In Game: at St. Joe's
In Game: at St. Joe's
I have always been fascinated by the St. Joe's mascot: the hawk that never dies. Part of it comes from my knowledge of Redtail Hawks, because the St. Joe's mascot is unlike anything in nature. Its color is more that of a Rhode Island Red chicken; or, come to think of it, the color of my avatar, Henery the Hawk from the old Warner Bros. cartoons (only redder).
That got me reflecting on a story told to me by my maternal grandmother when I was in the seventh grade and she was approaching 90. She lived her entire life in the farming community of Dysartsville, near the Burke County line and in the shadow of the South Mountains range. She and Grandpa raised ten kids, shepherding them through the terrors of the 1918 Spanish influenza and the perilous Great Depression. She was a diminutive woman but powerful in spirit; in those days farm families had to be entirely self-sufficient. As far as I know, they farmed without any motorized mechanization, relying upon a single mule. Grandma did everything but the plowing; she looked after the family milk cow and tended to a flock of 25-30 chickens. Apart from bantam chickens, she relied on the big Rhode Island Red breed for eggs.
They had a hen house, of course, and she had fenced in an area around the hen house that was the size of a residential lawn. She said "chicken hawks" were a constant threat to her flock. (At the time, I didn't know what species a chicken hawk was, but I've later come to learn that it's a colloquial name for Redtails.) She also used the chicken enclosure to chop pine kindling on an old tree stump inside the fence, using a small hatchet.
One day, she heard a commotion inside the enclosure. Her flock was clearly upset by something. She rushed to the fence and saw that a chicken hawk had caught one of her prized laying hens. The hawk had attached itself to the chicken's head and was about to tuck in for its meal. She knew from prior experience that her Rhode Island Reds were substantially larger than chicken hawks and that the only way this hawk could enjoy a chicken dinner was by staying put on the ground. (Think of the Monty Python skit about African swallows and the two-pound coconut.) Infuriated by these constant hawk assaults on her flock, she took up her hatchet, and when it was apparent that the hawk was adamant about not giving up its grip on the chicken, she snatched it up by holding it between its wings, marched over to the tree stump, hawk, chicken and all, and promptly chopped off the hawk's head.
With the hawk dispatched with the efficiency of a medieval executioner, she assessed the chicken. Alas, it was not merely shagged out from a long squawk, it had expired; it was stone dead; it was no more; had ceased to be; had gone to meet its maker. So she wielded her hatchet and chopped off its head, too. She then plucked and cleaned it (the chicken, not the hawk), and put it in the pot for supper. The family ate well that night.
While I don't wish any such drastic harm to the St. Joe's hawk, I wouldn't mind if the 'Cats plucked a fair number of hawk feathers so that at the end of the contest, it looks a bit roughed up. GO CATS!
That got me reflecting on a story told to me by my maternal grandmother when I was in the seventh grade and she was approaching 90. She lived her entire life in the farming community of Dysartsville, near the Burke County line and in the shadow of the South Mountains range. She and Grandpa raised ten kids, shepherding them through the terrors of the 1918 Spanish influenza and the perilous Great Depression. She was a diminutive woman but powerful in spirit; in those days farm families had to be entirely self-sufficient. As far as I know, they farmed without any motorized mechanization, relying upon a single mule. Grandma did everything but the plowing; she looked after the family milk cow and tended to a flock of 25-30 chickens. Apart from bantam chickens, she relied on the big Rhode Island Red breed for eggs.
They had a hen house, of course, and she had fenced in an area around the hen house that was the size of a residential lawn. She said "chicken hawks" were a constant threat to her flock. (At the time, I didn't know what species a chicken hawk was, but I've later come to learn that it's a colloquial name for Redtails.) She also used the chicken enclosure to chop pine kindling on an old tree stump inside the fence, using a small hatchet.
One day, she heard a commotion inside the enclosure. Her flock was clearly upset by something. She rushed to the fence and saw that a chicken hawk had caught one of her prized laying hens. The hawk had attached itself to the chicken's head and was about to tuck in for its meal. She knew from prior experience that her Rhode Island Reds were substantially larger than chicken hawks and that the only way this hawk could enjoy a chicken dinner was by staying put on the ground. (Think of the Monty Python skit about African swallows and the two-pound coconut.) Infuriated by these constant hawk assaults on her flock, she took up her hatchet, and when it was apparent that the hawk was adamant about not giving up its grip on the chicken, she snatched it up by holding it between its wings, marched over to the tree stump, hawk, chicken and all, and promptly chopped off the hawk's head.
With the hawk dispatched with the efficiency of a medieval executioner, she assessed the chicken. Alas, it was not merely shagged out from a long squawk, it had expired; it was stone dead; it was no more; had ceased to be; had gone to meet its maker. So she wielded her hatchet and chopped off its head, too. She then plucked and cleaned it (the chicken, not the hawk), and put it in the pot for supper. The family ate well that night.
While I don't wish any such drastic harm to the St. Joe's hawk, I wouldn't mind if the 'Cats plucked a fair number of hawk feathers so that at the end of the contest, it looks a bit roughed up. GO CATS!
“Yeah, well, you know, that’s just, like, your opinion, man.”
"I can't be worrying about that sh*t. Life goes on, man."
- Jeff Bridges as The Dude in "The Big Lebowski"
"I can't be worrying about that sh*t. Life goes on, man."
- Jeff Bridges as The Dude in "The Big Lebowski"
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
I used to go through Dysartsville on my way west before the connector of US 74 to I-26 was built. NC 226 north of Shelby used to be a very scenic drive before things became more developed. My mother was born in eastern Burke County, and my father was from northern Cleveland County, across the South Mountains from each other.
Μεγάλη ἡμέρα εἶναι Λύγξ
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
Present and not tardy (unusual). Let's chop down the chicken hawks.
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
Our offense has sputtered to start, but we quickly tie the Hawks. 7 all. I like Hunter as a virtual starter in early for Sean.
- 85Wildcatsky
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Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
I know it sound crazy but we seem quicker than the Hawks at this point. ![Shocked :shock:](./images/smilies/icon_eek.gif)
![Shocked :shock:](./images/smilies/icon_eek.gif)
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Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
14-9 @ 14:46. Go Cats!
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
after the first two possessions, Logan travel and Durkin forced to shoot late in clock (as often happens) we have done a nice job of finding open shooters.
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
reporting for watching duty
my earliest memory is of my dad ringing the neck and chopping off the head for a chicken dinner. I was probably 2 or 3.
my earliest memory is of my dad ringing the neck and chopping off the head for a chicken dinner. I was probably 2 or 3.
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
I like these five. Substituting Brizzi for Grant next year will also be a good group.85Wildcatsky wrote: ↑Sat Mar 09, 2024 1:15 pmI know it sound crazy but we seem quicker than the Hawks at this point.![]()
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
Grant to Conner is becoming a lethal combination.
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
Amazing three quarter court pass from Grant to Hunter.
- 85Wildcatsky
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Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
We tend to have a group of good 6'1 -6'6 players. Run. Spadone and Gheddini can run the floor too. We could wear out our opponents.MrMac wrote: ↑Sat Mar 09, 2024 1:18 pmI like these five. Substituting Brizzi for Grant next year will also be a good group.85Wildcatsky wrote: ↑Sat Mar 09, 2024 1:15 pmI know it sound crazy but we seem quicker than the Hawks at this point.![]()
Pioneer League Football Champions 2020
Pioneer League Football Champions 2021![Very Happy :D](./images/smilies/icon_biggrin.gif)
FCS Playoffs 2020
FCS Playoffs 2021
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Pioneer League Football Champions 2021
![Very Happy :D](./images/smilies/icon_biggrin.gif)
FCS Playoffs 2020
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Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
Announcer is sure that St Joes leads the league in blown layups. Obviously, he is not following the Cats.
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
A lot of good so far. Cutting hard. Seeing the floor. Making the pass.
But we shoot a ton of really ugly, off-balance prayers from 3 feet that have no chance of going in. When you can't draw iron from three feet, you shouldn't have shot the ball. Not unless the shot clock was at :01.
But we shoot a ton of really ugly, off-balance prayers from 3 feet that have no chance of going in. When you can't draw iron from three feet, you shouldn't have shot the ball. Not unless the shot clock was at :01.
"Then they started making 3s. A lot of 3s. We're talking more 3s than a bad dating site."
Re: In Game: at St. Joe's
I suspect a lot of viewers had that thought.
"Then they started making 3s. A lot of 3s. We're talking more 3s than a bad dating site."