your DVR? This is what former boyfriends and other gentlemen are for. Believe me, the age of chivalry is not dead.

Rent due? Don't sweat it -- a gallant gentleman likely already has a check in the mail. House burning to the ground around you? You should know a Belle doesn't walk down the hallway on her own two feet! Bear attack? I'm sure a male bear is just around the corner, ready to jump in and defend your honor!
Without a hint of irony, we transition to Phaedra's advice for the workplace. We learn that the quintessential gentlewoman is savvy, competent, and always at the top of her game. For instance, at her workplace, "she figures out how to work the coffee machine and the copy machine." With that kind of go-getting attitude, the Southern Belle will be bound for the C-suite in no time! Provided, of course,

She never does that thing I hear of in the North sometimes of telling you how little she paid for something. Why would you brag about bargains?

I can't hear the phrase that thing I hear of in the North in anything other than the voice of Tinsley's mother, Dale. Except she would probably use it in reference to something like "giving compliments to your daughter" or "weight gain." Regardless, a more appropriate question at this juncture might be, "Are you sure this book was proofread quite as judiciously as you claimed?" As I scan the page, my eyes happen upon the line:

10 percent for tithing, if your religion encourages tithing, which mines [sic] does.

Of course, it would be entirely uncouth for me to brag about my typographical superiority in this context, so now seems as good a time as any to exercise some of my newly acquired techniques. Oh, Phaedra -- bless her heart! I suppose we can't all be detail-oriented, can we? It must be nice to be so casual and carefree when you express yourself!
Without further ado, however, we move along to our next lesson -- "People don't know when you're hungry, because they can't hear your stomach growling, but they definitely know when you're homeless." To be honest, the more I think about this statement , the less sense it makes to me (people…can hear your stomach growling?). Luckily, with the jam-packed schedule of a Southern Belle, I simply don't have time to dwell on the issue for a moment longer!
Our next tutorial? "If you have one fabulous pair of shoes, you will wear them to church. It is the very least you can do for Jesus." As we all know, Jesus appreciates sweet kicks, so he loves nothing more than to see you rock the newest styles when you drop by on Sunday. And besides -- the higher the heel, the closer to heaven! Phaedra summarizes the Southern Belle's can-do attitude with the line: "We all may not be sitting around big ugly Formica boardroom tables, but we get things done." As someone who has only ever attended meetings held around moderately sized tables, I find this to be a validating sentiment.
When it comes to extracurricular pursuits, "beauty pageants are important." However, "as much as she loves performing, the Belle will not take to the stage: some of those theater people are just too peculiar, bless their hearts." Honestly, Phaedra and I come down on the same side on this one. But I will have to heartily disagree with her next passage -- with respect to traditions of stepping within Black Greek Life -- in which she states,

The traditionally white organizations don't have anything comparable.

Um, excuse me? Have you never seen this iconic video?! However, Phaedra does reassure us that she's far from ignorant in the ways of the world. As she states, "I have read about hookup culture and known a few easy women." Of course, easy men don't exist -- or at least, that's what I've read in all the most prominent textbooks regarding hookup culture. But don't mistake Phaedra's awareness for acceptance -- "that doesn't mean I like any of it." However, this sentiment is belied just a few paragraphs later, when our author recalls:

I offended the mother of one of my best friends once by booking some exotic entertainment at this friend's birthday party. My friend loved the anatomically exceptional dancer, but her mother was livid.

I'm sure that it was only your friend who loved the "anatomically exceptional" dancer, and I assume this must have been one of your aforementioned token "easy" friends, besides. A Southern Belle, in contrast, is interested in serious, long-term relationships. And for this purpose, "it would be much better to marry a young man that you can train. I have always said that I would rather be a babysitter than a geriatric nurse." Yet even these kinds of discrepancies seem trivial in comparison to the boundless passions of eternal love. As Phaedra shares,

I want Apollo and me to celebrate our fiftieth anniversary, so I try to overlook momentary annoyances.

That aged well. Bless her heart.
We're soon treated to a cheeky list of "what her husband doesn't know," which echoes several key themes from earlier in the book -- most notably in its bizarre fixation with pubic grooming.

He doesn't know what her true hair color is, because the curtains always match the carpet.

He doesn't know how often she waxes, or exactly what waxing entails.

He doesn't know that she has her own credit card, her own savings account, and a safe-deposit box.

I've got to say, that last one hits just a little bit different with hindsight. Always timely, however, are Phaedra's views on the importance of the homemaking arts. In this evocative passage, she describes the primal horror of an encounter with a woman tainted by an unimaginable curse:

A nice lady from another part of the country recently confessed to me that she doesn't know how to do any crafts. In fact, she said, she gets all nervous and antsy in crafts stores, because they're so full of things she doesn't understand. I laughed like I thought she was joking, but really, I felt bad for her. Imagine not knowing how to make all those cute objects that brighten up lives in the South! I shudder to think what the inside of her house looks like!

With that fable still ringing in my ears, we transition to the next section of the book: "Look Pretty." Phaedra reflects, "I am always shocked when I leave the South and encounter the enormous number of women who don't seem to understand how their clothes should fit." Now feels like an appropriate time to draw attention to the book's back cover, in which an open-mouthed Phaedra swivels her torso in such a way as to create a bulging protuberance across one half of her chest. In awe of her commitment to inclusivity, I now realize this could only have been an intentional choice to make herself seem more approachable to us northern oafs, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Phaedra goes on to inform us that, "personally, I prefer skirts and dresses over pants." However, although "high-waisted pants and pants with visible hem cuffs are quite elegant and ladylike," one should take care never to forget that "minimalism and menswear looks are just puzzling and not appealing to a Belle." I, too, must admit that I find menswear looks puzzling -- a girl? in boy clothes? I just can't make heads or tails of it! And this is far from the only contemporary fad that baffles the true Southern Belle. As Phaedra continues:

I've never understood the appeal of the natural look. It's so easy to improve your appearance; why wouldn't you take advantage of the many beauty aids available to you?

In a frankly unexpected dig against the ceramic arts, Phaedra notes that "unless you are a professional potter (and I don't think Southern Belles generally are), your nails need to be clean and filed." More generally, your physical proportions should remain mild and inobtrusive:

Ever since voluminous behinds became fashionable, I often see these lumpy, huge derrieres on women with legs as thin as a chicken's, and I think God would never put a rump roast on toothpicks, so why did you do that?

That's why I always caution my friends to pair their butt implants with a battery of leg implants, in order to really round out the overall contour of the body and mimic that structurally stable, God-given look. After all, as Phaedra quips: "'Knowledge is power' -- that's my motto." But this knowledge doesn’t come without a price; being as world-wise as Phaedra often requires direct confrontation with the atrocities of today's world. As she recounts, for example: "I was astonished to find out that not every woman possesses a lint roller." It's truly a tragedy to learn how the other half lives!
We are next informed that, "you have to have your ears pierced, but only one hole in each ear." The consequences for an infraction of this critical edict are left unvoiced, from which I can only assume that they are swift and merciless. Any self-respecting Southern Belle has a taste for the finer things in life, and Phaedra is no exception. As she remarks:

I love diamonds; I'd have a diamond duvet if I could afford it.

Because I am less fiscally endowed, I have had to settle for stuffing my duvet with assorted Swarovski crystals, at least for the time being. However, I'm eager to upgrade -- I can only imagine that the extra hardness of the diamonds will add a satisfying acupuncture affect to my nighttime regimen!
Phaedra moves on to fashion advice, and cautions the well-heeled Belle to remain conservative in her fashion choices. But don't worry -- there is a time and a place to let loose and express your more artistic side. Or, as Phaedra says, "something a little funky or ethnic may even be appropriate from time to time." To further illustrate this principle, she explains: "If I were going out West, for example, I might wear some turquoise bracelets."
But some things are a bridge too far! Any woman with a modicum of dignity would know never to be caught dead in "polar fleece," "a naughty-nurse costume," or "footed pajamas." We are also encouraged to carry around a hand fan -- "the elegant way to stay cool" -- as well as a "small leather-bound notebook for jotting down inspirations." I lose my train of thought for a moment, caught up in a daydream about the ingenious wonderings that must be contained within Phaedra's hallowed journal. But I'm brought back to reality by a declaration of "what's not in my purse," beginning with the stern pronouncement: "any kind of contraband substance."
Our pilgrimage to polite society continues with a comprehensive exploration of the monogram's social gravitas. As Phaedra intones, "I've even seen cars with a very discreet monogram on the driver's door." But with light must come darkness, and the next chapter bravely confronts an issue many others would fear to face: "Looking Like a Tramp" ("There, I came right out and said it," Phaedra breathlessly gasps below the harsh text of the passage's title). She gathers herself together and courageously reports, "some women look downright sleazy."
Alas -- even more tragically -- couture catastrophes are not restricted to those of legal majority. Phaedra heroically pulls back the curtain on a nationwide epidemic of wardrobe misconduct being perpetrated against society's most vulnerable:

I saw a picture not long ago of some hippies or hipsters or whatever you call them from some remote city. The parents looked the way you'd expect them to look, a little bit bedraggled, but the worst thing was they had this adorable little baby all done up in a black onesie. And as far as I could tell, it wasn't even Halloween!

How to combat this terrifying trend? Phaedra offers words of wisdom: "Little Southern Belles always look sweet and appropriately girlish." Specifically, we are encouraged to incorporate design elements like "tasteful, conservative rickrack." By way of further explanation, she clarifies that, "what they don't do is dress like Lady Gaga in dresses made of butchers' best cuts of beef." I'm disappointed to learn that my idea for an Etsy store selling bespoke meat-based children's clothing might be a nonstarter, but I suppose I appreciate our author giving it to me straight.
Another childcare commandment?

No costumes outside the house. Of course every little girl loves to play dress-up. But I truly dislike seeing Snow White or a fairy princess trailing along behind her mother at the Piggly Wiggly.

As she sits in her living room, most likely waiting for a man to come to her aid for some reason or another, Phaedra is struck by a sharp, blazing pain. As the flash of blinding torment subsides, she catches her breath and shakes her head wearily -- another costumed child has gone into a grocery store. Forgive their guardians, for they know not the harm their actions have caused to our author's delicate and genteel sensibilities.
But it does us no good to dwell on the darker side of life! Rather, we'll move right along into the book's final section, "Have Fun." However, this does not seem to be exactly the same kind of "fun" colloquially mentioned in mainstream circles. Rather, the Southern Belle defines fun with the principle, "everybody needs to know that you made an effort." For example, "if you're pouring punch into paper cups for a gaggle of seven-year-olds, put a spring of mint in it." My previous experiences in the general vicinity of children lead me to believe that at least 75% of the seven-year-olds in this group would respond to this elegant enhancement by dumping the punch out on the ground because it has a gross plant in it. Maybe that's part of the fun?
No analysis of Southern culture would be complete without a discussion of that most hallowed of pastimes -- college football. And although "only a really unusual woman watches football alone," it is imperative that a Southern Belle attend the social events associated with the on-season. What's more, she should take care to do with impeccable style. As Phaedra laments:

Sometimes I see pictures of women in store-bought football jerseys and I feel sorry. A store-bought jersey does nothing to flatter the feminine body.

As for the game itself, minimal understanding is required -- "Naturally a Belle knows how much men enjoy telling her things, so she isn't shy about asking questions." True to her generous spirit, however, Phaedra nevertheless provides a basic primer in the rudiments of the sport:

Basically each team is trying to get the ball through the tall H-shaped goalposts at the end of the field. […] The problem is that the ball can look awfully little from pretty much anywhere in the stands. There's no shame in watching the video replay to see what really just happened.

As a final tip, Phaedra suggests that "belles whose husbands have season tickets might even invest in matching linens and china." Our next unit of instruction concerns the arrival of a newborn bundle of joy; as we learn, "the birth of a baby is a big deal in a southern family." It's so interesting to learn all of these unique cultural details! I don't know if I've ever heard of another culture that places such importance on birth -- I'd love to get an anthropologist's take! There are also strict guidelines to which one must adhere regarding the naming of a debutante-in-training:

A Southern Belle's name:
-- is obviously feminine.
-- is two syllables or more (names like Ann or Joan seem abrupt, like so many Yankees).
-- is a real name, not a geographic feature like Sierra.
-- means something. Preferably something nice.

Once born and appropriately christened, children should be painstakingly shielded from the contaminating influences of the world at large. Phaedra explains that "pop culture is full of children behaving disrespectfully." Without the slightest suggestion of self-reflection, she goes on to declare that "besides, we think TV characters are basically tacky."
Phaedra reiterates a few of the courtship commandments mentioned previously, most concisely in the adage, "Belles don't date losers." And, as any suitor worth his salt should know, "a date with a Belle is no time for a boy to experiment with 'alternative' clothes or grooming either." Instead, a Southern Gentleman takes care to keep his language clean from distasteful or offensive language -- "For instance, why say 'liquor' when you can say 'adult refreshment'?"
As we near the end of the book, it seems only fitting that we take a few pages to cover the traditions and rituals associated with life coming to a close. Buttressed by her extensive knowledge of mortuary science, Phaedra instructs us:

Postmortem is no time to experiment with cosmetics. No one wants their sweet aunt Gertrude looking like some ashy Jezebel when she meets Jesus.

The passage concludes with the brassy observation, "we don't usually cremate in the South; we figure if we wanted to burn we'd just live recklessly and go to hell."
Before the book closes in earnest, Phaedra shares a few of her special, meticulously developed recipes. The most evocative of her culinary optimizations is a recipe for sweet tea, in which she thoughtfully informs us, "sweetness can be personalized by adding more water or ice to the tea."
The book's final pages contain an instrument designed to measure the effect of the preceding 252 pages on one's essential courtesies, charmingly titled "The Belle-O-Meter Quiz." As Phaedra explains:

So, ladies, how are you doing? I'm sure you've all been very attentive to my suggestions and are amazed by the results. You're probably totally used to a steady diet of compliments and flirtation and invitations. But here's a little quiz in case you feel the need to measure how far you've come.

If you'd like to take the full quiz, you can do so here. But if your busy Belle schedule doesn't permit you to devote that much time to something so self-indulgent, a few example questions are provided below:

Your routine greeting when you meet a new person is:
a. A surly glare.
b. "Hi."
c. "Well, hello! How are you today?"

If your gentleman friend brought you a corsage to wear on a date you would:
a. Put it in the refrigerator. Nobody wears corsages nowadays!
b. Pin it to your coat collar and check your coat.
c. Pin it in an unusual spot like your waist or behind your ear, after extracting one little blossom to put in his lapel.

The answer key informs us that answering mostly C's means that "you are a genuine Southern Belle." As Phaedra goes on to suggest, "maybe it's time to share your new skills with a friend and pass along this book. I hope it's been helpful to you." As a book hoarder of the highest order, I will have to skip that suggestion, but I am nevertheless thankful to move one step closer to self-actualization with the help of another Real Housewife. Until next time!
Upcoming plans in comment below!

Art “The Chief” Rooney’s North Side Golden Rule

The drama in Canada continues as U Sports' decision to not extend eligibility to players affected by their odd, FB-only age cap rule causes backlash from all its coaches

I recently got NFL Pass and started watching. I have a few questions and a few thoughts

Joseph Lee's Letter to Family and Friends - 2014

Joseph Lee
August 27, 2014
I am burdened with glorious purpose. - Loki

Introduction

This is the third straight year that I have written an open letter to my friends and family, and each year, this letter serves the same purpose: to defend the way I live my life and to inspire others to take on a life filled with meaning and purpose. Readers of my past letters may have already grown weary of my preaching, or this letter may be the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. You may think that I am not in any position to suggest that my way of life is any better than yours. You might renounce our friendship altogether, or you may simply politely ignore my ramblings. I welcome my friends and family to make their own choice whether to read my letter or not, but I promise not to tone down my hubris. As Kanye West would say, I am the voice of my generation.
Of course, some of this letter is simply intended for entertainment. In particular, I feel I am especially good at telling stories. Last year, I recounted a story about a basketball game I played in middle school. These stories may be obscure references to events in my past, but I hope they help contribute to the mythos surrounding my origin.
Lastly, some portion of this letter, if not the letter in its entirety, will be devoted to flirting with girls. I apologize in advance in any case where these flirtations are unwelcomed.
Figure 1. Reported Holdings Since 2013

Date	Portfolio
December 31, 2012	$97,432.75
March 31, 2013	$110,534.77
June 30, 2013	$124,125.55
October 1, 2013	$147,418.90
December 31, 2013	$177,818.90
March 31, 2014	$184,862.98
June 30, 2014	$214,989.08

Glorious Purpose

Every year I write an open letter to the world, and every year I find that there are more people ready to take up arms against the ideology that I profess. People write to me to explain the flaws in my arguments, and I can tell you, with all honesty, that there is nothing that I enjoy more to read than these criticisms. In addition to those who openly share their disapproval with the way I live my life, I am also aware of everyone else who reads my letters and ignores every piece of sensible advice I offer.
“Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it, and approved the doctrine, and immediately practiced the contrary, just as if it had been a common sermon.” - Benjamin Franklin, "The Way to Wealth"
Whether the reader rejects my ideas explicitly by writing a rebuttal or implicitly through indifference, he or she openly agrees to the following. Each year I will report how fulfilling and meaningful my life has become, and my critics will be forced to measure their happiness in life against mine. The reader may feel confident with this wager. I enjoy the confidence my critics possess. To my critics: I am glad that you are willing to test your ideals against mine. I always wish my enemies well. (See the kind words I had to say about Tom Langan in my letter last year.) I wish you all the happiness in the world, and I hope you will win this bet. I have great fear, however, that you will not.

What's Sauce for the Goose Is Sauce for the Gander

I guess it is only fair that everyone I know feels comfortable telling me the biggest flaw he or she sees in my life. I am told, and always worded the exact same way, “You work too much.” But however annoyed I may be from this usual refrain, I always smile back politely, as if to say, “Hey, go fuck yourself.”
Last year I boasted about how I had not missed a single day of teaching in over a year, despite losing vacation days in the process. This year I am able to continue that boast as I again missed zero classes and lost two more paid vacation days. While I may be saving the tax payer a few dollars every year, I do have some sense that there are probably other very dedicated educators who also eschew missing any day of instruction even if it means less vacation. Therefore, I regard my next boast with even more admiration for my endeavors. I work every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night at a minimum wage job, and I have not requested a night off in over a year. While you may find a teacher who has not taken a day off of work in over a year, find me someone with a quarter million dollars who has not taken a night off from his or her minimum wage job. I am sure there are hard-working minimum wage workers who never take a night off in order to barely feed their families. I also imagine there are individuals who are well-off and still enjoy a part-time job. But I find it hard to believe there is anyone else with my level of economic security who works his or her minimum wage job with as much style as I do without respite.
But back to the critique at hand: let me dissuade any of this silly idea that I spend too much of my time being a productive member of society.
“I speak of that nurse and mistress of all the vices known in English as idleness, that gate to sin and hell – we must avoid it at all costs and instead cultivate a busy and useful life. We ought to concentrate on work, rather than pleasure, or else the devil may take us unawares.” - Chaucer, "The Second Nun's Prologue"
While working so much and spending so little has produced the respectable wealth shown in Figure 1, perhaps the greater consequence has been the abundance of moral character I have acquired. When I work on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, I am not only paid a federally-mandated minimum wage: I also earn an amount of self-respect and purpose in life that one does not earn sitting on his or her couch watching football or drinking beer at a bar with friends. I do not mention these activities to highlight their moral depravity (I have already done that in my previous letters), but instead to simply contrast how I choose to spend my free time with how my critics might suggest I spend it. I remain highly convinced that spending my time working is the moral way to live my life.

Family, Duty, Honor

I think some of my critics try to justify their sinful lives by somehow suggesting that the time they spend with their families is more valuable than the time I spend pursuing my limitless ambition. My critics think maybe that instead of working every weekend, I should be painting my toenails with my sisters and giggling about cute boys we met during the week. I am sure my family enjoys my company, but my family also understands what I provide for them in place of my charming personality is far greater.
Imagine, for example, that you went to your family and told them you would spend as much time with them as they wanted, but they would have to pay you $7.25 per hour for the privilege. Your family would find that condition offensive, but it is exactly what my critics are suggesting for me. The money I make working on the weekends does not go towards a fancy new car or a big screen television. (Yes, I will endure yet another year of Josh complaining about my television.) Every penny I make from my part-time job goes directly into the pockets of my younger sisters. Those who tell me I should be spending my weekends with my family are really trying to steal this money straight from my sisters’ pockets.
People who argue that my younger sisters would prefer to spend time with me rather than earn this steady income are simply divorcing themselves from any sense of rationality. The only reason your siblings do not suggest you get a part-time job to support them is because they know you would rather pursue your own sinful life. My sisters know, on the other hand, that I have no wish to lead a sinful life – that my happiness comes from the moral and righteous life that I live and the limitless ambitions that I pursue.
Of course there are more people in my family than just my two younger sisters. However, do not think that anyone else in my family wants any less for my younger sisters than I do. My mother, my father, my older siblings – they want all the same things that I want for my younger sisters. My family – every single member – would gladly sacrifice spending some time with me so that my younger sisters receive all the things you deny your sisters.

The Flower and Fruit of a Man

Everyone knows I love my family, but that does not mean they can’t be infuriatingly obstinate when it comes time for my birthday or Christmas. My mother is probably the worst offender when it comes to this offense, but she is definitely not alone. My family knows I hate gifts, but yet they get them for me anyways. Christmas after Christmas, I would politely unwrap all of my gifts, and then after the traditional ceremony was over, I would neatly pile all of my gifts on my parents dresser and inform them they should return all of these presents. (In fact one Christmas, I believe Tom scored a Nintendo Wii out of this Lee family tradition.)
Now I do not just tell this story simply to reminisce about past Christmas holidays: I tell this story to introduce an even greater annoyance my family now perpetrates. Instead of buying me gifts, my family now resorts to cards explaining their feelings for me. And to be quite honest, I’d almost prefer some shirt that I would never wear.
“What do I want? A little bloody gratitude would be a start.” - Tyrion Lannister
“Jugglers and singers require applause. You are a Lannister.” - Tywin Lannister
Not just to my family, but to everyone: please do not get me a card that explains the greatness of my character. It is the silliest card that I can imagine. I already know exactly how great you think my character is, or I know that you are a bad judge of character. Do not get me a card that says what a wonderful brother or son I am. Other moms, dads, brothers, sisters – they get these cards for their family members, too. If you buy me a card that says how special I am, then I will know that I am not. I am sure there are plenty of amazing brothers out there that deserve praise, but do not mention them along with me.
Do not get me a card that explains how grateful you are of some contribution I have made in your life. This card infuriates me on multiple levels. First, it means you think as little of me as a juggler or singer. Second, and maybe more importantly, while you are writing that you are grateful for this or that, you will certainly miss the only contribution I care to make in your life.
“I want the flower and fruit of a man; that some fragrance be wafted over from him to me, and some ripeness flavor our intercourse. His goodness must not be a partial or transitory act, but a constant superfluity, which costs him nothing and of which he is unconscious. This is a charity that hides a multitude of sins.” - Henry David Thoreau, Walden
If you are thanking me for this or that, it means my aroma has not overpowered you the way I desire. The point of my life is to have my fragrance waft over you – to inspire greatness that you thought before was unachievable.
You want to acknowledge that I have made a meaningful impact in your life? Pursue something greater than before. Do not buy me a gift. Do not write me a card. Show me that you have been inspired. Buy a share of Coca-Cola, or any other Dow component stock. Read a piece of literature, and explore the ideas of Emerson or Thoreau. Ask a girl out who is ten times prettier than any girl you think you should be dating. Do something that I would have done – that I would do. Inspire me in return. Why should I not enjoy your fragrance as well?

Man Thinking

“Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the mechanic, a machine; the sailor, a rope of a ship. In this distribution of functions, the scholar is the delegated intellect. In the right state, he is, Man Thinking.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson, "The American Scholar"
People who do not read my annual letters probably understand almost nothing about real mathematics. (Before I go any further, I should probably mention that this is not the portion of the letter than introduces some mathematics. That portion will come later. I insert this preface to make sure readers do not immediately skip this section. Although, skipping my section on mathematics is surely a crime that the gods will judge harshly – the old and the new.) I point this out to make my next comment more understandable: my talents as a mathematician are really average at best. Again, do not confuse this statement with some newfound sense of humility. In general, high school math teachers have degrees in education and not mathematics, so it would be almost impossible to consider these people mathematicians. Even people with master’s degrees in mathematics might know little real mathematics. I am quite convinced if you compared my knowledge of mathematics to this cohort, that mine would contrast quite favor- ably. However, it is also fair to say that I am very many years of studying away from being at any doctoral level of knowledge in mathematics.
While my talents at mathematics may be modest, the benefits of even a small understanding of mathematics are immense. I have friends with doctoral level degrees in other fields, and they use their knowledge in amazingly meaningful ways. They use their knowledge to make children better when they are sick. They use their knowledge to protect women’s rights and guide people through the complex legal system – they do great things. Compared to mathematics, however, all their knowledge seems superficial.
I believe I mentioned that I work at a minimum wage job. Imagine the customers who purchase their movie tickets from me. Most people go through their entire life and they never meet a mathematician. Customers at Village Pointe Cinema, however, cannot see a movie on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night without first meeting one. Imagine how my co-workers might feel. Unlike our customers, they know I stylize myself as the greatest mathematician they will ever meet. Here is the question my readers should ask themselves: would my co-workers rather work with someone with an M.D., a J.D., or an M.A. in mathematics? The former two are doctoral level degrees, but they do not seek to unravel the secrets of the universe. The former two are practical degrees, but the latter is the study of art, of beauty, of something greater.
The entire discussion of mathematics is intended to shed some light on my current studies. Last winter, I enrolled in an American literature course. This fall, I am taking a British literature course. People always ask me, “When are you going to get your Ph.D.?” The criticism is fair – my friends have doctoral degrees, so why don’t I? The short answer is a Ph.D. in mathematics would require significant sacrifices, and the outcome would be largely the same – I would continue to be the only mathematician you know. I do not rule out pursuing a Ph.D.in mathematics, but at the same time, I have opened the possibility to pursuing degrees in other fields – English or philosophy. There is great precedence for mathematicians doing great work in other fields. Lewis Carroll published both literature and mathematics. Abraham Lincoln propelled himself to the White House with his background in mathematics. My ambitions, on the other hand, are limitless.

Dating

“Am I going to have a problem with you, Mr. Bond?” No, don’t worry. You’re not my type. “Smart?" Single. - Casino Royale
In 2012, I bragged about how little I ever associated with girls outside of work. In 2013, I cautioned my female readers that I would be perfectly willing to take them out and let them experience some- thing they would not get with any other guy. But while I openly courted all of my female readers, I can report that so far all of these advances have been rebuffed.
Readers may wonder if this lack of success has in any way dampened my spirits or reduced my willingness to date. I can assure my readers it has not. To my female readers: you may decide this year to alter your life forever and go on a date with me, or you may wait twenty more years: my willingness to show you what you have been missing all this time will not change.
Readers may think I can withstand twenty-nine years of rejection, but that thirty years will cause me to throw in the towel. These readers could not be more wrong. I am like Beyonce – I only get more attractive as I get older. My readers may not be ready to leave their boyfriends or husbands at the moment, but as their partners grow old and tired and loathsome, I only become more passionate and vigorous and full of life. Let my annual letter become a yearly reminder that all of this could be yours.

An Apology to My A.P. English Class

Recently I’ve been reading a lot of literature, and it has me reflecting on my A.P. English class in high school. To some extent, any transgression I committed over a decade ago in high school is probably water under the bridge at this point. At the same time though, through my annual letters, I have given myself an amazing opportunity to express any regret I may possess about my behavior in the past. The reader may wonder, however, if an open letter to the world is the best place to make an apology. It may seem more heart-felt if I were to reach out to each of my classmates individually with a much more personal statement of regret. The problem lies in the fact that I do not remember a single person in my senior year English class. So let me add this statement: if I could remember who one of you were, I would certainly come to you to ask for your forgiveness. Unfortunately, I cannot remember these details in the story. The remainder of this section is devoted instead to the parts of the story that I do remember.
The story begins a year earlier in Ms. Kelly’s junior year honors English class. Let me describe Ms. Kelly: Ms. Kelly was the greatest English teacher at Burke High School. This is in no ways meant as a slight to any of the other English teachers at Omaha Burke. All of the English teachers I had were caring individuals who showed me respect throughout my high school career, and I thank each of them for the education they provided. Ms. Kelly, however, in addition to being a caring individual, had a wit that cut like a knife. Besides learning a great deal about language and literature, I know I would have enjoyed any English class with her.
In addition to my teacher, my classmates are also an important part of this story. My junior year English class was filled with classmates that I enjoyed on many levels. From old friends to new, these classmates were people who would have important roles to fill in the long course of my life. Tom Langan, our class president, I mentioned in detail last year. Blake Conant was a friend who I will explain in a minute. Erin Brummett is a childhood friend who I feel has always been on my side. Rachel Hansen, little did I know at the time, would go on to post the cutest Indian wedding photos on Facebook. (Maybe next year I will write about the good things that happened to people later in their lives who played youth basketball with me.) More than that though, I have been told on good authority that she also secretly supported me in high school. These were my classmates in my junior year English course – a class I enjoyed immensely. Let me relate just one story from that year.
In 1999, the greatest sci-fi action movie in history was released – The Matrix. In 2003, my junior year of high school, its two sequels were released. The first of these sequels, The Matrix: Reloaded, opened on May 15th (during the school year). By my junior year, my older brother had enough confidence in me to pass down the responsibilities to skip school and secure our first place in line for the movie. I waited at the front of the line all day. After school, my brother, Tom, and everyone else joined me at the front of the line for the midnight release of the movie.
Now, every time there is one of these big opening night premieres, the local press will come out to write a story about the big new movie. Of course, the Omaha World Herald reporter wanted to get a quote from me for his story, as I was at the front of the line. He was never going to succeed at this endeavor, though. I had little interest in talking to people in general, and I certainly was not going to talk to this reporter. Tom, however, had no problem filling the reporter in on the details. He told the reporter my name and how long I had been waiting at the front of the line. The story in the paper the next morning did not indicate the contempt the person at the front of the line held for the author of the story. Instead, the story opened, “Joe Lee was first in line at 6 A.M. for the midnight show of The Matrix: Reloaded.”
How does this relate to English class? From time to time, some brown-nosing student would bring in articles from the newspaper that related to something we were discussing in class. Now, Blake was not a brown-nosing student. He did, however, bring Ms. Kelly this World Herald article. I had not seen the newspaper, but in class the next morning, Ms. Kelly announces that Blake had brought in an article from the newspaper. She read the opening sentence and proceeded to good-naturedly inquire about my absence the previous day. This was my English class junior year.
As I have already mentioned, I do not remember as much about my senior year English course. What I do remember, however, is one of my other teachers, Mrs. Grill – you know her – pulling me aside and asking me if we needed to change my schedule so I could be placed in a different English course. It was passed on to her that I did not like my English class so much that she should intervene. It was apparently obvious to my English teacher at the time that I could not stand any of my classmates. Honestly, I doubt I had any grievously bad feelings toward any of these classmates, and that my antisocial behavior was just the normal amount of disdain I possess for people in general. In any case, my schedule was changed, and I was placed in a different class. But looking back at it now, maybe I was even more antisocial than normal to these classmates. Apparently I was. And with that said, I hope anyone in my original A.P. English class will forgive my unfriendly behavior. As I have already said, I certainly did not intend to be more antisocial than I normally am anyways. I hope if any of you find this letter, whoever you are, that you will accept my sincere apologies.

The Fault in The Fault in Our Stars

While writing these letters, I feel I have an obligation to share some mathematics. Readers may think I put this section in my letter simply to show off, but in fact, offering some beautiful mathematics each year is entirely in keeping with the goal of this letter. As I have stated previously, I write this letter to defend the choices I make in life, and one of the biggest choices I made was to pursue an education in mathematics. Of course, my critics will say, “You should have studied to become a neurosurgeon or something like that,” but I will respond: is a neurosurgeon going to share beautiful mathematics with you like me?
One of my YouTube reviews (visit youtube.com/limitlessjoelee to see all of my YouTube videos) this year was on the young adult romance movie The Fault in Our Stars starring Shailene Woodley. What I found most compelling, and most troublesome, about this movie was its attempt to tackle the cardinality of infinite sets. Cardinality is just a fancy math word to describe size. Shailene Woodley’s character discusses the cardinality of infinite sets as the centerpiece of one of her big monologues in the movie, and here’s basically what she said:
There are different infinities. The set of numbers between zero and one is infinite. Think 0.1, 0.01, 0.001, and so on. However, there is a bigger set of infinite numbers between zero and two. Isn’t that cool?
Different infinities... sounds interesting. Unfortunately, it turns out someone showed Shailene Woodley she was wrong about this idea about 400 years ago. His name was Galileo. Here’s Galileo’s argument:
There are exactly the same number of numbers between zero and one as there are between zero and two. Don’t believe me, Shailene? Well, you take all the numbers between zero and two, and I will take all the numbers between zero and one. Take every single one of your numbers (don’t leave any out!) and divide each of them by two. What do you get? All of my numbers. And there are not any duplicates. Each of your numbers, divided by two, is a unique number that is one of mine. Thus, we have the same number of numbers.
So far this dialogue is interesting, but the true beauty comes from the revolutionary mathematician Georg Cantor. He argued that yes, some infinities are the same size, like the ones Shailene cited, but there are infinities that are bigger than others. Here is Cantor’s argument:
Consider the following two infinite sets: the set of natural numbers {1, 2, 3, 4, . . .} and the set of real numbers between zero and one. There more real numbers between zero and one than natural numbers, and here’s how you can show it. Imagine we try to do what Galileo suggested and match each of your numbers - you get the natural numbers, {1, 2, 3, 4, . . .} - with each of my numbers. Here’s what we would have:
1 → 0.x_{1,1} x_{1,2} x_{1,3} x_{1,4} ...
2 → 0.x_{2,1} x_{2,2} x_{2,3} x_{2,4} ...
3 → 0.x_{3,1} x_{3,2} x_{3,3} x_{3,4} ...
4 → 0.x_{4,1} x_{4,2} x_{4,3} x_{4,4} ...
where each x_{i,j} is a digit in a decimal expansion. If it is possible to make a list as such, it should have every possible number between zero and one. I know for a fact though it does not, because I can think of a number that is not on this list. My number is
0.y_{1} y_{2} y_{3} y_{4} ...
where each y_{i} is determined the following way:
y_{i} = 4 if x_{i,j} = 7 and y_{i} = 7 otherwise.
Notice my number is not on the list. My number is not the same as
1 → 0.x_{1,1} x_{1,2} x_{1,3} x_{1,4} ...
since if its first digit is a 7, then my first digit is a 4. And if its first digit is not a 7, well then my first digit is a 7. It’s also not the same as
2 → 0.x_{2,1} x_{2,2} x_{2,3} x_{2,4} ...
since if its second digit is a 7, then my second digit is a 4. If its second digit is not a 7, then my second digit is a 7. You can see now that my number is different from every number on the list, (if you cannot see it, re-read this section until it make sense - there will be a quiz) so it proves I have more numbers than you. And thus, my set of infinite numbers has more numbers than your set of infinite numbers.
As I said in my review, it was nice that they mentioned this idea in the movie, but they could have done it right. Just imagine if all the theater-goers were able to appreciate the mathematics I just offered you.

Proposition Bet

Lastly, I need return to a subject I bragged about two years ago – the fact that I would never move out of my mother’s house. My mother sold her house and moved halfway across the state. As such, I moved into my first apartment on August 1st. So, for everyone who had prop bets on this subject: if you had bet I would still be living with my mother when we had our ten year high school reunion, congratulations. If, however, you wagered that I would still be living with my mother when I turned 29, I am afraid you lost that bet.

misconception about SE/NI function (mainly about INTJs and mistypes)

As the title says I will be focusing on this subject of a matter on this topic. As an introduction for the past weeks, I have been trying to find a way to differentiate myself from an ISFP (INTJ and ISFP are almost identical in a NI-FI/FI-NI loop), learning new information, etc... I came to the conclusion that the classic inferior SE stereotype is not true, at least not all of the time.
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- In this topic, I will be focusing mainly on these two functions: SE, and NI.
SE is a present-oriented function, it focuses on taking in unfiltered information from the World through the 5 basic human senses and some more senses (yes FYI there are more than just 5 human senses) - as a negative trait this could be associated with ruthlessness and impulsiveness (keep this in mind please)
NI is like a translator, it looks deeper into the information that you have just absorbed thanks to the SE. It filters this information and comes up with a conclusion for future, present or past events, this is the source of the stereotypical "aha" moment. It is not some magical ability that someone has, no, in fact even a strong NI user can get manipulated/deceived just like others, it does not come up with a conclusion all the time right away. - as a negative trait, this could be associated with coming up with the wrong conclusions aka having a bad Worldview, etc...
- FYI this might not be totally accurate, I wanted to give an overall explanation of the usage of these functions. There are other articles on the internet with further information about every function.
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- Now, the misconception about inferior SE
As you might know already, an inferior SE and inferior SE grip are mainly described by people as the following: Indulgence on food, sexual activities, sports, lack of vision into the future, ruthlessness, impulsiveness, irritation from the environment...
This might seem to you as a normal description of inferior SE, yes part of this is true around 90% of the time (the marked part). You might be asking what is wrong with it? Well, it's simple.
Function placement:
- dominant aka the leader of the pack (almost impossible to suppress this function, but at the same time we may not be aware of it)
- auxiliary aka the bee of the hive
- tertiary aka the firewall/ source of relaxation
- inferior aka the Achilles heel nr.1

- first of all, indulgence in food, sexual activities, sports is usually a sign of depression thanks to the past abuse, a sign of bad mental health in general. Yes, a NI-dom can have it too, but the point is that any type can really have this problem. u/ares4545 has pointed this specifically yesterday.

- Second of all, underdevelopment of auxiliary function will usually lead ISXPs to the following, thus possibly mistyping as an INTJ:
- Quoting from https://mbti-notes.tumblr.com/theory#domsini now:
When a person feels a strong psychological pull to develop auxiliary Se but has difficulty learning how to use it well, they are likely to overindulge the function and display some extremes as they struggle. Developing a function means that you gradually incorporate it into your sense of self and slowly become more conscious of using it properly; however, struggling with this process makes the function more susceptible to being taken over by unconscious activity, especially when stressed (somewhat similar to inferior grip but not nearly as serious), e.g.:
- selfish and impulsive, does whatever one wants
- easily addicted to physical/sensory stimulation
- tries anything just to feel “alive” and “high”
- evades consequences; leaves a trail of destruction
- wants immediate gratification; angry when thwarted

- Third of all, tertiary function as I have described is usually used for relaxation, to feel free for once, but if taken too far it becomes a problem too (one of the reasons why it is called a childish function). Since an ENTJ has tertiary SE they are going to use this function for the present moment - Noticed a pattern that mainly ENTJs usually have a problem with masturbation, not gonna lie I have seen this problem pop up in this sub before more than 5 times already. - this can make them misidentify as an INTJ.
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INTJ inferior SE, inferior SE grip and demon SI

Demon SI
Why am I including SI into this? Despite the fact that it is not one of the main 4 functions an INTJ has it still has a great influence over us. And how so? Demon SI is an 8th function aka the total opposite of the dominant NI function (there is some correlation really, but both are counter-attacking functions).
In INXJs this function manifests as the following: Feeling of disconnection from own physical body, forgetting names/dates/information, usually remembering only significant information from childhood, mostly only badly influencing information (abuse at home, bullying, PTSD in general, etc...)
Do you see a small correlation with the classic Inferior SE stereotype? Yes, mainly the marked part heavily correlates with the classic inferior SE stereotype. Most INXJs I have encountered, including me, have a sense of power in a situation when they are invincible or in general the one in power (not in a literal sense lmao).
This as a weakness usually manifests in an INXJs in a way that they will be eating a lot of junk food, doing an activity that is above their limits (putting on weights that are too heavy for instance). Another way this manifests is that they will have a problem remembering basic information about something. In the exam, for instance, they know how something works, but they still get a bad grade for forgetting names, dates and the most basic rules from a given subject.

Inferior SE and inferior SE grip
The actual way how a SE grip manifests in real World is as I said before, let's make a situation, Bob is a manager, he is an INTJ and then there is Bradley who is an ENTP. Bob is trying to put order into the environment, but Bradley is not going with the flow, the situation escalates to a conflict between these two people, Bob snaps, demands something from Bradley, while he only fuels the resonance cascade, unknowingly making Bob lose it all, beat up Bradley and fire him. - you can imply from this event the fact that Bob has snapped, lost his vision and ability to solve this rationally, and began to act ruthless and impulsive, not thinking about the future consequences. This is the real colour of inferior SE.
an INTJ in a SE grip is basically an embodiment of Uday Hussein (an ESTP FYI), you probably know who he is mainly thanks to his actions. If you don't and you are very sensitive then I suggest you do not google him mainly for his actions at all. He is regarded as one of the biggest human monsters.
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How to definitely differentiate an ISFP from an INTJ
- basically the same loop NI-FI/FI-NI
- both types have to go for their auxiliary function which acts as a ladder in this situation, saving you from a bottomless pit.
an INTJ will save himself by using his TE, doing something productive, working on his project, doing work in general, having an intellectual level conversation with someone, reading about something interesting again intellectually based
an ISFP will save himself by using his SE, focusing on the present moment, going out with friends, playing video games which focus on here and now.
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Additional details
- a NI dom can live in the present moment, but they will definitely feel bored if they are relaxing, they basically can not relax at all. If you give an IXTJ a task or a topic to talk about you can bet that if it is something challenging, interesting in general we will try to make the topic as long as possible usually ongoing for hours if possible. Same goes for work, projects.
- an IXTJ (specifically INTJ for this topic) can be lazy thanks to the underdeveloped auxiliary TE. Usually, they will have bursts of energy at this time where they will make a lot of work in a given amount of time (not just minutes, but usually days up to months) then they will have the time of procrastination (this is the time where they get more stressed and less healthy)
- an IXTJ can have a strong moral code like an IXFP thanks to the childish FI, but unlike an IXFP an IXTJ sometimes won't have a problem to abuse it (correlation between blindspot FE too FYI).
- an INXJ can be good at sport, having good stamina, for instance, working out, but in group sports such as football, you will notice that usually, the types with weak SE aka INXP and INXJ will perform worse than other types. Usually, if they are good at a group sport it is only thanks to the constant training.
- an INXJ can have a stronger SE, the correlation between enneagram here and past life. Simple as it sounds.
- The common pattern between INTJs at least is that they have a strong like for military and its aspects, but won't really participate in real World in it, again thanks to the lower SE. Most of the time you will only find them in the less common fields or fields that do not require too much physical strength, but more mental strength - being an officer, pilot, defensive system operator...
- might add more points, the rest has disappeared in my head now.
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I hope that this article was helpful at least to some extent, I am fairly confident that I have gotten the majority of the information right, if you have something to contradict or add to my points then feel free to do so in the comments, I am open for a discussion.

In honor of Babe Ruth’s 125th birthday, here’s the All-Guys Nicknamed Babe Team. And at last an answer to the question you’ve always wondered: Who had more bWAR, Babe Ruth, or the combined total of the 30 other players called Babe?

Happy birthday, Babe Ruth! The Big Fella would have turned 125 years old today, and if he were somehow with us I bet he could still turn around a fastball.
In honor of the Babe, what would the All-Babe Team look like? And who had more Wins Above Replacement according to Baseball Reference (bWAR): Babe Ruth, or the combined total of the 30 other guys who also had the nickname Babe?
I'm not including the various players with nicknames derived from Baby, the 1950s player Loren Babe, or Samuel Byrd -- who, as a frequent pinch-runner and defensive replacement for the Bambino, had the nickname "Babe Ruth's Legs." These are just players nicknamed Babe — whether in honor of Ruth or for unrelated or unknown reasons — according to Baseball Reference.
Lineup: CF Babe Ganzel: 0.4 bWAR SS Babe Pinelli: 5.7 bWAR RF Babe Herman: 40.3 bWAR LF Babe Ruth: 162.1 bWAR DH Babe Phelps: 14.0 bWAR 1B Babe Young: 11.3 bWAR 3B Babe Dahlgren: 4.2 bWAR 2B Babe Ellison: -0.9 bWAR C Babe Roof: 3.3 bWAR
Ganzel had a career .378 OBP so we'll bat him lead-off. Pinelli -- who was more of a third baseman, but did have 71 games at shortstop -- is your old-school bunt/slap hitter in the 2 hole. Herman should see a lot of fastballs hitting in front of the Colossus of Clout. Of course Ruth hit third for the Murderer's Row Yankees — that’s why he wore #3 — but we'll bat him clean-up here. Phelps will start against righties, but we may have to platoon him. Young should flourish as the six hitter. Dahlgren was primarily a first baseman, but we need him at third. Ellison was a terrible hitter but we don't have another second baseman on the roster. Roof is your typical good glove/bad bat catcher so we'll bat him 9th.
Bench: 1B Babe Borton: 3.8 bWAR OF Babe Twombly: 0.3 bWAR C Babe Wilber: 0.2 bWAR C Babe Towne: 0.1 bWAR 1B Babe Danzig: 0.0 bWAR OF Babe Klee: 0.0 bWAR OF Babe Bigelow: -0.2 bWAR 1B Babe Butka: -0.4 bWAR OF Babe Martin: -0.6 bWAR OF Babe Barna: -0.7 bWAR OF Babe Nelson: -1.0 bWAR
Borton’s really the only Babe on the bench we’d want to use as a pinch hitter.
Pitching Staff: P Babe Adams: 52.2 bWAR P Babe Ruth: 20.3 bWAR P Babe Marchildon: 9.5 bWAR P Babe Klieman: 5.1 bWAR P Babe Birrer: 0.9 bWAR P Babe Meers: 0.9 bWAR P Babe Linke: 0.9 bWAR P Babe Doty: 0.5 bWAR P Babe Davis: 0.2 bWAR P Babe Sherman: -0.2 bWAR P Babe Picone: -0.3 bWAR
Our top two are formidable, with the right-handed Adams and the lefty Ruth, but it gets ugly quick. Marchildon had 162 starts in the bigs, going 68-75 with a respectable 3.93 ERA, but 5.1 BB/9. Kleiman was 26-28 with 33 saves and a 3.49 ERA. After that... well... maybe we'll go with the "opener" strategy.
Now lets take a look at them, Babe by Babe:
OF/P Babe Ruth: 182.4 bWAR
According to Baseball Reference, The Bambino had 162.1 bWAR as a batter and 20.3 bWAR as a pitcher... which is the second-highest pitching bWAR of any Babe in baseball history. Almost all his value as a pitcher came in just two seasons, 1916 (8.8) and 1917 (6.5) -- ages 21 and 22. In those two seasons, he had a combined 47-25 record with 650.0 IP, 1.88 ERA, and 1.077 WHIP.
George Herman Ruth -- who usually was called "Jidge" by his teammates, a funny mispronunciation of George -- picked up the nickname Babe when he was an 18-year-old prospect with the minor league Baltimore Orioles in 1913. There are several origin stories for the famous nickname... some say because he had a round baby face, others because he was so naive and rambunctious he was like an overgrown baby, and some because Orioles manager Jack Dunn doted on him like his own child.
People usually think of Babe Ruth as a right fielder, but he played almost as many games in left (1,048) as he did in right (1,130)... not to mention 74 games in center field, 32 at first base, and 163 at pitcher. In fact, Ruth almost always played left field except in stadiums that had a big left field -- like Yankee Stadium! Almost all of Ruth's career games in right field were at Yankee Stadium, Cleveland's League Park, and Washington D.C.'s Griffith Stadium. Everywhere else, he almost always played left field.
P Babe Adams: 52.2 bWAR
The second-best Babe was a star pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates during the deadball era, going 194-140 with a 2.76 ERA and 1.092 WHIP over a 19-year career. He was renowned for his control, walking just 430 men in 2,995.1 career innings — 1.29 BB/9. To put that in perspective, Greg Maddux had a 1.79 BB/9. Charles Adams was known as Babe several years before George Herman got the nickname. He picked it up in the minors in 1907 or 1908, supposedly because the female fans in Louisville were so enamored with his beautiful baby face.
OF/1B Babe Herman: 40.3 bWAR
Like Ruth and Adams, Floyd Herman picked up the nickname Babe in the minors. In 1921, the 18-year-old rookie with the Edmonton Eskimos in the Western Canada League introduced himself as Lefty, but his manager didn't like that -- too many players already named Lefty. After seeing Herman’s power in spring training, the giddy manager said: “You’re going to be my Babe,” as in Ruth. Over a 13-year MLB career, Herman hit .324/.383/.532 with 181 HR and 997 RBI. Such great numbers, why only 40.3 bWAR? Herman was a famously inept baserunner, and the source of an epic line from Ring Lardner: "Babe Herman did not triple into a triple play, but he doubled into a double play, which is the next best thing." He was even worse as a fielder -- in 1928, many decades before Jose Canseco, a fly ball bounced off his head. Years later, a sportswriter asked Herman about the play, and he said the story was all wrong: "The ball actually hit me in the shoulder!” I'm... not sure that's better. His defensive WAR was -9.7!
C Babe Phelps: 14.0 bWAR
The 6'2", 225-pound Ernest Phelps got the nickname Babe because of his resemblance, both in terms of body size and his face, to Ruth. Like Ruth, put on weight as he got older... by the end of his career, he was sometimes called "Blimp." A left-handed hitting catcher, Phelps hit a respectable .310/.362/.472 over an 11-year career.
1B Babe Young: 11.3 bWAR
Like several others on this list, Norman Robert Young lost some prime years to World War II. From 1939 to 1942, ages 23 through 26, the first baseman hit .277/.359/.454 in 424 games for a .813 OPS, accounting for 8.9 of his career 11.3 bWAR. He missed the next three seasons as he was in the U.S. Coast Guard, returning in 1946 at the age of 30. I can't find the origin story of his nickname, but as a left-handed slugger who played for Fordham University in the Bronx in the 1930s, I can guess it was in honor of the Bambino.
P Babe Marchildon: 9.5 bWAR
There are several people on this list who we can't even guess as to how they picked up the nickname Babe. This is definitely one of them. Babe was a most unlikely moniker for Philip Joseph Marchildon, a 5'10", 170-pound right-handed Canadian pitcher who lived a very tough life. Born in Ontario, he didn't play baseball until he was in high school, then got a job working in a nickel mine. At the age of 25, pitching for a semi-pro team, he went to a try-out with the minor league Toronto Maple Leafs; Marchildon struck out seven of the nine batters he faced, then drove back to Sudbury to resume life as a miner. As the story goes, the manager drove all the way to Sudbury to find him, dragged him out of the elevator just before it descended into the depths, and forced him right then and there to sign a baseball contract. Presumably because of his time as a miner, Marchildon had incredible strength in his fingers, enabling him to throw a fastball with remarkable movement... but he also struggled to control it, and often was among the league leaders in walks, wild pitches, and hit batters. In 1942, Marchildon joined the Royal Canadian Air Force as a tail gunner on a bomber. Two years later, his bomber was shot down over Denmark. Marchildon and only one other crewmember survived; they were captured by the Germans and sent to Stalag Luft III, the prison camp made famous by the movie The Great Escape. After the war, Marchildon returned to baseball, but those who had known him before and after said the war had changed him, and he was long tormented by nightmares about what he'd endured. Marchildon, who went 68-75 with a 3.93 ERA and 1.456 WHIP in a nine-year career, is a member both the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame and the Canadian Sports Hall of Fame.
IF Babe Pinelli: 5.7 bWAR
If only umpires accumulated bWAR! Rinaldo Angelo Paolinelli (he would later change it to the more American-sounding Ralph Pinelli) was born in San Francisco in 1895 -- the same years as Ruth -- to Italian immigrants. (His father was killed by a falling telephone pole in the Great 1906 San Francisco Earthquake.) As a boy, he loved to play baseball, but the older boys wouldn't let him, and taunted him as "Babe" (as in baby) when he cried about it. Eventually they let him play, and he proved to be good enough that he would have an eight-year career in the bigs, hitting .276/.328/.346 in 2,617 ABs primarily as a third baseman for the Reds. After his career ended, Pinelli became an umpire; it's believed he was the first Italian-American umpire in MLB history when he made his debut in 1935. Pinelli was behind the plate for Don Larsen's perfect Game 5 in the 1956 World Series, and retired after Game 7. He wrote the first autobiography by an umpire, Mr. Ump, and was known as "The Lou Gehrig of Umpires" because he claimed he never missed a game in his 22-year career. He wasn't always on time, though: In 1941, Pinelli's umpiring crew was taking a boat from New York to Boston, and got lost in the fog. The first inning was umpired by the players, but the umpires arrived for the 2nd inning. Boston's manager was Casey Stengel, and from then on whenever Pinelli missed a call, Stengel would holler: "You're still fogbound!"
P Babe Klieman: 5.1 bWAR
We don't know why Edward Frederick Klieman was called Babe, but he also was called Specs and you can see why. Klieman was a swing-man for the Indians in the 1940s, going 26-28 with 33 saves and a 3.49 ERA in eight seasons.
1B Babe Dahlgren: 4.2 bWAR
Ellsworth Tenney Dahlgren was born in San Francisco in 1912, two years before Ruth made his MLB debut. His stepfather dubbed him "Babe" after the Sultan of Swat. Dahlgren actually followed in Ruth's footsteps, making his debut for the Red Sox in 1935 and then a few years later joining the rival New York Yankees, and later in his career played for the Boston Braves. Dahlgren famously replaced Lou Gehrig at first base when the Iron Horse ended his consecutive games played streak. He hit .261/.329/.383 over his 12-year career.
1B Babe Borton: 3.8 bWAR
A deadball era first baseman, it's unknown how William Baker Borton was dubbed Babe, but he was known by that nickname in 1913, a year before Ruth. A seldom-used reserve for the White Sox and Yankees, Borton jumped to the Federal League in 1915. That season, playing for the St. Louis Terriers, he would hit a respectable .286 with a .395 OBP (leading the league with 92 walks!). After the Federal League folded, Borton returned to MLB and would hit .224/.350/.306 in just 98 ABs, and then like many other former Federal League players was released. He would keep playing professionally in the Pacific Coast League, but in 1920 -- the same year the Black Sox scandal was unveiled -- the 30-year-old Borton was caught in a scheme trying to fix games, and booted from professional baseball.
C Babe Roof: 3.3 bWAR
The last MLB player with the nickname Babe was Phil Roof, who also had the grand nickname of the Duke of Paducah. Roof was a light-hitting catcher, putting up a .215/.283/.319 line in 2,151 career ABs... and yet he had a good enough glove to have a 15-year MLB career, retiring in 1977 at the age of 36. Babe Roof hit 43 home runs in his 15-year career... which means he averaged less than three a year.
P Babe Birrer: 0.9 bWAR
A pitcher in the 1950s, Werner Joseph Birrer posted a career 4.36 ERA and 1.387 WHIP in 119.2 career innings over three seasons. I can only imagine the disappointment of a little boy opening a pack of Bowman Cards and finding not a Mantle or a Mays but a Birrer. But for all that, Birrer did have one shining moment, and how he got the nickname Babe. On July 19, 1955, Birrer pitched four shutout innings in relief... and hit not one but two three-run home runs. A pitcher who hits home runs, naturally he was given the nickname Babe!
P Babe Meers: 0.9 bWAR
Russell Harlan Meers was a left-handed pitcher for the Cubs who pitched in one game in 1941 -- taking the loss despite giving up just one earned run and five hits in 8 innings -- and then of course World War II happened. He would spend 1942-1945 in the U.S. Navy. After the war he'd pitch another two seasons with the Cubs, then bounce around a few more years in the minors. In his MLB career, he went 3-3 with a 3.98 ERA and 1.482 WHIP. He threw hard, but had fantastically bad control... as a 20-year-old rookie in the Mountain State League in 1939, he walked 191 batters in 227 innings!
P Babe Linke: 0.9 bWAR
Edward Karl Linke posted a 5.61 ERA and 1.695 WHIP but somehow lasted six years in the bigs. Maybe he kept getting chances because he threw a no-hitter in the minors as a 20-year-old in 1932. Linke's career very nearly ended in 1935, when he was hit in the face by a line drive; it hit him so hard that it bounced off his forehead and went back to the catcher, who caught it on the fly and threw to second for a double play! Linke was hospitalized for two days, but returned to baseball (and would win eight of his nine decisions after that). Unfortunately we don't know why he was called Babe.
P Babe Doty: 0.5 bWAR
The original Babe according to baseball-reference.com, Elmer L. Doty was born in 1867. He had just one MLB appearance, but it was a pretty good one -- a complete game win for the Toledo Maumees, allowing just one run and one walk while fanning four against the Brooklyn Bridgerooms. He would continue to pitch semi-pro and minor league ball for a few more years before becoming a woodworker. Alas, he may be the original Babe, but we don't know why they called him that; quite possibly it was because he was just 22 years old when he made his debut.
OF Babe Ganzel: 0.4 bWAR
He was born Foster Pirie Ganzel, so I understand why he wanted a nickname, but I don't know why it was Babe. He had two brief stints in the majors, hitting .311/.378/.473 in 74 career ABs; but the outfielder had a long minor league career, beginning as a 21-year-old in 1922 and ending as a 41-year-old in 1942. He was later a minor league manager; one time in response to criticism from fans that he never told his players to bunt, he ordered his first nine batters to do so. All nine reached base safely. I guess the fans were right!
OF Babe Twombly: 0.3 bWAR
Clarence Edward Twombly played two years for the Chicago Cubs, 1920-1921, hitting .304/.357./366 in 358 career ABs. We can speculate he got the nickname Babe because he was the baby brother to another major leaguer, George, who played five seasons between 1914 and 1919 (hitting .211/.289/.247 in 417 ABs). Interestingly enough, big brother George was playing for the minor league Baltimore Orioles in 1914 when he was stricken by appendicitis, and he was replaced in the lineup by a baby-faced rookie named... Babe Ruth. Later that year, the Reds were given the opportunity to purchase two players from the Orioles roster; instead of Ruth, they took George Twombly and a former major league infielder named Claud Derrick. Later that year, the Red Sox were given the same deal and they took Ruth and Ernie Shore.
C Babe Wilber: 0.2 bWAR
If not for World War 2, maybe Delbert Quentin Wilber would have been higher on this list. As an infant, his mother called him "Babe" and it stuck. Wilber made his minor league debut as a 19-year-old catcher in the St. Louis Browns system in 1938, hitting .304 with a .490 SLG in 398 ABs, and he'd follow that up hitting .308 with a .472 SLG in 435 ABs in 1940. But three months after Pearl Harbor, Wilber found himself at the Jefferson Barracks Army Air Force Base in Missouri. He entered the war as a private and left it as a captain, spending most of that time on military bases as a playemanager for baseball teams often loaded with MLB stars. He would finally reach the Show as a 27-year-old in 1946, getting a cup of coffee with the St. Louis Cardinals. Over his eight-year career, Wilber would hit .242/.286/.389 in 720 ABs.
P Babe Davis: 0.2 bWAR
Born in 1913 -- one month after the inauguration of the 28th president -- Woodrow Wilson Davis pitched in just two MLB games, giving up one run on three hits (but four walks) for the Detroit Tigers in 1938. He did have seven years in the minors, going 50-55 in 190 games across six different leagues, but like many others on this list his professional baseball career was derailed by World War II, serving in the U.S. Navy. I can't find a source for the nickname Babe, but he obviously liked the nickname -- after baseball, he founded "Babe's Mighty Mites," a baseball and softball youth program in Wayne County, Georgia.
C Babe Towne: 0.1 bWAR
A catcher for 14 games for the Chicago White Sox in 1906, Jay King Towne went 10-for-36 with seven walks (.395 OBP) and had a pinch-hit appearance in the 1906 World Series, but apparently that wasn't good enough to bring him back to the bigs the following season. He had a long minor league career, though, starting as a 22-year-old catcher for the Rock Rapids Browns in the Iowa-South Dakota League in 1902 and ending as a 36-year-old playemanager of the Fort Dodge Dodgers in the Central Association in 1916. In 1911, he hit .366 for the Sioux City Packers of the Western League! Like many others, I can't find the origin of the nickname Babe, but he had it years before Ruth did.
1B Babe Danzig: 0.0 bWAR
Harold Paul Danzig went 2-for-13 in his only MLB season, in 1909 with the Boston Red Sox. Danzig would spend a total of nine years in professional baseball, playing in the Pacific Coast League, the New England League (hitting .345 for Lowell Tigers in 232 AB), the Southern Association, and the Empire State League. Danzig -- born eight years before Ruth, and making his MLB debut while Ruth was a 14-year-old boy at St. Mary's School for Boys -- reportedly picked up the nickname Babe because of his large size as a youth, in reference to Paul Bunyan's blue ox!
OF Babe Klee: 0.0 bWAR
Ollie Chester Klee appeared in just three MLB games, all with the Cincinnati Reds in 1925. On August 10th, he replaced future Hall of Famer Edd Roush in center field in the 7th inning of a 10-6 game against the Brooklyn Robins; he would then lead off against Dazzy Vance in the 9th, and strike out. (Vance would strike out the side, going the distance in the 13-7 victory.) On August 14 and August 26, the 25-year-old got into games as a pinch runner, but didn't get to bat or field... or even advance a base. Klee had been a star halfback at the Ohio State University and later was a high school football coach. Unfortunately, we don't know when or why he picked up the nickname Babe.
OF Babe Bigelow: -0.2 bWAR
Maybe the Boston Red Sox thought they'd reversed the curse in 1929 when they signed a left-handed power hitter nicknamed Babe. Elliot Allardice Bigelow had been a minor league sensation, tearing up the Florida State League, the South Atlantic League, and the Southern Association. Between 1924 and 1928, his lowest batting average was .349. Supposedly the right-field fence in Chattanooga was so deep that only three balls had ever been hit over it... two of them by Bigelow. Of course if he'd played today, they'd call him Bam-Bam, but in 1926, you call a guy like that Babe. In Boston, the 31-year-old rookie would hit a respectable .284 with a .357 OBP, but only one home run in 211 ABs. In addition to his lack of power, his other problem was, in those pre-DH days, Bigelow was just too slow and awkward to play the field. After one season in the Show, he returned to the minors to terrorize the pitchers of the Southern Association. In 12 seasons in the minors -- 1,473 games -- Bigelow hit .349!
P Babe Sherman: -0.2 bWAR
Lester Daniel Sherman had twice as many nicknames -- Babe or General -- as he did games played. He pitched in just one game, facing three batters -- getting one out and walking two -- as a 23-year-old pitcher for Chicago in the Federal League in 1914. He would pitch sporadically in the minors after that, going 10-15 in 44 games. Maybe they called him Babe because of his youth, or his size -- he was listed at 5'6" and 145 pounds.
P Babe Picone: -0.3 bWAR
Another guy who we don't know where the nickname came from. Mario Peter Picone played pro ball for 13 seasons, but had only 40 innings in the bigs, scattered between 1947 and 1954. The righty went 0-2 with a 6.30 ERA and 1.700 WHIP in three starts and 10 relief appearances.
1B Babe Butka: -0.4 bWAR
A war-time replacement, Edward Luke Butka hit just .220 in 50 ABs between 1943 and 1944. He got the nickname Babe as a teenager playing semi-pro baseball in Pennsylvania in the 1930s because of his impressive home run power. Butka, the son of Polish immigrants, wanted to fight in World War II but was ruled 4-F because of a punctured ear drum; he tried to enlist more than once, but was always turned away. After the veteran players returned from the war, Butka kicked around the minors for awhile and later became a player-manager.
OF Babe Martin: -0.6 bWAR
Boris Michael Martinovich was born in 1920, the son of a Montenegro-born professional wrestler known as Iron Mike Martin. The youngest of five children, Boris was called Baby for years, and the nickname stuck; when he grew into a man, it soon became the more baseball-friendly nickname of Babe. He spent most of his professional career in the minors, though he did get 185 at-bats with the St. Louis Browns in 1945, hitting .200/.245/.281. In Double-A in 1944, he hit .350/.418/.580 in 386 AB, and in Triple-A in 1947 he hit .319/.383/.555.
OF Babe Barna: -0.7 bWAR
Herbert Paul Barna was a three-sport star at West Virginia University in the 1930s, excelling in football, basketball, and baseball; the Philadelphia Eagles wanted him, but instead he signed with the Philadelphia Athletics. West Virginia University also was where he got the nickname Babe, presumably because of his size (6'2", 210 pounds) and because he was a left-handed power hitter. The outfielder may have had a better career in the NFL, as he hit .232/.311/.346 in five MLB seasons.
UT Babe Ellison: -0.9 bWAR
Herbert Spencer Ellison would hit .216/.282/.284 in 348 AB between 1916 and 1920; despite his poor hitting, he was a useful utility man, seeing time at every position except pitcher and catcher! After a standout freshman year for the University of Arkansas baseball team, at the age of 18 he turned pro, playing for the Clinton Pilots in the Central Association. We can speculate he got the name Babe because he was so very young. A year later he would make his MLB debut with the Detroit Tigers, where he'd play his entire five-year MLB career. After that, he would be a star in the Pacific Coast League; he and Babe Pinelli were teammates on the 1927 San Francisco Seals. It's possible he was known as Babe before that other Babe was too widely known; we can speculate he got the nickname because he was so young when he turned pro.
OF Babe Nelson: -1.0 bWAR
Another big left-handed outfielder, Robert Sidney Nelson hit just .205/.295/.254 in 122 AB with the Baltimore Orioles between 1955 and 1957. He got the nickname Babe because of his prodigious power in high school -- he was known as "The Babe Ruth of Texas." After he joined the Orioles, he was given another nickname -- Tex -- by his roommate, future Hall of Famer Brooks Robinson. Nelson was pretty much on the bench for three years, then went to the minors where he had some good seasons, but some bad ones too. He was out of baseball in 1961, at the age of 24. He would never hit a home run in the bigs, but he did have 75 of them in the minors.
And finally... Who had more bWAR, Babe Ruth, or the 30 other Babes combined?
Babe Ruth: 182.4 bWAR 30 Other Babes: 149.5 bWAR
The King of Crash also is the King of Babes!

The ranking of the most colourful characters in Polish football of the 21st century! Part 1/10, (91-100).

Here's the original: https://weszlo.com/2020/03/24/ranking-najbarwniejszych-postaci-xxi-wieku-91-100/
Polish football site Weszło.com made their ranking of 100 most colourful characters in polish football. I decided to translate its 1st part and, if there will be some interest in those stories, I will translate them all.
So here we go:
Polish football is full of colourful, unusual characters. Sometimes they are charismatic leaders, sometimes unforgettable heroes of anecdotes, sometimes it's just plain dickheads. Because we sit at home and get a little bored - we decided to gather all these colorful birds into one ranking. And here is a hundred of the most colourful figures of Polish football in the 21st century. What criteria did we choose? Basically - different. Sometimes we were guided by a person's influence on pop culture, sometimes by a multitude of strange stories, but also by charisma, charm or the level of an unusual CV. The most important thing is that this character is INTERESTING.
We start from the bottom and every day we will throw in a tenth from our ranking (and I will translate it from time to time ~Bartoni17). We chose the form of the ranking with the classic division into places, but remember - it's more of a form of inviting you to a discussion and an excuse to remember the dozens of anecdotes provided by our colorful characters. We realize that it is impossible to compare Bogusław Leśnodorski to Zbigniew Boniek or Jarosław Królewski and Orest Lenczyk. The whole thing is totally discretionary, but we hope that we treated the participants of the series "Polish Football" honestly. We hope that you will smile a few times. Have a nice trip and... until tomorrow!
100. WILDE-DONALD GUERRIER & EMMANUEL SARKI
An ideal kind of foreigners who come to the Polish Ekstraklasa. They raised its level? Undeniably. And at the same time they added some colour, although usually by actions which, hmm, are not MENSA references. When Wilde-Donald Guerrier came to the Wisła, he declared that faith is of great importance to him, he avoids parties and alcohol. And for a long time it was like that, until he came to know Emmanuel Sarki.
Then he turned into a demon. The Kraków's clubs "Coco" and "Frantic" became the second home of the colourful two. There were legends about their erotic conquests, some cannot count the offspring that one of them left behind after a few years in Krakow. People from Wisła clutched their heads in disbelief when Wilde-Donald confessed that he was feeding the child... with raw meat. A few months old child, let's add.
Wild Donald is the protagonist of the most absurd social media accident that happened to an Ekstraklasa footballer. He wanted to upload a picture of his jersey to Facebook, but he threw in a free photo of his cock.
NSFW
Sarki? Another incident that went down in history. In an interview for "Przeglad Sportowy" he revealed: - My great grandfather came to Nigeria from Haiti as a missionary. He died recently, at the age of 132. At the age of 132, which meant that Sarki's great-grandfather was the oldest man in human history. What's more, he beat the second oldest person by thirteen years!
To make it even more funny, Sarki was a Nigerian of blood and bone, and that great-grandfather was supposed to have Haitian roots, which would allow the player to play in the Haitian national team. In the same national team that Wilde-Donald (a hundred percent Haitian) persuaded him to play. When Sarki's call-up to the team came to Kraków, the club asked for any documents confirming Sarki's relationship with Haiti. In response, Wisła read that... the federation is not yet able to send papers. But it will soon.
Both of them were basically identical - a style for an „American rapper”, their own world, and not one by one in their heads. Guerrier had his own brand of clothing and loved cars. At one point in his life he had seven of them. Yes, at once. When one of the fans suggested under the picture of the Porsche Panamera that he should focus on playing instead of cars, he wrote briefly: - Fuck off.
Saying goodbye to the White Star, he wrote to the fan that his mother was a prostitute. He lost himself in the cars to such an extent that one day a lift trucker appeared at the Wisła training. The footballer took a few leases on him, but forgot that... they still have to be paid off.
Franz Smuda said that Sarki and Guerrier would send him to a psychiatrist. Watching the Wisła then had its peculiar charm - one of the Haitian aces was losing the ball, cameraman took a shot at Smuda, and he used his broken Polish-German-English to say the worst things to them. Once he shouted to one of them: - I'll kill you!
Guerrier told the media about Borusia Dortmund's interest, Sarki about Galatasaray. Eventually the first one went to Alanyaspor, the second one - to AEL Limassol (and today he plays in the fourth league Odra Wodzisław). Guerrier leaving, tricked his agent, Daniel Weber, who did the transfer, but... when it came to signing, DG77 flew alone so he didn't have to share the commission. Well, it's no coincidence that he got the name "Wilde" from his parents - supposedly because he's been behaving in a wild way since his first days.
99. STANISLAV LEVY
The Social One, Sultan of Olomouc, Denatured Midas. Imeprsonations in the commentaries on Weszło became classics. Probably the only coach in the Ekstraklasa, who had his club to tell him to get himself together, because a messy moustache, thinned haircut and a few days' beard were making associations for itself. And Levy himself din't look as a saint with his statements. Such as when he fainted during the match with Lech and during the live interview he admitted that he drank too little during the day.
The image of taxi driver from Mielec was making a base for incredible stories invented by our readers. Loans taken for ID of Sylwester Patejuk, Wigry 3 bicycle trips, a struggle hanging in the air, the smell of excrements, purple ragweed, dog named Scrappy, Jerzy the Dwarf pawned in a pawn shop, moonshine made from rats, a sip of Blue Paris, Sigma Olomouc's tracksuit... We don't know if there was a better series of fake stories in the history of the Internet. But we're afraid not. And We don't think it will ever happen again.
The Social One
Maybe we should drop off some classics, because there may not be a better opportunity:

(London, Stamford Bridge Stadium. Journalists from all over the world are coming to a press conference, during which the owner of The Blues himself is to introduce a new manager. To the amazement of the journalists, Chelsea's coach turns out to be not Jose Mourinho, but a Czech coach from Olomouc, Stanislav Levy, champion of Albania and bronze medalist of the Polish Ekstraklasa. A nice moustacheman makes him call himself "The Social One". Stanislav's first decisions were to hire a new training staff: his new assistant is a man named Mietek, a sports director named Mirek, and his concubine is appointed as a Chelsea's spokesperson. Levy's first move on the transfer market is to hire "a young, forward-looking," 26-year-old left defender Patrik Mraz. The Czech also decides to cooperate with the Bohemians Prague. Unfortunately, as the conference progresses, the coach more and more often drinks an unidentified liquid from his drinker. With every sip, the Czech Mourinho seems to be more and more absent. Embarrassed by the situation, Abramovich significantly pulls him by the sleeve of his jacket... Then Stanislav opens his eyes. It turns out that he is not sitting but lying down, not on the Stamford Bridge, but in a social house. It is not the Russian oligarch who lint him by the sleeve, but the Scrappy Dog, while in front of him, instead of English journalists, he sees empty bottles and a worn sweatshirt that says "Hansa Rostock 1986". London can breathe with a sigh of relief - the drunken eldorado has still not crossed the English Channel.
again this month, careless games with a cigarette and a denaturate end in a fire in a social tenement house. The sound of fire sirens is intertwined with the sinister creaking of the Wigry 3 bicycle on which the creator of the Olomouc catenaccio moves away from the place of the event.
completely drunk trying to tear the grating from a confessor in the confessional, thinking it's a grating from a sewer, he curse, and waves his fists when he fails to get absolution on credit.
On Saturday morning on Wrocław pitches officials notice the lack of nets on goalposts, there are holes in the fences after cutting with pliers. The monitoring system shows that on each object 4 men break into the object and still effectively took off the nets 2x5m. The officials scratch their heads with a helpless face. On Saturday, near Olomouc by the lake, the first poaching collection is taken out of the football nets just after noon. The victims were sturgeons, perches, hurdles but also children from the Wrocław pitches.

When the Skoda 130L on the Olomouc registration was leaving Śląsk's stadium, many footballers breathed a sigh of relief. - He was able to criticize the team so much that I felt sorry for some boys. I understand the reprimand and sometimes I got it myself. But he would come and insult people. Coach Lenczyk was a very strict and demanding trainer, but he did not destroy people. Levy did," said Sebastian Mila. After all, they weren't footballers, they were pozoranty.
98. NICKI BILLE NIELSEN Lech Poznań boasted that they had thoroughly examined the Dane and knew everything about him. They knew this nut so well that they put him in an apartment right next to the Old Town. And it's a bit like locating a guy fighting a candy addiction between a Haribo shop and a chocolate drinker. No wonder that after Nicki Bille's transfer, the profits of the nearby pubs and fast food bars reached record levels. Kolejorz's attacker may not have left a beautiful card in statistics, but Wrocławska Street was rumbling during his stay in Poznań.
We have heard from several people from Kolejorz, that he entered the first training games like a boar in an acorn. Bombardiero, as you look at it, scored against Termalica right at the beginning of the round and... later it was only worse. A muscle injury, then a mysterious nose fracture. The official version? A collision with a colleague in training. Unofficial version - boxing sparring on the town. Psychologically overwatched before transfer Nicki had no problem with organizing a trip to the capital, drink few stronger drinks and then driving in the car around the city.
In this hooligan mode, Bille Nielsen's lifestyle was quite broad. He was interested in art, painting, movies and rather the more ambitious ones. It is only a pity that he was a weak footballer. But at least he could guarantee the show. During the official presentation on the club's website, he said that one thing he was sure of - he would never go to Legia. We immedietely thought that in his childhood, throwed darts at posters with Brychczy and Pisz. Later, he said that shooting a goal is better for him than sex, and if it went to Legia's net, it would actually be like an orgy. Well, in recent months he has been shooting so many goals in Poznan that all sport he has left he has to do at home. Nicki had even more interesting life after he left Lech. Fights, drugs, sex in public, almost shot off, threats to the doctor... Maybe he didn't become the Danish athlete of the year, but at least he had an interesting relationship at InstaStories.
97. ARKADIUSZ PIECH
As effective on the pitch as outside of it. So, once he hit the right one, and once he didn't. In 2003, he and two of his buddies beat a 45-year-old. Firstly he and his mates threw some rocks on the victim's house, and when the guy, over 20 years older than the guys, went out to chase the kids away, the three assailants beat him with the rails pulled out of a nearby fence. Piech and his colleagues explained at the Police Station that it wasn't like that, they first had a contest in throwing stones at a distance and one of them accidentally fell in the garden of a 45-year-old man. He started to get angry, caught up with three guys, and an argument was started. The cops, didn't quite believe that a man with heart disease ran after the three guys. Eventually the earlier testimony was withdrawn by the attackers, Piech himself got a sentence - 1.5 years in prison, he got out after nine months.
"Świdnica County Eagle" (he supposedly described himself as such) hit for the second time in 2014. The media circulated information that completely drunk Arkadiusz Piech (then the name given without the letters I, E, C and H) fell into the emergency room together with his injured colleague. As we read - the sniper from the Ekstraklasa did not like waiting for his turn, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. And it wasn't about changing queue numbers, but about the hit in the chin of the doctor.
We heard various stories about Świdnica. That it can pull you in, and if you can't fight, you might have not the best stories from the city. Piech not only could fight, but he liked it. He was bragging about the connections in the Świdnica crime-world, the doctor mentioned above was supposed to be intimidated with the words "you know who the fuck I am and who I know?". We cannot deny Arek the colourfulness, although it is not the colour desired by mothers with future son-in-laws.
96. PIOTR LECH
One fact is indisputable - he must love goalkeepeing. He started playing in 1986, finished... 30 years later, in 2016. In his last performance in the Ekstraklasa he was 40 years, 10 months and 28 days old. And then he played in the lower leagues for eight more years.
If you believe in stories of a large number of Polish footballers, Piotr Lech would write the most interesting biography. More a legend of changing rooms than the media he never liked. A typical representative of the old school - a relaxed approach to lifestyle, first to the atmosphere and cloakroom mockery. In his book Szamotulski writes that Lech was one of the worst players in the history of the league in terms of lifestyle. Górnik once organized a meeting with a nutritionist. He asked the players how their breakfast looked like. Lech smiled: - A cigarette and a coffe.
"Szamo" also describes another story about Lech: "He liked to play with fate. As a player in the Ruch Chorzów, he made a bet with Jacek Bednarz that he would jump over the car. What's worse, a moving car. "Benek" didn't believe it, and that's a mistake. When the accountant was going to the club with her Fiat126p, suddenly Piotr ran right in front of the hood and jumped as high as he could - at the same time pulling his legs up to his chest. The car went under him, and Lech claimed the prize.
Another time Lech made a joke on Jacek Wiśniewski, to whom he proposed before the match "something good to stimulate". He glued a ball from a piece of paper and recommended to drink it with a liter of water. „Wiśnia” without asking what it was, swallowed and drank.
After the match, friends ask: - Wiśnia, how's that?

Great! What was that? Great!

Another show? Shooting firecrackers in the locker room. It took a few seconds of silence for Lech to enter the game, boom! He could see the victim and chase him with those firecrackers - the more fearful someone was, the more fun Lech had. Lech was also non-predictible on the pitch - he happened to hit Dariusz Wdowczyk, then Legia's coach, after a match in which, according to Lech and the whole GKS Bełchatów, the referee whistled suspiciously biased. He instructed the young ones, as Rafał Gikiewicz, for example, tells us: - Don't be a cunt! Get out from the goal, even if you make one mistake for five actions, they will still remember that you defended four!
Believe it or not - in those days Lech was a legend of many locker rooms.
95. PRZEMYSŁAW CECHERZ
We regret that we can't find the statistics of sending coaches back to the stands. Cecherz would have dominated over the rest of the stake with a lead worthy of Liverpool in the current season. Maybe only Ryszard Tarasiewicz would be able to compete with him. The author of perhaps the most famous rant of referees work at the memorable press conference after the match between Olimpia Grudziądz and Sandecja Nowy Sącz. - I don't know why. I have no idea. Maybe beacause of a weakness? Mister... In the match, show eleven cards? ELEVEN? Now, in the match, when two footballers meet with their heads, the card goes to two. And in my match only Szufryn got it. Why? Because he's weak. Can I swear? Because he's fucking weak. Or biased. Or biased... Why does he see two punishments one way and not for us? I'm asking. This is a situation that decides about a picture of a whole game. Am I afraid of those words? Sir, I'm afraid of God, no one else - Cecherz shot like a rifle.
RANT – you really don't have to understand any of this to be scared of him xD
He was also famous for the drying in the locker room. Sometimes trash cans and bottles were flying. Once at a press conference the stewards had to come to watch over furious Cecherz. He could shoot a whip over the players heads. Once, during a trip to the game, Michał Chrapek was quietly went to KFC. He tried to explain that he didn't eat anything there, that he just drank a milkshake. - I'll give you a fucking shake! You got your whole face in a coat! - Coach erupted.
94. NENAD BJELICA
Maybe he didn't leave a full trophy cabinet in Poznań, but he made the Polish ball richer with texts that have permanently entered the language of the Polish Ekstraklasa. Whoever hasn't thrown "cirkus and skandaloza" at least once, doesn't know life and sleeps head to toes.
You can say a lot about Bjelica - that the coach was not bad (maybe even very good), that he did not achieve successes in Lech, that he was sometimes impulsive. But you can't deny him one thing - he was damn expressive. When he made a thesis, he defended it until he fell. When, after Lech lost with Utrecht, he said that he was proud of the players, he teared up with everyone who dared to question the importance of this success. When he didn't like the VAR, he put on a castet for every verbal skirmish with a supporter of video-verification.
Oh, circus and skandaloza is just the top of what we remember him from. Well, because Nenad happened to complain about the weather ("the temperature wasn't perfect") or throw himself almost with his fists to the fans (lost in Szczecin, the team manager had to separate him from the visitors' sector). Referees sent him to the stands regularly – one time he teased Kibu Vicuna, Jan Urban's assistant in Śląsk. Once he said to the referee "Jebe ti mater (I fuck your mother in Croatian, as you can expect, completely understandable phrase for Polish referee), what the fuck have I done?!". He also decided that the Poznań journalists should play with Lech to one goal, and if Kolejorz reaches for the championship, then with their participation.
Bjelica's testosterone level was way above normal. And at the same time - when he cooled down and put aside his emotions - he was one of the most pleasant people in Polish football.
93. RICARDO SA PINTO
When he was signing the contract, it was not known if it will be better with Legia, but you could bet on something else - that it will be more interesting. He had a rich resume, but also a patch of the troublemaker, who can only last a few months in one place. And what a surprise - in Legia he turned out to be a troublemaker who only lasted a few months.
But even those few months were enough for him to argue with the whole world. Even with people as conflict-free as Waldemar Fornalik (!), with whom the Portuguese stood during the match to a little fight, just like with Michał Probierz. He was disturbed by everything - the church bells next to the Legia training field, which he ordered to be silenced. The advertising bands around the bench, which he willingly treated from his shoe. The pitch at Łazienkowska Street, which condition he openly criticised. The VAR system and the referees, who got the worst treatment from him at every possible opportunity.
But also the older players he kicked out of Legia without regret - Michał Pazdan, Krzysztof Mączyński or Arkadiusz Malarz. He did not even trust his co-workers and he happened to throw out Polish members of the training staff from the briefing room. He even had a fight with journalists who had been with the Legia for years and who decided to insult Sa Pinto by coming to the training camp in Portugal. The coach cut them off from everything (even the photojournalists), and when he found out that one of the newspapers had been accommodated above his room, he put the whole hotel personnel on full alert and had the insolent writers evicted. In fact, Iza Koprowiak from "PS" even couldn't ask questions at official press conferences.
In her articles we could read about the sick rules that the Portuguese introduced. Not answering the phone from the staff? A few hundred euros penalty. Distancing yourself from Warsaw by 30 kilometres? The penalty. Sa Pinto didn't even respect his assistants, who he once ordered at 11 p.m. to go to the stadium for a cosmetic bag he forgot. We don't even mention such actions as throwing muddy shoes to a warehouse worker.
And we were not at all surprised by the recording, which circulated the Internet a moment after the release of Sa Pinto from the Legia, in which Richard the Lionheart was invited out from the plane. Probably someone got a problem with him again!
92. STANISLAV SALAMOVICH CHERCHESOV
Igor Lewczuk: - In the preparatory period before the season during Cherchesov's era, the warm-up was more tiring than the main training with other coaches.
Marcin Komorowski: - It's the hardest preparation I've ever participated in, I don't think it's possible to train more.
He was able to make a dryer in the locker room after a 2:1 victory over the Zagłębie Lubin, and he was also able to pat the players on the shoulder after a defeat with Termalica and say that football is sometimes like that. He suspected Ivica Vrdoljak about simulating an injury, he said something back to him, and since Cherchesov's hierarchy in the team was clear, Cherchesov only responded to the footballer with blaclisting him from a camp where Legia was at that time.
In Legia they laughed that he train players like dogs. Stories from the football-fiction series made a sensation, in which Cherchesov with a bear on the chain rushes players to intervals. Whatever the appraisal - the attitude and way of being fit into these imaginary stories like to no other coach. Well, imagine such a story with - let's say - Jacek Magiera. It would come out comically, and with Cherchesov - even being aware of the absurdity of this story - it did not seem so abstract. There was a lot of truth in the stories about the football player puking after training with Stani. His approach to players can be summed up by the story of when, after Legia, he wanted to put Roman Pavlyuchenko into play, who had a broken arm. Cherchesov only asked: - Wait, he plays with his hands or feet?
Cherchesov with his players
He also trained journalists - just a memorable skirmish with Żelisław Żyżyński (yes, that's a Polish name) in a pre-match interview, or a classic from the conference 'gentlemen, the end of these questions, we have a plane right away'. The trainings were closed, for exceeding the allowed quarter of an hour to watch Legia trainings, journalists were to pay "a few euros penalty, because in Legia a new era began also for journalists". Bloody Stan from distant Ossetia chewed on the nails and desires of his opponents.
Bogusław Leśnodorski (one of Legia's owners at the time), who defined his role in the Legia accurately, stated that a certain group of people, under certain circumstances, needs this type of boss. Legia took a task-seeker who was to give her the crown of the Ekstaklasa twice for the centenary of the club and eventually he gave it. But in the long run it was difficult to work with him. And we're not just talking about footballers who would probably withstand a maximum of one more round with him, and then you would have to give them to Ciechocinek healt resort. Cherchesov didn't even care for club academy, which he called a "kindergarten". And this in an interview on the official Legia club website. In the same conversation, the eternally injured Mateusz Szwoch was sent to learn to play the violin.
91. JACEK WIŚNIEWSKI
When he was going out to the presentation in Górnik Zabrze, he joked that he "bumped into a crooked snout", and when the fans were taking pictures with him, he suggested, with a smile, that you have to turn the camera to make the photo come out normally. You shouldn't judge people by their appearance, but Jacek Wiśniewski's appearance... says everything about him.
A killer on pitch who played in over 200 games in the Ekstraklasa. He's talking about himself - "chopping lumberjack." In the locker room they joked that as a kid he chewed raw beef instead of gum. He was not a virtuoso, but in every club he was extremely respected. A lot about Wiśniewski is said by the situation from GKS Jastrzębie. A field clash, "Wiśniewski" on the ground, a bone breaks in his wrist. When the doctor sees this injury, he immediately reports the change on behalf of the player.

No, no, no change! - Wiśniewski protests and... plays the game to the end. With a broken arm, wrapped in a bandage.

After the match, he said that he will train normally this week. Plaster? He can wear it if the referees let him run out on the pitch in it. And since the rules forbid playing with plaster, he stands on an elastic bandage. For Górnik Zabrze he was able to give back a lot. He declared that he would come to this club on his knees. We once asked if it was true that for eight years he had played in Górnik for three thousand złotys (around 600-700 euros) - No. I'm honestly saying that the last two years they raised me to five - he answered with a smile.
Do you already understand why he was the perfect material for the stand's favourite? Anyway, he was even respected by fans of opposing teams. And if not, there was a confrontation. Szczakowianka Jaworzno, a train trip to Szczecin. Train stops for a while, three Pogoń fans stand on the platform. They catch on, show Wiśniewski with a finger. The footballer, thinking little, jumps out the window and runs towards them. Three on one. The fans of Pogoń can see that it is about to get hot and soften momentarily. To get out of the situation somehow... they ask for an autograph.
They know what the fight can end with. Wiśniewski liked to fight, which he never hid. But how can you hide it if your face says you've taken a few harder punches in your life? Wiśniewski trained boxing when he was a kid. He finished when he came home with a black eye. But he came back to martial arts after his career, he performed in MMA. When before the gala he got a question about what repertoire of punches he will present, he answered with confidence: - Good fucking hit from a leg is way to go. As befits a footballer.
The interview after his first fight became a legend. "Okay, I lost, but is that what a knockout man looks like? Let's not fuck around! The referee could still let us fight!"
INTERVIEW AFTER FIGHT
He's never been a good boy. He says if it wasn't for coach Bochynek, he'd either be dead or at best landed in a jail. Friends in the business? Some of them are "cunts" for Wiśniewski and would gladly beat them up. Many times he happened to discipline other players from the team.. One of the statements about players who complain about trainings: - Well, don't let them sign contracts! Let one of them go to the mine with the other one, work for eight fucking hours! And then what will he say? "Fuck, I'm gonna go down that mine for eight hours again?" And he's only got two-fourty here, and for a lot of money! And he's still whining! I've never been fucking around!
Wiśniewski worked in the mine, so he knows how hard it is. He always said what was in his heart. Just like in another interview that went down to legend
"Wiśnia" had his undeniable charm, but he was not always brainy. This is testified to - but also about his strong character - the story from the league debut, for which ... he forgot his boots . He founded the ones that were in the cloakroom at hand, two numbers too small. Wiśniewski recalled in Przegląd Sportowy: - I was running like a duck on the pitch. During the break, I take off those damn shoes, and there is a lot of blood, it was possible to spill, on every finger, a hellish blaze.
His sloppiness was also a reason for jokes from his teammates (anecdote above with Piotr Lech in the lead role). Some time ago, we tried to arrange an interview with "Wiśnia". The details were to be determined by text.

Which day will suit you? - we asked.
Yes - we read in reply.

The appointment failed.
Authors:: DAMIAN SMYK i JAKUB BIAŁEK

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