Loading video...

Video Failed to Load

Go Home

Rocky had his montage, here’s mine 💪🏼 Getting put through our paces today in John Bosco Youth Centre, Drimnagh🥊

21,919 views • 11 months ago •via X (Twitter)

0 Comments

No comments available

Comments from the original post will appear here

Related Videos

"At first, I thought someone had heartlessly abandoned their dog outside the grocery store. The real story broke my heart. “Look at him — he’s freezing! You can’t just leave him out here,” I yelled at the security guard, pointing toward a golden retriever tied to the metal railing. The dog was shaking violently in the bitter cold. The wind chill had dropped far below zero. People rushed in and out of the store, heads down, coats pulled tight, acting as if they didn’t notice the trembling animal. I sat in my car with the engine running and the heater blasting, watching him for nearly forty-five minutes. No one came for him. Not a single person stopped. Finally, I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stepped out, untied the anxious dog — his fur stiff with ice — and lifted his heavy, shaking body into the backseat of my car. Anger burned inside me. Who would leave a loyal dog outside during a snowstorm and simply walk away? Once we reached my small apartment, I dried him off with every clean towel I had. I cooked an entire pack of plain hot dogs in a pan, and he ate them eagerly before curling up at the foot of my bed, finally warm and safe. The next morning, I planned to take him to the county shelter and report the situation as animal cruelty. But while drinking coffee and scrolling through a neighborhood app, one post made me stop mid-sip. “PLEASE HELP. My elderly neighbor George’s dog Rocky is missing. George is in the ICU.” My hands trembled as I dialed the number attached to the post. A woman answered, her voice breaking with emotion. She explained that George, a seventy-eight-year-old widower, had collapsed during his evening walk near the pharmacy. He’d suffered a massive heart attack on the icy sidewalk. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital to save his life. They couldn’t take the dog with them in the ambulance. Someone nearby had offered to tie Rocky up somewhere safe and contact animal control. But in the confusion of the storm, that promise never happened. Rocky had simply been left there and forgotten. Instead of driving to the shelter, I went straight to the county hospital—with a very large golden retriever sitting beside me. Getting a sixty-pound dog past security and into the cardiac ward required a little creativity and a lot of quiet pleading. One compassionate head nurse saw the tears in my eyes, sighed softly, and decided not to stop me. I slowly pushed open the door to Room 402. George looked fragile in the hospital bed — his skin pale, tubes connected to machines that beeped softly beside him. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Rocky let out a soft, desperate whine and gently placed his front paws on the edge of the bed. George’s eyes flew open. He didn’t notice the machines or the wires. Instead, he reached out with trembling hands and buried them deep in Rocky’s fur. Pressing his face into the dog’s neck, he began to cry — deep, emotional sobs that made the heart monitor spike. “I thought I lost you, boy,” he whispered through tears. “I thought I was going to die alone.” His wife had passed away five years earlier. His children lived several states away, busy with their own lives. Rocky was the one companion who gave George a reason to get out of bed every morning. Without him, George was just another elderly man fading quietly in a world moving too fast to notice. I stayed with them for hours, holding George’s fragile hand while Rocky slept peacefully across his feet. Four days later, George was finally discharged from the hospital. No family came to pick him up. So I took the day off from work and drove him home myself. These days, I don’t just rush past my neighbors anymore. Every Sunday, I stop by George’s little house with a bag of groceries. We sit on his porch, drink cheap coffee, and throw a tennis ball across the yard for Rocky while we talk about anything and everything. If you want to see how brightly Rocky’s tail wags now and how happy George is every time he sees him

Crazy Moments

50,743 views • 2 months ago

Brent Venables, Ben Arbuckle and Todd Bates today at the OU Football Coaches Luncheon: “We’re in a much different place than a year ago. We really like where we’re at right now.” - Venables “John Mateer makes everyone around him better.” - Venables “(John Mateer) has a way of galvanizing the people around him. He has a great spirit about him. These kids want to play harder for John Mateer.” - Arbuckle “(John Mateer) is an answer and a problem.” - Bates “I’ve given an acronym for Mateer on his name - My Attempt To Earn Everyone’s Respect.” - Bates “I think we have a chance to have a premier player at all three levels of the defense.” - Venables “Damonic Williams has taken everything to another level.” - Venables “Jaydn (Ott) is a special kid and he’s an old, mature kid. This kid is intentional. Much like John (Mateer) he fit into the team and locker room, seamlessly. With everything else, he’s a highly intelligent football player.” - Arbuckle “They can’t get enough coaching. They crave it.” - Bates on D-Line “We know what we’re capable of. There’s not one game on our schedule we can’t win. I say that straight-faced. It’s a deep league but our plans aren’t to finish 10th in the league. Our plans are to compete for an SEC Championship.” - Venables on being picked 10th in SEC “Our offensive line all summer, I would challenge to say there’s not a group that’s been consistently in the facility more together. What I’ve seen is a group that’s fighting every single day to get on the same page. I’ve been really, really proud of the work they’ve put in all summer. I’m excited about that group.” - Arbuckle “David Stone is on the verge of a breakout.” - Bates

The REF

46,098 views • 1 year ago

🇺🇸 He ran toward the burning World Trade Center to save his sister. A fire truck became his coffin on the morning of 9/11. His name was Michael Weinberg. He was 34. A firefighter with Engine 1, Ladder 24, in Manhattan. September 11, 2001. He was off duty. Standing in the clubhouse at Forest Park Golf Course in Queens. Waiting to start a round. Then someone said a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Weinberg’s sister, Patricia, worked in the second tower. He didn’t finish his coffee. He didn’t call anyone first. He ran. Traffic choked every road leading into Manhattan. He abandoned his own car in Long Island City. He climbed onto a passing emergency vehicle instead. A stranger’s truck. Whatever got him there fastest. He reached his firehouse. He geared up. He headed toward the towers with the rest of his company. His sister was still inside. He didn’t know if she had made it out yet. She had. He didn’t. Weinberg took shelter beneath a fire truck when the South Tower came down. A captain was with him. So was Chaplain Mychal Judge, the department’s beloved chaplain, already gone by then himself. None of them made it out from under that truck. Weinberg became one of 343 New York City firefighters lost that single morning. His father, Morty, had been a firefighter for fifteen years himself. “I knew he was gone immediately,” he said. There was no ambiguity in his voice. Just the certainty of a father who understood exactly what his son had run toward. Five years later, neighbors in Maspeth still spoke about him like he might walk through the door. The golf clubs he never picked back up. The car he left running in Long Island City. The sister who made it out because, for one single morning, nothing mattered to him more than getting to her. He never got the chance to see that she had. A man who left a golf course mid-swing and ran directly into the worst morning in American history, because somewhere inside a burning building was someone he loved. He didn’t hesitate once. Not when the plane hit. Not when traffic stopped him. Not when a truck full of strangers was the only way through. Michael Weinberg made his choice in the time it takes to put down a golf club. The city he ran toward never got the chance to thank him properly. His name is etched into a wall of nearly three thousand others now, one line among so many, but behind every single one of them is a story just like his. A man who chose his sister over his own safety, in the space of a single phone call he never even needed to place. Rest easy, Michael.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ 🇺🇸💔🙏

Trump Girl

34,667 views • 18 days ago

𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒏’𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑫1 𝑯𝑰𝑻! 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦: 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑃𝑎𝑝𝑎 𝑀𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡! Everyone by now knows Grant Scholzen story of losing his Mom at 9 years old?! After getting 3 defensive innings in the first week of play, Grant waited patiently for his 1st collegiate at bat… As a pinch hitter in the top of the 9th @ UC-Davis, Grant took a FB right down the middle for K one. The next pitch was another FB in the same location and he put the barrel to the ball and recorded his 1st collegiate hit to CF! 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚: I was watching the box score and didn’t think he was gonna get in, so I closed my browser on my phone after the 8th inning and 15 minutes later, the Pacific starting pitchers Dad, who had been a longtime successful HS coach in the Las Vegas area, and I had scouted his players extensively and even drafted one in the 3rd Rd in 2012, text me: Yes! congrats to Grant! I knew what that potentially meant, so I hurried and turned on the TV to ESPN+ Shortly after the game, I received this text from my son 👇 “I was saying a little prayer in my head, when I was in the hole waiting to hit, to let mom put her hands on the bat. Not a thought went through my head during that AB, it was not me up there! These are the moments that dreams are made of! Atta Kid Grant 👏

𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐳𝐞𝐧

181,384 views • 2 years ago