“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” Theodore Roosevelt
Source: bradying
My favorite moment of the Giants-49ers game was the shot of Eli Manning in the final minute of the fourth quarter, score tied at 17. Manning, after spinning away from the initial rush, had somehow squeezed off a pass to Ahmad Bradshaw right around the time the 49ers’ Aldon Smith was knocking the quarterback into Sausalito. It was a nice, ballsy little play, the sort of move that made you realize that Eli has a lot more Archie to him than his brother ever did. Manning was left looking like something that had gotten snagged in the blades of your lawnmower. Helmet several degrees out of plumb, pads spilling out of his jersey, chin guard heading north toward his eyeballs, grass all over him. He was the Scarecrow after the flying monkeys had finished with him. He looked bad, and I’ll be damned if, in that Maynard G. Krebs way of his, he didn’t look a little badass, too.
(via kejadlen)
Source: Slate
