Maggie’s Funny & awesome pics, vids and memes thread (work safe, no nudity)
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Can't help but wonder how many Persians are at the bottom.
Did you hear that DesCartes was asked If he thought Louis 13 was a good king? He answered "I think not" and vanished.
It was never meant to be a moment etched in baseball history. No one walked into Fenway Park on August 8, 1982, expecting to witness anything more than the usual rhythm of summer baseball—hot dogs in hand, scorecards scrawled with pencil, and the comforting murmur of the crowd blending with the sounds of the game.
But that day, the game itself became a footnote.
The crack of a bat broke through the afternoon air, a sharp, clean sound that sent a foul ball screaming toward the stands. In the split-second that followed, time seemed to slow for everyone—except for one man.
A four-year-old boy, there to enjoy the game with his family, didn’t have time to react. The ball struck him in the head. Gasps rippled through the stadium, and in a heartbeat, joy turned to dread. Spectators rose in confusion, and panic began to mount. The boy collapsed. His family froze. Security hesitated. Medical help was somewhere in the maze of Fenway.
Then Jim Rice moved.
From the dugout, the Red Sox slugger had seen the whole thing. And in that moment, he didn’t think about the game, the cameras, or the risk. He didn’t call for help. He didn’t point fingers. He ran.
He sprinted into the stands, lifting the unconscious child into his arms like he’d known him his whole life. He didn’t cradle him with caution—he held him with a purpose, with urgency, with the unmistakable determination of someone who had already decided this boy was going to live. No security checkpoint, no crowd control—just one man weaving through the chaos with a bleeding child in his arms and his heart in his throat.
Rice laid the boy on the dugout floor where team doctors were waiting. EMTs arrived, and eventually the boy was taken to the hospital. He survived. Not because it was a miracle. Because Jim Rice made it happen.
Doctors later said that if Rice hadn’t acted so quickly, that boy might not have made it through the night. It wasn’t just the gesture—it was the seconds he saved. Seconds that mattered.
And still, the story didn’t end there.
Rice visited the hospital later, quietly, away from the headlines. That’s when he learned the family didn’t have much—no wealth, no cushion for hospital bills. And again, Rice did something that never showed up in any stat sheet. He walked to the hospital’s business office and made sure the medical costs were redirected to him.
No press release. No spotlight. Just grace.
He returned to the game that same day wearing a bloodstained uniform, no theatrics, no posturing. Just a man who had done something heroic and saw no reason to tell anyone about it.
This wasn’t a baseball moment. This wasn’t a highlight reel or a tale to inflate a career. It was human. Raw. Real.
And maybe that’s what makes it unforgettable. Because in the midst of a game designed to celebrate strength, speed, and stats, Jim Rice reminded the world that true greatness isn’t measured in home runs or batting averages.
It’s measured in instinct. In compassion. In the willingness to run into the stands—not for glory, but for life.
That moment—more than any MVP award or All-Star appearance—became the truest mark of Jim Rice’s legacy. A legacy written not just in the record books, but in the life he saved.
But that day, the game itself became a footnote.
The crack of a bat broke through the afternoon air, a sharp, clean sound that sent a foul ball screaming toward the stands. In the split-second that followed, time seemed to slow for everyone—except for one man.
A four-year-old boy, there to enjoy the game with his family, didn’t have time to react. The ball struck him in the head. Gasps rippled through the stadium, and in a heartbeat, joy turned to dread. Spectators rose in confusion, and panic began to mount. The boy collapsed. His family froze. Security hesitated. Medical help was somewhere in the maze of Fenway.
Then Jim Rice moved.
From the dugout, the Red Sox slugger had seen the whole thing. And in that moment, he didn’t think about the game, the cameras, or the risk. He didn’t call for help. He didn’t point fingers. He ran.
He sprinted into the stands, lifting the unconscious child into his arms like he’d known him his whole life. He didn’t cradle him with caution—he held him with a purpose, with urgency, with the unmistakable determination of someone who had already decided this boy was going to live. No security checkpoint, no crowd control—just one man weaving through the chaos with a bleeding child in his arms and his heart in his throat.
Rice laid the boy on the dugout floor where team doctors were waiting. EMTs arrived, and eventually the boy was taken to the hospital. He survived. Not because it was a miracle. Because Jim Rice made it happen.
Doctors later said that if Rice hadn’t acted so quickly, that boy might not have made it through the night. It wasn’t just the gesture—it was the seconds he saved. Seconds that mattered.
And still, the story didn’t end there.
Rice visited the hospital later, quietly, away from the headlines. That’s when he learned the family didn’t have much—no wealth, no cushion for hospital bills. And again, Rice did something that never showed up in any stat sheet. He walked to the hospital’s business office and made sure the medical costs were redirected to him.
No press release. No spotlight. Just grace.
He returned to the game that same day wearing a bloodstained uniform, no theatrics, no posturing. Just a man who had done something heroic and saw no reason to tell anyone about it.
This wasn’t a baseball moment. This wasn’t a highlight reel or a tale to inflate a career. It was human. Raw. Real.
And maybe that’s what makes it unforgettable. Because in the midst of a game designed to celebrate strength, speed, and stats, Jim Rice reminded the world that true greatness isn’t measured in home runs or batting averages.
It’s measured in instinct. In compassion. In the willingness to run into the stands—not for glory, but for life.
That moment—more than any MVP award or All-Star appearance—became the truest mark of Jim Rice’s legacy. A legacy written not just in the record books, but in the life he saved.
This is me if I ever suffered enough brane damage to think this would be a good idea to try
Ski shenanigans of some flavor. I’m sure most ski resorts do something similar
This all started at Mt. Baker, warshington and was/is called “The Slush Cup”.
"If I offend anybody today, I dont care." Tom Holman
I heard all I needed when SHE said my WIFE.
'Equal' is hard to define. How many men would be here to do all that stuff without a woman giving birth. Have guys started shitting asshole babies?
@Dirty D Maggot is talking aboot you'Equal' is hard to define. How many men would be here to do all that stuff without a woman giving birth. Have guys started shitting asshole babies?
'Equal' is hard to define. How many men would be here to do all that stuff without a woman giving birth. Have guys started shitting asshole babies?
Fair question.
How many women would punch out babies without a man to fertilize their limited shelf life eggs?
Sweden is and has been one of the leading gender equality countries in the world.
And women still pick women's jobs.
Men are still the truck drivers, carpenters, machine operators, electricians, mechanics ...
Uneven gender distribution in most major professions
The most common occupation in Sweden was “assistant nurses, home care and homes for the elderly”. It was also the most common occupation among women. The most common occupation among men was “Software- and system developers”.
www.scb.se
Just imagine how she'd feel when I pissed in her Cheerios............
She wouldn't be able to leave the house for weeks.
And how many women would be getting pregnant if not for a male? "Equal" is very easy to define and the problems we are having with society today are because we say it is hard to "define". Getting pregnant or having a child should not even be part of that equation because those roles are immutable and unarguable.'Equal' is hard to define. How many men would be here to do all that stuff without a woman giving birth. Have guys started shitting asshole babies?
