Nottingham dating

F17 Looking for anyone playing male

2020.10.25 00:10 PrincessReyyy F17 Looking for anyone playing male

I am from Europe and as the title states I am 17 and female/girl. I don’t have age limit but all I ask is that you are older than 16 and don’t be a creep. I have roleplayed for 5 years but mostly in my native language which isn’t English so I might have some grammar and spelling mistakes. I prefer shorter replies/lines with max 20-30 sentences and fast respond rate (5-20 replies a day or more). I only rolepay in Reddit using chat or messages which one suits you better so please don’t ask to roleplay in discord etc.
I roleplay in 1st and 3rd person so pick your style freely. I am not sure do I roleplay in present or in past tense so sorry about this. I only roleplay with one character and I would prefer if you did the same (This does not include side character like waitresses etc but I can explain this better in private). I prefer to create my character as the roleplay goes on but I can also make character info (if u get what I mean). I only play with oc and I don’t do other fandoms expect Star Wars Sequels and the Mandalorian. I also don’t mind convo between roleplaying but I won’t do it if it’s not okay for you.
I am huge sucker for romance so I would really like to have that in my roleplays and I also like historical plots even though they may not be accurate and vampires, pirates and princes and princesses so if you want to roleplay these I am down. I have few ideas but I am open to new ideas too so if you have one let’s take a look at it! Here are some of my plots and I try keep them short so we can change things to make the plot suitable for both of us :)!
  1. Celebrity and ”normal” person Famous celebrity is sure everybody knows them and is surprised when they meet a person who doesn’t know them. This means they can be normal and get to know them without worrying them using the celebs money or fame to achieve popularity. Does this lead to a friendship or even further? We can discuss which one is the celeb and which one is the ”normal” and how they meet etc in private.
  2. Thief and noble man Thief got caught stealing from young noble man who instead of taking her to the local sheriff (like in Robin Hood the Sheriff of Nottingham) hires her to work for him to pay back everything she tried to steal. In long term they would get to know each other.
  3. Contract relationship After getting tired of his mother setting him on blind dates with rich girls to find a partner rich CEO decides to hire somebody to pretend to be his girlfriends so his mother would stop. He starts to scroll through websites where starting actors and actresses can post about themself so they would get cast in movies or tv-shows. He founds one who looks promising (M/C) and decides to reach out to see if she would be intrested. M/C who is broke after paying all her student dept is desperate for the money and accepts the deal. Would this work to fool the mother or would it actually end up being real? The roleplay would start when they are building the contract and meeting the first time.
If you read all of this I hope you have great day/night and please contact me if you are interested :)!
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2020.10.24 14:32 TheVoidDragon Any places for local news that are better than NottinghamPost?

I'm not sure really sure what there are to keep track of news and such in Nottingham, the only one I know of is NottinghamPost...but the quality of some stuff on there just seems poor a lot of a time. Clickbaity "You won't believe this!" sort of stuff, obvious advertising articles, quite a few articles along the lines of "Here's a random person who's painted their table/couch/kitchen/something for cheap!" etc that is just poor quality. Is there anywhere better to keep up to date with stuff in Nottingham?
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2020.10.23 22:36 threaddo Post-Match Thread: Nottingham Forest 1-1 Derby County [Championship, Round 7]

FT: Nottingham Forest 1-1 Derby County

Nottingham Forest Score Derby County
0-[1] M. Waghorn 30'
L. Taylor 64' [1]-1
Date: 23/10/2020 — 20:45 CEST, 14:45 EDT, 19:45 BST, 00:15 IST
Competition: Championship (Round 7)
Venue: The City Ground (Nottingham, Nottinghamshire)
Referee: T. Harrington

Lineups

Nottingham Forest Notes Derby County Notes
DDWLL DLLWL
Manager: C. Hughton Manager: P. Cocu
30 B. Samba 1 D. Marshall
2 C. Christie YC 18' 33 C. Davies
3 Tobias Figueiredo 4 G. Shinnie
44 N. Ioannou 2 A. Wisdom
26 S. McKenna 26 L. Buchanan
31 H. Arter YC 90'+3' 10 T. Lawrence
11 S. Ameobi 12 N. Byrne SUB 77'
22 R. Yates A 64' 16 M. Clarke
7 L. Grabban SUB 46' 7 K. Jóźwiak
33 L. Taylor G 64' 38 J. Knight
23 J. Lolley 9 M. Waghorn G 30'

Substitutes

Nottingham Forest: A. Knockaert (SUB 46'), J. Smith, A. Mighten, L. Freeman, S. Sow, C. Jenkinson, L. Mbe Soh
Derby County: D. Holmes (SUB 77'), C. Kazim-Richards, C. Forsyth, M. Bird, M. te Wierik, L. Sibley, K. Roos

Timeline

18': Yellow card shown to C. Christie ( Nottingham Forest).
30': Goal! M. Waghorn scores — Nottingham Forest 0-[1] Derby County .
46': Substitution for Nottingham Forest: A. Knockaert in, L. Grabban out.
64': Goal! L. Taylor scores [R. Yates assist] — Nottingham Forest [1]-1 Derby County .
77': Substitution for Derby County: D. Holmes in, N. Byrne out.
90'+3': Yellow card shown to H. Arter ( Nottingham Forest).
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2020.10.23 17:41 s0ngsforthedeaf Match Thread - Round 7 (23-24 October 2020)

Match thread is for team news, pre and in-game chat, shitposting, and anything else you want to share.

Fantasy championship: www.gaffr.io

(League code: Championship)

TIME DATE HOME VS AWAY
19:45 23 OCT Nottingham Forest 1-1 Derby
12:30 24 OCT Watford 1-1 Bournemouth
15:00 24 OCT QPR vs Birmingham
15:00 24 OCT Bristol City vs Swansea
15:00 24 OCT Millwall vs Barnsley
15:00 24 OCT Reading vs Rotherham
15:00 24 OCT Norwich vs Wycombe
15:00 24 OCT Coventry vs Blackburn
15:00 24 OCT Sheffield Wednesday vs Luton
15:00 24 OCT Cardiff vs Middlesbrough
15:00 24 OCT Stoke vs Brentford
15:00 24 OCT Huddersfield vs Preston
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2020.10.20 20:51 s0ngsforthedeaf Match Thread - Round 6 (20-21 October 2020)

Match thread is for team news, pre and in-game chat, shitposting, and anything else you want to share.

Fantasy championship: www.gaffr.io

(League code: Championship)

TIME DATE HOME VS AWAY
19:45 20 OCT Huddersfield 1-0 Derby
19:45 20 OCT Norwich 1-0 Birmingham
19:45 20 OCT Coventry 1-1 Swansea
19:45 20 OCT Bristol City 0-1 Middlesbrough
19:45 20 OCT Millwall 2-0 Luton
19:45 20 OCT Nottingham Forest 1-1 Rotherham
20:00 20 OCT Reading 1-0 Wycombe
19:45 21 OCT Watford vs Blackburn
19:45 21 OCT Sheffield Wednesday vs Brentford
19:45 21 OCT Cardiff vs Bournemouth
19:45 21 OCT QPR vs Preston
19:45 21 OCT Stoke vs Barnsley
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2020.10.17 10:04 Dad1903 DWT21 (October 17th 2020)

DWT21 (October 17th 2020)
Testing testing; check one two – DWT is live once again on Reddit!
Terrific, terrific stuff
Alas – promotion has remained minimal; albeit potentially theres more eyes on her than has become norm. This potential apparent, given the reengagement with previously visited pastures - the terrific AFC Chat. Never a place dismissed from my thoughts - the birth of Dad as an entity upon which at least a couple of sets of eyes are casually fixed can be attributed. One can never not include the place of their birth from the fondest memories; one can learn to have disdain from time to time - but these conflicts merely serve as realisations of fondness more oft than not. Never had a problem letting the Hat nestle on my head whenever it wants.
That sense of wellbeing has manifested itself in a number of terrific ways this week - topped by some margin by Andrew Considine. What a fucking array of splendidness and no mistake. Wins, clean sheets, next manager talk - the positivity flow is at a level harking back to times when the Dons were associated with tilts at the title and whatnot. You miss that type of consistency when it disappears...especially when that energy falls short of realisation. Has oft been the case alas - but as long as the passion remains, it can be woken from its slumber and sent forth with new tactics and approach testing the boundaries of progress once more.
I noticed there just as I was copying and pasting the framework for this here historic DWT, that I had etched the wrong date into the title for DWT20 (last weeks DWT) - ah no. Hope this didn't taint the experience too much. I always find a little bit of imperfection every now and again, really lends itself to the magic of wholesome fibre. Hey - we're all human haha. Others maybe no so much - but regardless; the existence of potential by whatever means. I found real faith in disregarding the advice dished out in many places - suggest theres only one way of doing things much the time. Fuck your advice hombre - no offence or owt. Don't get me wrong - I love to lean on a compadre about manys a specific topic - but theres much too many pricks who are intent on teaching you stuff in a more general sense; as if the way they wake up in the morn is optimum or some shite. Afraid not fud - yours is nowt more than a hair on the head of possibility.
Given my mantra is fairly general - I'm treading carefully here haha; there is a distinction sparing me self-proclaimed ridicule. There's nothing amongst my ramblings that can really be described as advice - much more evident is the flavour of wonder...akin to the feeling one gets when reading something mystical or fantastical. A ways to go afore I'm rubbing shoulderblades with Tolkien and Rowling no doubt, but theres a path to be trodden. No reason why it shouldnae lead to a nice country house, swimming with well presented guests, inclusive of top names aplenty. Caviar, bisque, star fruit - the types of food that lets you know, 'Oh aye - I'm somewhere right now - hoo mama.' Yous are all invited 😎

For those keeping track - last week had us breathing smoothly from early on; Bristol Rovers wandering out to a lead with plenty left to play for, really opened up delicious double oppurtunities. As such - a nice early cash out of £20.27 setting up a half hour or so of hope that Mansfield could finally do me proud. They didnt - and adding to the woes, Salford surrendered a 2 goal lead to damage the stats. Pricks. Ach well - a stalemater; the same funds ploughed into this weeks adventure of a lifetime. A few more crewmates brings with it a sense of duty to provide; come home time, I envisage a banquet laid out on the table for us all to feast upon. With a pinch of assistance from the Good Lady Gambling, that might just be the fucking case - YES haha, good. So to wrap up - with the hope of a nation, coming to stop at the station - the sense of elation, at the lack of complication. Reddit Running Total (RRT) currently sits at -£122.02. Ah no.

I’m not promoting it in the slightest to be put on; it's purely to be completely transparent about where the beans I'm spilling are being pushed towards – this is after all, a Life Experiment: Can a useless old arsehole prosper under strict weekly gambling conditions? Word of warning; prior to this – not really.
The sticky clarifies - but just to reiterate - here's the format...DRS20 is Dads Recommended Spend: £20. This is a lot of money granted - and I would encourage absolute apprehension if this sort of money represents life altering for you personally if zero is returned. I’m lucky enough to be able to afford to lose £20 in a week; but confess that if I got no return for say, 20 weeks in a row - I would likely be without something I value (a streaming service or summat). I don’t take it lightly. Four bets are placed with this outlay; a £5 Treble (DWT) and three £5 Doubles. Generally if two come up, the bet is covered (up or down £2 or so). My gambling prowess is pretty much a joke; so whilst I advertise, I in no way qualify them as a given. I’m a prick with plenty bollocks to spout is all. This is how I frame it.

So here it is - the one that celebrates new possibility, new experiences and new horizons; striding forth with a new sense of adulthood and maturity:
Its DWT21

https://i.redd.it/vt32vync8mt51.gif

DWT REPRESENTATIVE Opponent Odds
NOTTINGHAM FOREST blackburn rovers 13/5
WYCOMBE WANDERERS millwall 100/30
MANSFIELD TOWN bradford city 23/20
32.54/1 we get for this selection – terrific.

Over 13's last week; over 32's this week - one whole week I lasted away from the thrills and spills of 30+ land...like an alluring breast offering milk, I must suckle once more. Fair to say that this particular 30+ number is a good smidge more strong looking than previous failures - nothing to worry about this fucking week haha YES 😎

NOTTINGHAM FOREST have been wandering down a dark path for a bitty and no mistake; 7 fucking defeats in a row.Bbefore that - two draws. Before that - another fucking defeat, then another fucking draw. Hoo mama. Still - manager out the door; the vigour with as much a chance of being present that most other times. no slouches blackburn of course; but with the home advantage - the onus is on them to thrust forth and leave themselves vulnerable to a Scott McKenna 50 yarder.
WYCOMBE WANDERERS You see the pattern here; a wee tip at tide turners - teams on such a run of misery that surely must end for the love of fuck. Wycombe have had a tough time as many expected I suppose; fresh up from div 1 - the leap is a bitty of a culture shock and no mistake. A losing run stretching now to 4 in the league; they're are down in the doldrums alas. Visitors millwall arenae exactly Champions League contenders themselves mind you, representing a properly realistic opp to jumpstart the adventure.
MANSFIELD TOWN are back once more - a determined run I'm on to snatch a rare bit of form out of the pricks. Home hasnae exactly been where the heart is currently alas; but theres it - the pattern appearing once more. Time to turn the tide back to terrific. A trip to a beach - meet the tide and have a big fuck off party; all three have turned up because they were tides that turned. The others perhaps a smidge more sporadic than these arseholes haha - but trust is thrust upon them nonetheless.

So there we have it – nostalgia, hope and determination all apparent in equal measure. This time we do it right; wind in the sails – and off across the ocean in search of new worlds. A powerful pirate ship hunting high and low for treasures. Raise the fucking flag - the good ship DWT is back and ready to provide for its crew. If you play; play safe. DRS20 as always people.
Frustration at the amount won, is better than the heartache at the amount lost.
https://preview.redd.it/tytk369e8mt51.jpg?width=630&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=756645693ebc022f75153782214bb88bdcabb406
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2020.10.10 06:34 LovelyLondonGirl24 discreetk, 57 from Nottingham in Nottinghamshire looking for discreet dating. - British Sex Blog

discreetk, 57 from Nottingham in Nottinghamshire looking for discreet dating. - British Sex Blog submitted by LovelyLondonGirl24 to FREEDATINGUK [link] [comments]


2020.10.07 16:13 normancrane [SF] The Circular Logic of Space Exploration

Appleton rushed to scratch the message onto the back cover of a magazine lying face-down on a table near the telephone. Scratch—because the pen didn’t want to cooperate; the ballpoint stuck. Appleton’s fingers shook.
It was a prank, surely. The conversation had been recorded. He would end up on a website somewhere, the anonymous out-of-touch butt of some teenager’s joke.
Yet there was something in the quality of that voice, a voice that didn’t belong to any teenager, that forced the shapes of the letters through his wrist, onto the paper. Even as he felt the fool, he also felt the chronicler. The words could be historic.
The words: after a plain “hello” the voice had excused itself and muttered something about a wrong number and galactic interference. Then it had said, exactly, “No matter, you will have to do. My name is Charles R—and I am calling from Mars. First, record the date and time of this communication. Second, please bring it to the attention of one Mrs Mary Clare of 34 Wentworth St, Nottingham. Pass along also that I am doing fine and that, though food is scarce, I have had my fill, and that water is plenty once one digs past the red surface of things.”
That was all. Then the phone went dead. The connection had not been good to begin with, but there was no doubt about any of it. Nothing had been made up. There was no uncertainty.
Having written these five sentences, Appleton let go of the pen, wiped his forehead and retreated to the safety of his customary evening chair. It was a few minutes after six—his regular reading time—but Appleton gave no thought to books. Today, he sat silently in his chair until the clock struck seven. His neurons fired incessantly.
By eight, he had made up his mind: in the morning he would fly to Nottingham and personally deliver the message to Mary Clare.
There was only the slight problem of the wife.
She would arrive home tomorrow afternoon and find it empty. She would worry. Appleton’s greatest fear was that the wife would worry. She was of good breeding and delicate constitution, and worry might weaken her system enough to allow otherwise harmless bacteria to set up residence, which would lead to complications and eventually a prolonged bedridden death. He shuddered at the mere inkling. Right, he would have to compose a note: “My dear, I am off on a scholarly pursuit. Do not worry. I will return by Wednesday. Sincerely, your devoted husband.”
He folded the note and placed it on the dining room table. That, he realized, was more writing than he’d done since his tenure at Oxford. He felt productive again.

- - -

The plane skidded as it touched down, but the flight was otherwise without incident. Outside, grey clouds produced a cold mist that collected drops of water on the brim of Appleton’s hat as he waited by the terminal. Although no one could say so by looking at him, he was nervous.
He nearly misspoke while telling the driver the address. In the taxi, he caught himself rubbing his thumb compulsively against his forefinger like he hadn’t done since his rugby days.

- - -

The house at 34 Wentworth St was made of pale yellow brick. It was smaller and set farther from the road than neighbouring houses. A stone path led to the front door, on either side of which bloomed a well-kempt garden. Appleton walked the path slowly, cherishing the smell of wet flowers and realizing that over the last twelve hours he’d developed a particular mental image of Mary Clare. It was something like the opposite of the wife.
He stood for a few moments before the front door and deliberated whether to ring the electronic bell or use the bronze knocker. Eventually, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. A woman opened the door.
“Yes, hello,” said Appleton.
The woman looked suspiciously at his hands, but he wasn’t carrying anything except the back cover of the magazine on which he’d written the message from Mars.
“I’m not selling,” he said. “I’m looking for Mrs Mary Clare. I’ve been informed that she lives at this address. I have a message for her from Charles R—.”
“Did he send you, the scoundrel?”
Appleton blinked.
“Well did he or didn’t he, speak up. All these years and he can’t even come back to show his face, sends some other poor fool.” Her eyes studied Appleton’s hat. “Or maybe he’s dead. Maybe that’s what you come to tell me. Last of kin or some such.”
“No, Mrs Clare—“
“Simpson, but one and the same as you’re looking for.”
“Mrs Simpson.” Appleton fumbled the correction. He’d shoved one hand into a cloak pocket and was furiously rubbing his fingers together. “Yesterday evening I received a phone call. I wasn’t meant to receive it, you see, there was a mistake with the connection. The call was from Mr Charles R—. He asked that I deliver this message.”
Appleton read aloud what he’d written on the magazine cover.
The woman laughed and stomped her foot. She was in her sixties, Appleton realized. Sections of her hair were greying. The lines under her eyes were deep and permanent. Her laughter was not a joyous laughter.
She said, “Whatever trick it is you’re playing, and whoever you’re playing it with, I’m too old for it, you understand? The past is dead. Mr Charles R— is dead. And I deserve to be left to my own peace. Don’t come back here.”
But before she could close the door, Appleton put his hand on her shoulder. It was a soft shoulder. Appleton gasped. Never had he been so forward with a woman.
“Please, Mr Charles R— is not dead. I spoke to him. I heard his voice. I’m telling you the truth. He’s alive. He’s just on another planet. It’s utterly remarkable!”
Mrs Simpson looked at Appleton with suddenly sympathetic eyes and, even as she removed his hand from her shoulder, kept her voice calm:
“He’s dead to me.”
Appleton’s hand fell limply against the side of his cloak.
“There are certain things you do that, once you do them, their consequences are permanent. There is no pretending and there is no coming back. Take care now, Mister.”
With that, she shut the door.

- - -

Upon returning home, Appleton’s life returned to normal—at least in all superficial respects: he smiled to his wife, he kept to himself, and, at Six O’clock each evening, he retreated to his customary chair to read his customary books. The magazine cover on which he’d written the message from Charles R—, he placed in a private drawer in the desk in his study, underneath unfinished essays and research into particle acceleration and magnet engine propulsion and other old academic bric-a-brac.
For weeks, whilst trying unsuccessfully to locate more information about Charles R—, he kept the drawer unlocked. But, once he’d given up hope, he turned the key and, with one click, banished all thought of Mars from his mind.
Or at least that’s what Appleton intended. For there are certain neurons that, once they start firing, are impossible to stop. At most, they can be slowed—their work delayed. They are not obtrusive neurons: they do not prevent, say, smiling to one’s wife or reading customary books. But they are persistent and every so often they make the results of their operation known. This happens most-of-all at unexpected times, as, for instance, when Appleton, having bent to retrieve a particularly large pine cone from the grass, stood up with the complete schematic for the Magna-IV Engine before his eyes, or, upon having been asked by the local lady grocer for his opinion about a recent stretch of fair weather, replied, “My God, Ruthenium!”
Once such ideas made themselves known to Appleton, he began putting them to paper. Once they were on paper, he tasked other, more compliant, neurons with dividing and conquering any problems that the papers made apparent; and, once those had been solved, what else was there to do but gather the necessary materials and construct the first prototypes?
Appleton kept mum about this, of course. To his physicist colleagues, he was still at work on the same book he’d been working on for the last decade. He was still irrelevant. The wife, as long he smiled to her, suspected nothing. It was only his books that could have given him away—lying unopened on their shelves, their regular Six O’clock appointments long forgotten, their yellowing pages gathering dust—but books by themselves cannot speak. Appleton’s secret was safe.
Even as the project approached completion, not one soul suspected.
When launch-day finally dawned and Appleton, having composed a note to his wife indicating that he would be away until Wednesday on a scholarly pursuit, packed the pieces and prototypes into the back of a rented truck and drove to an old farmer’s field, from where he would blast off that very noon, the whole world was still naïve to the history that would soon be made.
In the field, Appleton worked diligently. He filled the shell of the rocket with each of the separate machines he had designed and constructed. He had a life support system, a navigation system, a communications system. He had propulsion. He had fuel. He had everything that was necessary. Nothing had been overlooked. As the sun rose, it rose on years of endless effort that, today, had physically and for the first time come together in the middle of such a previously insignificant English spot on Earth.
By Ten O’clock, the rocket was nearly complete. All that was left was the installation of the final ingenious detail: the captain’s seat: Appleton’s own customary evening chair.
That done, Appleton looked for one last time at the earthly sky, its thin clouds moving slightly across an orange sun, then climbed into the rocket and closed the hatch. The pneumatics sighed. The inside air was warm. As he set the navigation, every click and beep audible as if within his own skull, Appleton wondered what became of Mary Simpson. But just as it had come, the wonder passed. He confirmed his intended destination on the small liquid crystal display and took a deep breath.
The destination was unbelievable: Appleton felt feverish. He maneuvered into his chair and strapped himself in. Space was tight but he was not uncomfortable. Besides—he thrust a needle into a vein in his arm—he would be asleep for most of the journey. The sedative began to flow. He activated the countdown sequence. When he awoke, he would already be in Saturn’s orbit.

- - -

“Hello? Can you hear me?”
The communications equipment produced only a monotonous hiss punctuated by crackles. Appleton scratched his head. He’d programmed the system to link directly to the telephone in his home. The signal was strong enough. It should be working. He tried another connection.
This time, there was a faint click and the echo of a voice.
“Darling! It’s me. Please say something,” Appleton spoke into the receiver.
The voice wobbled.
“I hope you can hear me. I hope you haven’t been worrying. I hope I haven’t caused you harm. Please, darling, say something so that I know there isn’t a malfunction.”
The echoing voice suddenly came into rather clear focus. “Who is this? And do you want to speak with my mum?”
Appleton knew right away that it wasn’t the voice of the wife. In fact, it wasn’t even a female voice. It was the voice of a boy.
“My name is Appleton,” said Appleton. “I am attempting to contact the wife. Unfortunately, I may have miscalculated. Nonetheless, if you’d be a good lad and please make a note of the following: I am calling from Titan, which is the largest moon of the plane—
“Saturn, I know. I’m not stupid.”
Appleton cleared his throat and adjusted his headset. “Yes, that’s mighty good of you. As I was saying, I am on Titan, having only just arrived, you see. But the situation thus far appears manageable. I predict I shall make a fair go of living here.” He remembered his reason for calling. “Right, then, if you could tell as much to the wife, whom you will find living at 11 Golden Pheasant Lane in Beaconsfield, I would be much obliged. Her name is—“
The connection went dead. The communications system went offline. Try as Appleton might, no amount of banging, prodding and reprogramming ever brought it back.

- - -

Phil Jones replaced the telephone receiver.
“Who was that?” his mother asked.
Then disappeared down the hall without waiting for an answer.
Phil went back to the homework spread out on his bedroom floor, whose doing Appleton had interrupted. Geography lay beside history, which bordered an island of English. Phil tried all three subjects—cross his innocent heart, he did—but all at once the history was too boring, the English too imprecise and the geography too much pointless memorisation. He rubbed his eyes. Next year he’d be in high school. The homework would only get harder.
T-I-T-A-N
He typed the letters almost absent-mindedly into a Google image search.
The moon stared at him.
Somewhere inside his head, certain neurons were beginning to fire.
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2020.10.07 16:11 normancrane The Circular Logic of Space Exploration

Appleton rushed to scratch the message onto the back cover of a magazine lying face-down on a table near the telephone. Scratch—because the pen didn’t want to cooperate; the ballpoint stuck. Appleton’s fingers shook.
It was a prank, surely. The conversation had been recorded. He would end up on a website somewhere, the anonymous out-of-touch butt of some teenager’s joke.
Yet there was something in the quality of that voice, a voice that didn’t belong to any teenager, that forced the shapes of the letters through his wrist, onto the paper. Even as he felt the fool, he also felt the chronicler. The words could be historic.
The words: after a plain “hello” the voice had excused itself and muttered something about a wrong number and galactic interference. Then it had said, exactly, “No matter, you will have to do. My name is Charles R—and I am calling from Mars. First, record the date and time of this communication. Second, please bring it to the attention of one Mrs Mary Clare of 34 Wentworth St, Nottingham. Pass along also that I am doing fine and that, though food is scarce, I have had my fill, and that water is plenty once one digs past the red surface of things.”
That was all. Then the phone went dead. The connection had not been good to begin with, but there was no doubt about any of it. Nothing had been made up. There was no uncertainty.
Having written these five sentences, Appleton let go of the pen, wiped his forehead and retreated to the safety of his customary evening chair. It was a few minutes after six—his regular reading time—but Appleton gave no thought to books. Today, he sat silently in his chair until the clock struck seven. His neurons fired incessantly.
By eight, he had made up his mind: in the morning he would fly to Nottingham and personally deliver the message to Mary Clare.
There was only the slight problem of the wife.
She would arrive home tomorrow afternoon and find it empty. She would worry. Appleton’s greatest fear was that the wife would worry. She was of good breeding and delicate constitution, and worry might weaken her system enough to allow otherwise harmless bacteria to set up residence, which would lead to complications and eventually a prolonged bedridden death. He shuddered at the mere inkling. Right, he would have to compose a note: “My dear, I am off on a scholarly pursuit. Do not worry. I will return by Wednesday. Sincerely, your devoted husband.”
He folded the note and placed it on the dining room table. That, he realized, was more writing than he’d done since his tenure at Oxford. He felt productive again.

- - -

The plane skidded as it touched down, but the flight was otherwise without incident. Outside, grey clouds produced a cold mist that collected drops of water on the brim of Appleton’s hat as he waited by the terminal. Although no one could say so by looking at him, he was nervous.
He nearly misspoke while telling the driver the address. In the taxi, he caught himself rubbing his thumb compulsively against his forefinger like he hadn’t done since his rugby days.

- - -

The house at 34 Wentworth St was made of pale yellow brick. It was smaller and set farther from the road than neighbouring houses. A stone path led to the front door, on either side of which bloomed a well-kempt garden. Appleton walked the path slowly, cherishing the smell of wet flowers and realizing that over the last twelve hours he’d developed a particular mental image of Mary Clare. It was something like the opposite of the wife.
He stood for a few moments before the front door and deliberated whether to ring the electronic bell or use the bronze knocker. Eventually, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. A woman opened the door.
“Yes, hello,” said Appleton.
The woman looked suspiciously at his hands, but he wasn’t carrying anything except the back cover of the magazine on which he’d written the message from Mars.
“I’m not selling,” he said. “I’m looking for Mrs Mary Clare. I’ve been informed that she lives at this address. I have a message for her from Charles R—.”
“Did he send you, the scoundrel?”
Appleton blinked.
“Well did he or didn’t he, speak up. All these years and he can’t even come back to show his face, sends some other poor fool.” Her eyes studied Appleton’s hat. “Or maybe he’s dead. Maybe that’s what you come to tell me. Last of kin or some such.”
“No, Mrs Clare—“
“Simpson, but one and the same as you’re looking for.”
“Mrs Simpson.” Appleton fumbled the correction. He’d shoved one hand into a cloak pocket and was furiously rubbing his fingers together. “Yesterday evening I received a phone call. I wasn’t meant to receive it, you see, there was a mistake with the connection. The call was from Mr Charles R—. He asked that I deliver this message.”
Appleton read aloud what he’d written on the magazine cover.
The woman laughed and stomped her foot. She was in her sixties, Appleton realized. Sections of her hair were greying. The lines under her eyes were deep and permanent. Her laughter was not a joyous laughter.
She said, “Whatever trick it is you’re playing, and whoever you’re playing it with, I’m too old for it, you understand? The past is dead. Mr Charles R— is dead. And I deserve to be left to my own peace. Don’t come back here.”
But before she could close the door, Appleton put his hand on her shoulder. It was a soft shoulder. Appleton gasped. Never had he been so forward with a woman.
“Please, Mr Charles R— is not dead. I spoke to him. I heard his voice. I’m telling you the truth. He’s alive. He’s just on another planet. It’s utterly remarkable!”
Mrs Simpson looked at Appleton with suddenly sympathetic eyes and, even as she removed his hand from her shoulder, kept her voice calm:
“He’s dead to me.”
Appleton’s hand fell limply against the side of his cloak.
“There are certain things you do that, once you do them, their consequences are permanent. There is no pretending and there is no coming back. Take care now, Mister.”
With that, she shut the door.

- - -

Upon returning home, Appleton’s life returned to normal—at least in all superficial respects: he smiled to his wife, he kept to himself, and, at Six O’clock each evening, he retreated to his customary chair to read his customary books. The magazine cover on which he’d written the message from Charles R—, he placed in a private drawer in the desk in his study, underneath unfinished essays and research into particle acceleration and magnet engine propulsion and other old academic bric-a-brac.
For weeks, whilst trying unsuccessfully to locate more information about Charles R—, he kept the drawer unlocked. But, once he’d given up hope, he turned the key and, with one click, banished all thought of Mars from his mind.
Or at least that’s what Appleton intended. For there are certain neurons that, once they start firing, are impossible to stop. At most, they can be slowed—their work delayed. They are not obtrusive neurons: they do not prevent, say, smiling to one’s wife or reading customary books. But they are persistent and every so often they make the results of their operation known. This happens most-of-all at unexpected times, as, for instance, when Appleton, having bent to retrieve a particularly large pine cone from the grass, stood up with the complete schematic for the Magna-IV Engine before his eyes, or, upon having been asked by the local lady grocer for his opinion about a recent stretch of fair weather, replied, “My God, Ruthenium!”
Once such ideas made themselves known to Appleton, he began putting them to paper. Once they were on paper, he tasked other, more compliant, neurons with dividing and conquering any problems that the papers made apparent; and, once those had been solved, what else was there to do but gather the necessary materials and construct the first prototypes?
Appleton kept mum about this, of course. To his physicist colleagues, he was still at work on the same book he’d been working on for the last decade. He was still irrelevant. The wife, as long he smiled to her, suspected nothing. It was only his books that could have given him away—lying unopened on their shelves, their regular Six O’clock appointments long forgotten, their yellowing pages gathering dust—but books by themselves cannot speak. Appleton’s secret was safe.
Even as the project approached completion, not one soul suspected.
When launch-day finally dawned and Appleton, having composed a note to his wife indicating that he would be away until Wednesday on a scholarly pursuit, packed the pieces and prototypes into the back of a rented truck and drove to an old farmer’s field, from where he would blast off that very noon, the whole world was still naïve to the history that would soon be made.
In the field, Appleton worked diligently. He filled the shell of the rocket with each of the separate machines he had designed and constructed. He had a life support system, a navigation system, a communications system. He had propulsion. He had fuel. He had everything that was necessary. Nothing had been overlooked. As the sun rose, it rose on years of endless effort that, today, had physically and for the first time come together in the middle of such a previously insignificant English spot on Earth.
By Ten O’clock, the rocket was nearly complete. All that was left was the installation of the final ingenious detail: the captain’s seat: Appleton’s own customary evening chair.
That done, Appleton looked for one last time at the earthly sky, its thin clouds moving slightly across an orange sun, then climbed into the rocket and closed the hatch. The pneumatics sighed. The inside air was warm. As he set the navigation, every click and beep audible as if within his own skull, Appleton wondered what became of Mary Simpson. But just as it had come, the wonder passed. He confirmed his intended destination on the small liquid crystal display and took a deep breath.
The destination was unbelievable: Appleton felt feverish. He maneuvered into his chair and strapped himself in. Space was tight but he was not uncomfortable. Besides—he thrust a needle into a vein in his arm—he would be asleep for most of the journey. The sedative began to flow. He activated the countdown sequence. When he awoke, he would already be in Saturn’s orbit.

- - -

“Hello? Can you hear me?”
The communications equipment produced only a monotonous hiss punctuated by crackles. Appleton scratched his head. He’d programmed the system to link directly to the telephone in his home. The signal was strong enough. It should be working. He tried another connection.
This time, there was a faint click and the echo of a voice.
“Darling! It’s me. Please say something,” Appleton spoke into the receiver.
The voice wobbled.
“I hope you can hear me. I hope you haven’t been worrying. I hope I haven’t caused you harm. Please, darling, say something so that I know there isn’t a malfunction.”
The echoing voice suddenly came into rather clear focus. “Who is this? And do you want to speak with my mum?”
Appleton knew right away that it wasn’t the voice of the wife. In fact, it wasn’t even a female voice. It was the voice of a boy.
“My name is Appleton,” said Appleton. “I am attempting to contact the wife. Unfortunately, I may have miscalculated. Nonetheless, if you’d be a good lad and please make a note of the following: I am calling from Titan, which is the largest moon of the plane—
“Saturn, I know. I’m not stupid.”
Appleton cleared his throat and adjusted his headset. “Yes, that’s mighty good of you. As I was saying, I am on Titan, having only just arrived, you see. But the situation thus far appears manageable. I predict I shall make a fair go of living here.” He remembered his reason for calling. “Right, then, if you could tell as much to the wife, whom you will find living at 11 Golden Pheasant Lane in Beaconsfield, I would be much obliged. Her name is—“
The connection went dead. The communications system went offline. Try as Appleton might, no amount of banging, prodding and reprogramming ever brought it back.

- - -

Phil Jones replaced the telephone receiver.
“Who was that?” his mother asked.
Then disappeared down the hall without waiting for an answer.
Phil went back to the homework spread out on his bedroom floor, whose doing Appleton had interrupted. Geography lay beside history, which bordered an island of English. Phil tried all three subjects—cross his innocent heart, he did—but all at once the history was too boring, the English too imprecise and the geography too much pointless memorisation. He rubbed his eyes. Next year he’d be in high school. The homework would only get harder.
T-I-T-A-N
He typed the letters almost absent-mindedly into a Google image search.
The moon stared at him.
Somewhere inside his head, certain neurons were beginning to fire.
submitted by normancrane to stories [link] [comments]


2020.10.03 17:46 normancrane The Circular Logic of Space Exploration

Appleton rushed to scratch the message onto the back cover of a magazine lying face-down on a table near the telephone. Scratch—because the pen didn’t want to cooperate; the ballpoint stuck. Appleton’s fingers shook.
It was a prank, surely. The conversation had been recorded. He would end up on a website somewhere, the anonymous out-of-touch butt of some teenager’s joke.
Yet there was something in the quality of that voice, a voice that didn’t belong to any teenager, that forced the shapes of the letters through his wrist, onto the paper. Even as he felt the fool, he also felt the chronicler. The words could be historic.
The words: after a plain “hello” the voice had excused itself and muttered something about a wrong number and galactic interference. Then it had said, exactly, “No matter, you will have to do. My name is Charles R—and I am calling from Mars. First, record the date and time of this communication. Second, please bring it to the attention of one Mrs Mary Clare of 34 Wentworth St, Nottingham. Pass along also that I am doing fine and that, though food is scarce, I have had my fill, and that water is plenty once one digs past the red surface of things.”
That was all. Then the phone went dead. The connection had not been good to begin with, but there was no doubt about any of it. Nothing had been made up. There was no uncertainty.
Having written these five sentences, Appleton let go of the pen, wiped his forehead and retreated to the safety of his customary evening chair. It was a few minutes after six—his regular reading time—but Appleton gave no thought to books. Today, he sat silently in his chair until the clock struck seven. His neurons fired incessantly.
By eight, he had made up his mind: in the morning he would fly to Nottingham and personally deliver the message to Mary Clare.
There was only the slight problem of the wife.
She would arrive home tomorrow afternoon and find it empty. She would worry. Appleton’s greatest fear was that the wife would worry. She was of good breeding and delicate constitution, and worry might weaken her system enough to allow otherwise harmless bacteria to set up residence, which would lead to complications and eventually a prolonged bedridden death. He shuddered at the mere inkling. Right, he would have to compose a note: “My dear, I am off on a scholarly pursuit. Do not worry. I will return by Wednesday. Sincerely, your devoted husband.”
He folded the note and placed it on the dining room table. That, he realized, was more writing than he’d done since his tenure at Oxford. He felt productive again.

- - -

The plane skidded as it touched down, but the flight was otherwise without incident. Outside, grey clouds produced a cold mist that collected drops of water on the brim of Appleton’s hat as he waited by the terminal. Although no one could say so by looking at him, he was nervous.
He nearly misspoke while telling the driver the address. In the taxi, he caught himself rubbing his thumb compulsively against his forefinger like he hadn’t done since his rugby days.

- - -

The house at 34 Wentworth St was made of pale yellow brick. It was smaller and set farther from the road than neighbouring houses. A stone path led to the front door, on either side of which bloomed a well-kempt garden. Appleton walked the path slowly, cherishing the smell of wet flowers and realizing that over the last twelve hours he’d developed a particular mental image of Mary Clare. It was something like the opposite of the wife.
He stood for a few moments before the front door and deliberated whether to ring the electronic bell or use the bronze knocker. Eventually, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. A woman opened the door.
“Yes, hello,” said Appleton.
The woman looked suspiciously at his hands, but he wasn’t carrying anything except the back cover of the magazine on which he’d written the message from Mars.
“I’m not selling,” he said. “I’m looking for Mrs Mary Clare. I’ve been informed that she lives at this address. I have a message for her from Charles R—.”
“Did he send you, the scoundrel?”
Appleton blinked.
“Well did he or didn’t he, speak up. All these years and he can’t even come back to show his face, sends some other poor fool.” Her eyes studied Appleton’s hat. “Or maybe he’s dead. Maybe that’s what you come to tell me. Last of kin or some such.”
“No, Mrs Clare—“
“Simpson, but one and the same as you’re looking for.”
“Mrs Simpson.” Appleton fumbled the correction. He’d shoved one hand into a cloak pocket and was furiously rubbing his fingers together. “Yesterday evening I received a phone call. I wasn’t meant to receive it, you see, there was a mistake with the connection. The call was from Mr Charles R—. He asked that I deliver this message.”
Appleton read aloud what he’d written on the magazine cover.
The woman laughed and stomped her foot. She was in her sixties, Appleton realized. Sections of her hair were greying. The lines under her eyes were deep and permanent. Her laughter was not a joyous laughter.
She said, “Whatever trick it is you’re playing, and whoever you’re playing it with, I’m too old for it, you understand? The past is dead. Mr Charles R— is dead. And I deserve to be left to my own peace. Don’t come back here.”
But before she could close the door, Appleton put his hand on her shoulder. It was a soft shoulder. Appleton gasped. Never had he been so forward with a woman.
“Please, Mr Charles R— is not dead. I spoke to him. I heard his voice. I’m telling you the truth. He’s alive. He’s just on another planet. It’s utterly remarkable!”
Mrs Simpson looked at Appleton with suddenly sympathetic eyes and, even as she removed his hand from her shoulder, kept her voice calm:
“He’s dead to me.”
Appleton’s hand fell limply against the side of his cloak.
“There are certain things you do that, once you do them, their consequences are permanent. There is no pretending and there is no coming back. Take care now, Mister.”
With that, she shut the door.

- - -

Upon returning home, Appleton’s life returned to normal—at least in all superficial respects: he smiled to his wife, he kept to himself, and, at Six O’clock each evening, he retreated to his customary chair to read his customary books. The magazine cover on which he’d written the message from Charles R—, he placed in a private drawer in the desk in his study, underneath unfinished essays and research into particle acceleration and magnet engine propulsion and other old academic bric-a-brac.
For weeks, whilst trying unsuccessfully to locate more information about Charles R—, he kept the drawer unlocked. But, once he’d given up hope, he turned the key and, with one click, banished all thought of Mars from his mind.
Or at least that’s what Appleton intended. For there are certain neurons that, once they start firing, are impossible to stop. At most, they can be slowed—their work delayed. They are not obtrusive neurons: they do not prevent, say, smiling to one’s wife or reading customary books. But they are persistent and every so often they make the results of their operation known. This happens most-of-all at unexpected times, as, for instance, when Appleton, having bent to retrieve a particularly large pine cone from the grass, stood up with the complete schematic for the Magna-IV Engine before his eyes, or, upon having been asked by the local lady grocer for his opinion about a recent stretch of fair weather, replied, “My God, Ruthenium!”
Once such ideas made themselves known to Appleton, he began putting them to paper. Once they were on paper, he tasked other, more compliant, neurons with dividing and conquering any problems that the papers made apparent; and, once those had been solved, what else was there to do but gather the necessary materials and construct the first prototypes?
Appleton kept mum about this, of course. To his physicist colleagues, he was still at work on the same book he’d been working on for the last decade. He was still irrelevant. The wife, as long he smiled to her, suspected nothing. It was only his books that could have given him away—lying unopened on their shelves, their regular Six O’clock appointments long forgotten, their yellowing pages gathering dust—but books by themselves cannot speak. Appleton’s secret was safe.
Even as the project approached completion, not one soul suspected.
When launch-day finally dawned and Appleton, having composed a note to his wife indicating that he would be away until Wednesday on a scholarly pursuit, packed the pieces and prototypes into the back of a rented truck and drove to an old farmer’s field, from where he would blast off that very noon, the whole world was still naïve to the history that would soon be made.
In the field, Appleton worked diligently. He filled the shell of the rocket with each of the separate machines he had designed and constructed. He had a life support system, a navigation system, a communications system. He had propulsion. He had fuel. He had everything that was necessary. Nothing had been overlooked. As the sun rose, it rose on years of endless effort that, today, had physically and for the first time come together in the middle of such a previously insignificant English spot on Earth.
By Ten O’clock, the rocket was nearly complete. All that was left was the installation of the final ingenious detail: the captain’s seat: Appleton’s own customary evening chair.
That done, Appleton looked for one last time at the earthly sky, its thin clouds moving slightly across an orange sun, then climbed into the rocket and closed the hatch. The pneumatics sighed. The inside air was warm. As he set the navigation, every click and beep audible as if within his own skull, Appleton wondered what became of Mary Simpson. But just as it had come, the wonder passed. He confirmed his intended destination on the small liquid crystal display and took a deep breath.
The destination was unbelievable: Appleton felt feverish. He maneuvered into his chair and strapped himself in. Space was tight but he was not uncomfortable. Besides—he thrust a needle into a vein in his arm—he would be asleep for most of the journey. The sedative began to flow. He activated the countdown sequence. When he awoke, he would already be in Saturn’s orbit.

- - -

“Hello? Can you hear me?”
The communications equipment produced only a monotonous hiss punctuated by crackles. Appleton scratched his head. He’d programmed the system to link directly to the telephone in his home. The signal was strong enough. It should be working. He tried another connection.
This time, there was a faint click and the echo of a voice.
“Darling! It’s me. Please say something,” Appleton spoke into the receiver.
The voice wobbled.
“I hope you can hear me. I hope you haven’t been worrying. I hope I haven’t caused you harm. Please, darling, say something so that I know there isn’t a malfunction.”
The echoing voice suddenly came into rather clear focus. “Who is this? And do you want to speak with my mum?”
Appleton knew right away that it wasn’t the voice of the wife. In fact, it wasn’t even a female voice. It was the voice of a boy.
“My name is Appleton,” said Appleton. “I am attempting to contact the wife. Unfortunately, I may have miscalculated. Nonetheless, if you’d be a good lad and please make a note of the following: I am calling from Titan, which is the largest moon of the plane—
“Saturn, I know. I’m not stupid.”
Appleton cleared his throat and adjusted his headset. “Yes, that’s mighty good of you. As I was saying, I am on Titan, having only just arrived, you see. But the situation thus far appears manageable. I predict I shall make a fair go of living here.” He remembered his reason for calling. “Right, then, if you could tell as much to the wife, whom you will find living at 11 Golden Pheasant Lane in Beaconsfield, I would be much obliged. Her name is—“
The connection went dead. The communications system went offline. Try as Appleton might, no amount of banging, prodding and reprogramming ever brought it back.

- - -

Phil Jones replaced the telephone receiver.
“Who was that?” his mother asked.
Then disappeared down the hall without waiting for an answer.
Phil went back to the homework spread out on his bedroom floor, whose doing Appleton had interrupted. Geography lay beside history, which bordered an island of English. Phil tried all three subjects—cross his innocent heart, he did—but all at once the history was too boring, the English too imprecise and the geography too much pointless memorisation. He rubbed his eyes. Next year he’d be in high school. The homework would only get harder.
T-I-T-A-N
He typed the letters almost absent-mindedly into a Google image search.
The moon stared at him.
Somewhere inside his head, certain neurons were beginning to fire.
submitted by normancrane to normancrane [link] [comments]


2020.10.03 16:06 s0ngsforthedeaf Match Thread - Round 4 (2-4 October 2020)

Reminder to make a fantasy team! We have our own league!

www.gaffr.io

League code: Championship

TIME DATE HOME VS AWAY
19:45 2 OCT Coventry 1-3 Bournemouth
12:30 3 OCT Norwich 0-1 Derby
15:00 3 OCT Nottingham Forest vs Bristol City
15:00 3 OCT Sheffield Wednesday vs QPR
15:00 3 OCT Luton vs Wycombe Wanderers
15:00 3 OCT Blackburn vs Cardiff
15:00 3 OCT Middlesbrough vs Barnsley
15:00 3 OCT Rotherham vs Huddersfield
15:00 3 OCT Reading vs Watford
15:00 3 OCT Swansea vs Millwall
14:00 4 OCT Brentford vs Preston
15:00 4 OCT Stoke vs Birmingham
submitted by s0ngsforthedeaf to Championship [link] [comments]


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https://www.sportskeeda.com/football/the-misguided-sense-of-fan-loyalty-in-football
https://www.sportskeeda.com/football/jamie-carragher-spitting-incident-and-the-apparent-double-standards-in-second-chances-2017-18
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submitted by chuckysl86 to u/chuckysl86 [link] [comments]


2020.10.02 17:43 normancrane The Circular Logic of Space Exploration

Appleton rushed to scratch the message onto the back cover of a magazine lying face-down on a table near the telephone. Scratch—because the pen didn’t want to cooperate; the ballpoint stuck. Appleton’s fingers shook.
It was a prank, surely. The conversation had been recorded. He would end up on a website somewhere, the anonymous out-of-touch butt of some teenager’s joke.
Yet there was something in the quality of that voice, a voice that didn’t belong to any teenager, that forced the shapes of the letters through his wrist, onto the paper. Even as he felt the fool, he also felt the chronicler. The words could be historic.
The words: after a plain “hello” the voice had excused itself and muttered something about a wrong number and galactic interference. Then it had said, exactly, “No matter, you will have to do. My name is Charles R—and I am calling from Mars. First, record the date and time of this communication. Second, please bring it to the attention of one Mrs Mary Clare of 34 Wentworth St, Nottingham. Pass along also that I am doing fine and that, though food is scarce, I have had my fill, and that water is plenty once one digs past the red surface of things.”
That was all. Then the phone went dead. The connection had not been good to begin with, but there was no doubt about any of it. Nothing had been made up. There was no uncertainty.
Having written these five sentences, Appleton let go of the pen, wiped his forehead and retreated to the safety of his customary evening chair. It was a few minutes after six—his regular reading time—but Appleton gave no thought to books. Today, he sat silently in his chair until the clock struck seven. His neurons fired incessantly.
By eight, he had made up his mind: in the morning he would fly to Nottingham and personally deliver the message to Mary Clare.
There was only the slight problem of the wife.
She would arrive home tomorrow afternoon and find it empty. She would worry. Appleton’s greatest fear was that the wife would worry. She was of good breeding and delicate constitution, and worry might weaken her system enough to allow otherwise harmless bacteria to set up residence, which would lead to complications and eventually a prolonged bedridden death. He shuddered at the mere inkling. Right, he would have to compose a note: “My dear, I am off on a scholarly pursuit. Do not worry. I will return by Wednesday. Sincerely, your devoted husband.”
He folded the note and placed it on the dining room table. That, he realized, was more writing than he’d done since his tenure at Oxford. He felt productive again.

- - -

The plane skidded as it touched down, but the flight was otherwise without incident. Outside, grey clouds produced a cold mist that collected drops of water on the brim of Appleton’s hat as he waited by the terminal. Although no one could say so by looking at him, he was nervous.
He nearly misspoke while telling the driver the address. In the taxi, he caught himself rubbing his thumb compulsively against his forefinger like he hadn’t done since his rugby days.

- - -

The house at 34 Wentworth St was made of pale yellow brick. It was smaller and set farther from the road than neighbouring houses. A stone path led to the front door, on either side of which bloomed a well-kempt garden. Appleton walked the path slowly, cherishing the smell of wet flowers and realizing that over the last twelve hours he’d developed a particular mental image of Mary Clare. It was something like the opposite of the wife.
He stood for a few moments before the front door and deliberated whether to ring the electronic bell or use the bronze knocker. Eventually, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. A woman opened the door.
“Yes, hello,” said Appleton.
The woman looked suspiciously at his hands, but he wasn’t carrying anything except the back cover of the magazine on which he’d written the message from Mars.
“I’m not selling,” he said. “I’m looking for Mrs Mary Clare. I’ve been informed that she lives at this address. I have a message for her from Charles R—.”
“Did he send you, the scoundrel?”
Appleton blinked.
“Well did he or didn’t he, speak up. All these years and he can’t even come back to show his face, sends some other poor fool.” Her eyes studied Appleton’s hat. “Or maybe he’s dead. Maybe that’s what you come to tell me. Last of kin or some such.”
“No, Mrs Clare—“
“Simpson, but one and the same as you’re looking for.”
“Mrs Simpson.” Appleton fumbled the correction. He’d shoved one hand into a cloak pocket and was furiously rubbing his fingers together. “Yesterday evening I received a phone call. I wasn’t meant to receive it, you see, there was a mistake with the connection. The call was from Mr Charles R—. He asked that I deliver this message.”
Appleton read aloud what he’d written on the magazine cover.
The woman laughed and stomped her foot. She was in her sixties, Appleton realized. Sections of her hair were greying. The lines under her eyes were deep and permanent. Her laughter was not a joyous laughter.
She said, “Whatever trick it is you’re playing, and whoever you’re playing it with, I’m too old for it, you understand? The past is dead. Mr Charles R— is dead. And I deserve to be left to my own peace. Don’t come back here.”
But before she could close the door, Appleton put his hand on her shoulder. It was a soft shoulder. Appleton gasped. Never had he been so forward with a woman.
“Please, Mr Charles R— is not dead. I spoke to him. I heard his voice. I’m telling you the truth. He’s alive. He’s just on another planet. It’s utterly remarkable!”
Mrs Simpson looked at Appleton with suddenly sympathetic eyes and, even as she removed his hand from her shoulder, kept her voice calm:
“He’s dead to me.”
Appleton’s hand fell limply against the side of his cloak.
“There are certain things you do that, once you do them, their consequences are permanent. There is no pretending and there is no coming back. Take care now, Mister.”
With that, she shut the door.

- - -

Upon returning home, Appleton’s life returned to normal—at least in all superficial respects: he smiled to his wife, he kept to himself, and, at Six O’clock each evening, he retreated to his customary chair to read his customary books. The magazine cover on which he’d written the message from Charles R—, he placed in a private drawer in the desk in his study, underneath unfinished essays and research into particle acceleration and magnet engine propulsion and other old academic bric-a-brac.
For weeks, whilst trying unsuccessfully to locate more information about Charles R—, he kept the drawer unlocked. But, once he’d given up hope, he turned the key and, with one click, banished all thought of Mars from his mind.
Or at least that’s what Appleton intended. For there are certain neurons that, once they start firing, are impossible to stop. At most, they can be slowed—their work delayed. They are not obtrusive neurons: they do not prevent, say, smiling to one’s wife or reading customary books. But they are persistent and every so often they make the results of their operation known. This happens most-of-all at unexpected times, as, for instance, when Appleton, having bent to retrieve a particularly large pine cone from the grass, stood up with the complete schematic for the Magna-IV Engine before his eyes, or, upon having been asked by the local lady grocer for his opinion about a recent stretch of fair weather, replied, “My God, Ruthenium!”
Once such ideas made themselves known to Appleton, he began putting them to paper. Once they were on paper, he tasked other, more compliant, neurons with dividing and conquering any problems that the papers made apparent; and, once those had been solved, what else was there to do but gather the necessary materials and construct the first prototypes?
Appleton kept mum about this, of course. To his physicist colleagues, he was still at work on the same book he’d been working on for the last decade. He was still irrelevant. The wife, as long he smiled to her, suspected nothing. It was only his books that could have given him away—lying unopened on their shelves, their regular Six O’clock appointments long forgotten, their yellowing pages gathering dust—but books by themselves cannot speak. Appleton’s secret was safe.
Even as the project approached completion, not one soul suspected.
When launch-day finally dawned and Appleton, having composed a note to his wife indicating that he would be away until Wednesday on a scholarly pursuit, packed the pieces and prototypes into the back of a rented truck and drove to an old farmer’s field, from where he would blast off that very noon, the whole world was still naïve to the history that would soon be made.
In the field, Appleton worked diligently. He filled the shell of the rocket with each of the separate machines he had designed and constructed. He had a life support system, a navigation system, a communications system. He had propulsion. He had fuel. He had everything that was necessary. Nothing had been overlooked. As the sun rose, it rose on years of endless effort that, today, had physically and for the first time come together in the middle of such a previously insignificant English spot on Earth.
By Ten O’clock, the rocket was nearly complete. All that was left was the installation of the final ingenious detail: the captain’s seat: Appleton’s own customary evening chair.
That done, Appleton looked for one last time at the earthly sky, its thin clouds moving slightly across an orange sun, then climbed into the rocket and closed the hatch. The pneumatics sighed. The inside air was warm. As he set the navigation, every click and beep audible as if within his own skull, Appleton wondered what became of Mary Simpson. But just as it had come, the wonder passed. He confirmed his intended destination on the small liquid crystal display and took a deep breath.
The destination was unbelievable: Appleton felt feverish. He maneuvered into his chair and strapped himself in. Space was tight but he was not uncomfortable. Besides—he thrust a needle into a vein in his arm—he would be asleep for most of the journey. The sedative began to flow. He activated the countdown sequence. When he awoke, he would already be in Saturn’s orbit.

- - -

“Hello? Can you hear me?”
The communications equipment produced only a monotonous hiss punctuated by crackles. Appleton scratched his head. He’d programmed the system to link directly to the telephone in his home. The signal was strong enough. It should be working. He tried another connection.
This time, there was a faint click and the echo of a voice.
“Darling! It’s me. Please say something,” Appleton spoke into the receiver.
The voice wobbled.
“I hope you can hear me. I hope you haven’t been worrying. I hope I haven’t caused you harm. Please, darling, say something so that I know there isn’t a malfunction.”
The echoing voice suddenly came into rather clear focus. “Who is this? And do you want to speak with my mum?”
Appleton knew right away that it wasn’t the voice of the wife. In fact, it wasn’t even a female voice. It was the voice of a boy.
“My name is Appleton,” said Appleton. “I am attempting to contact the wife. Unfortunately, I may have miscalculated. Nonetheless, if you’d be a good lad and please make a note of the following: I am calling from Titan, which is the largest moon of the plane—
“Saturn, I know. I’m not stupid.”
Appleton cleared his throat and adjusted his headset. “Yes, that’s mighty good of you. As I was saying, I am on Titan, having only just arrived, you see. But the situation thus far appears manageable. I predict I shall make a fair go of living here.” He remembered his reason for calling. “Right, then, if you could tell as much to the wife, whom you will find living at 11 Golden Pheasant Lane in Beaconsfield, I would be much obliged. Her name is—“
The connection went dead. The communications system went offline. Try as Appleton might, no amount of banging, prodding and reprogramming ever brought it back.

- - -

Phil Jones replaced the telephone receiver.
“Who was that?” his mother asked.
Then disappeared down the hall without waiting for an answer.
Phil went back to the homework spread out on his bedroom floor, whose doing Appleton had interrupted. Geography lay beside history, which bordered an island of English. Phil tried all three subjects—cross his innocent heart, he did—but all at once the history was too boring, the English too imprecise and the geography too much pointless memorisation. He rubbed his eyes. Next year he’d be in high school. The homework would only get harder.
T-I-T-A-N
He typed the letters almost absent-mindedly into a Google image search.
The moon stared at him.
Somewhere inside his head, certain neurons were beginning to fire.
submitted by normancrane to Write_Right [link] [comments]


2020.10.02 03:10 DodgerBot Game Chat 10/1 - NLWC Game 2 - Brewers (0) @ Dodgers (1) 7:08 PM

Brewers (29-31) @ Dodgers (43-17)

First Pitch: 7:08 PM at Dodger Stadium
Pitcher TV Radio
Brewers Brandon Woodruff (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN WTMJ
Dodgers Clayton Kershaw (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN 570, KTNQ (ES)
MLB Fangraphs Brooks Baseball Reddit Stream Discord
Gameday Game Graph Strikezone Map Live Comments /baseball Discord

Pitcher Notes

Team Notes
Brewers Woodruff is coming off the best start of his career, a 108-pitch gem at St. Louis in what amounted to a must-win game. He struck out 10 in eight scoreless innings to lower his September ERA to 2.25.
Dodgers Reinvented this year with an uptick in velocity, Kershaw tuned up for this with a disappointing four-inning start against the Angels. His postseason struggles are well-documented, but he rarely throws two clunkers in a row.

Line Score - Game Over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E
MIL 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 0
LAD 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 3 6 0

Box Score

LAD AB R H RBI BB SO BA
RF Betts 3 0 1 2 1 2 .429
SS Seager, C 4 0 0 0 0 2 .143
3B Turner 4 0 0 0 0 1 .000
1B Muncy 3 0 0 0 0 3 .000
DH Smith, W 3 0 0 0 0 1 .000
CF Bellinger 3 0 1 0 0 2 .286
LF Taylor, Ch 3 1 2 0 0 0 .500
LF Pollock 2 1 0 0 0 1 .200
PH Pederson 1 0 0 0 0 0 .000
2B Hernández, K 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000
C Barnes, A 3 1 2 1 0 0 .667
LAD IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Kershaw 8.0 3 0 0 1 13 93-67 0.00
Graterol, B 1.0 1 0 0 0 0 17-12 0.00
MIL AB R H RBI BB SO BA
CF García, Av 4 0 1 0 0 3 .500
LF Yelich 4 0 0 0 0 2 .222
1B Gyorko 3 0 1 0 0 2 .143
PH Vogelbach 1 0 0 0 0 0 .200
DH Healy 3 0 0 0 0 0 .000
PH Gamel 1 0 0 0 0 0 .000
SS Arcia 3 0 0 0 0 1 .143
2B Hiura 3 0 1 0 0 1 .167
RF Taylor 3 0 0 0 0 2 .000
3B Urías 2 0 1 0 1 0 .500
C Nottingham 2 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Narváez 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000
C Freitas 1 0 0 0 0 1 .000
MIL IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Woodruff 4.2 5 3 3 0 9 86-53 5.79
Hader 1.1 0 0 0 0 2 19-11 0.00
Houser 2.0 1 0 0 1 1 34-21 0.00

Scoring Plays

Inning Event Score
B5 Austin Barnes singles on a ground ball to center fielder Avisail Garcia. Chris Taylor scores. AJ Pollock to 2nd. 1-0
B5 Mookie Betts doubles (3) on a sharp ground ball to left fielder Christian Yelich. AJ Pollock scores. Austin Barnes scores. 3-0

Highlights

Description Length HD
Clayton Kershaw gets Christian Yelich looking in 1st 0:10 HD
Mookie Betts smacks a two-run double in the 5th 0:14 HD
Austin Barnes plates Chris Taylor in the 5th 0:15 HD
Clayton Kershaw fans Keston Hiura for 11th strikeout 0:10 HD
Brandon Woodruff is tossed for arguing a pitch 0:19 HD
Clayton Kershaw gets David Freitas for his 13th K 0:22 HD

Decisions

Winning Pitcher Losing Pitcher Save
Kershaw (1-0, 0.00) Woodruff (0-1, 5.79) Graterol, B (1, 0.00)
Game ended at 10:04 PM.
Attendance Weather Wind
86°F, Clear 4 mph, Out To CF
HP: Quinn Wolcott, 1B: Jim Reynolds, 2B: Alfonso Marquez, 3B: Chris Guccione, LF: Lance Barrett, RF: Mark Ripperger
Remember to sort by new to keep up!
submitted by DodgerBot to Dodgers [link] [comments]


2020.10.02 03:10 BaseballBot Game Thread: NLWC Game 2 ⚾ Brewers @ Dodgers - 10:08 PM ET

Join us on Discord!

Brewers (29-31) @ Dodgers (43-17)

First Pitch: 10:08 PM at Dodger Stadium
Pitcher TV Radio
Brewers Brandon Woodruff (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN WTMJ
Dodgers Clayton Kershaw (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN 570, KTNQ (ES)
MLB Fangraphs Brooks Baseball Reddit Stream IRC Chat
Gameday Game Graph Strikezone Map Live Comments Freenode: #reddit-baseball

Line Score - Game Over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E
MIL 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 0
LAD 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 3 6 0

Box Score

LAD AB R H RBI BB SO BA MIL AB R H RBI BB SO BA
RF Betts 3 0 1 2 1 2 .429 CF García, Av 4 0 1 0 0 3 .500
SS Seager, C 4 0 0 0 0 2 .143 LF Yelich 4 0 0 0 0 2 .222
3B Turner 4 0 0 0 0 1 .000 1B Gyorko 3 0 1 0 0 2 .143
1B Muncy 3 0 0 0 0 3 .000 PH Vogelbach 1 0 0 0 0 0 .200
DH Smith, W 3 0 0 0 0 1 .000 DH Healy 3 0 0 0 0 0 .000
CF Bellinger 3 0 1 0 0 2 .286 PH Gamel 1 0 0 0 0 0 .000
LF Taylor, Ch 3 1 2 0 0 0 .500 SS Arcia 3 0 0 0 0 1 .143
LF Pollock 2 1 0 0 0 1 .200 2B Hiura 3 0 1 0 0 1 .167
PH Pederson 1 0 0 0 0 0 .000 RF Taylor 3 0 0 0 0 2 .000
2B Hernández, K 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 3B Urías 2 0 1 0 1 0 .500
C Barnes, A 3 1 2 1 0 0 .667 C Nottingham 2 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Narváez 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000
C Freitas 1 0 0 0 0 1 .000
LAD IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA MIL IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Kershaw 8.0 3 0 0 1 13 93-67 0.00 Woodruff 4.2 5 3 3 0 9 86-53 5.79
Graterol, B 1.0 1 0 0 0 0 17-12 0.00 Hader 1.1 0 0 0 0 2 19-11 0.00
Houser 2.0 1 0 0 1 1 34-21 0.00

Scoring Plays

Inning Event Score
B5 Austin Barnes singles on a ground ball to center fielder Avisail Garcia. Chris Taylor scores. AJ Pollock to 2nd. 1-0
B5 Mookie Betts doubles (3) on a sharp ground ball to left fielder Christian Yelich. AJ Pollock scores. Austin Barnes scores. 3-0

Highlights

Description Length HD
Clayton Kershaw gets Christian Yelich looking in 1st 0:10 HD
Mookie Betts smacks a two-run double in the 5th 0:14 HD
Austin Barnes plates Chris Taylor in the 5th 0:15 HD
Clayton Kershaw fans Keston Hiura for 11th strikeout 0:10 HD
Brandon Woodruff is tossed for arguing a pitch 0:19 HD
Clayton Kershaw gets David Freitas for his 13th K 0:22 HD

Decisions

Winning Pitcher Losing Pitcher Save
Kershaw (1-0, 0.00) Woodruff (0-1, 5.79) Graterol, B (1, 0.00)
Game ended at 1:04 AM.
Remember to sort by new to keep up!
submitted by BaseballBot to baseball [link] [comments]


2020.10.02 01:10 BrewersBot Game Chat: 10/1 - NLWC Game 2 - Brewers (0) @ Dodgers (1) 9:08 PM

Brewers (29-31) @ Dodgers (43-17)

First Pitch: 9:08 PM at Dodger Stadium
Pitcher TV Radio
Brewers Brandon Woodruff (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN WTMJ
Dodgers Clayton Kershaw (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN 570, KTNQ (ES)
MLB Fangraphs Brooks Baseball Reddit Stream IRC Chat
Gameday Game Graph Strikezone Map Live Comments Freenode: #reddit-baseball

Line Score - Game Over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E
MIL 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 0
LAD 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 3 6 0

Box Score

LAD AB R H RBI BB SO BA MIL AB R H RBI BB SO BA
RF Betts 3 0 1 2 1 2 .429 CF García, Av 4 0 1 0 0 3 .500
SS Seager, C 4 0 0 0 0 2 .143 LF Yelich 4 0 0 0 0 2 .222
3B Turner 4 0 0 0 0 1 .000 1B Gyorko 3 0 1 0 0 2 .143
1B Muncy 3 0 0 0 0 3 .000 PH Vogelbach 1 0 0 0 0 0 .200
DH Smith, W 3 0 0 0 0 1 .000 DH Healy 3 0 0 0 0 0 .000
CF Bellinger 3 0 1 0 0 2 .286 PH Gamel 1 0 0 0 0 0 .000
LF Taylor, Ch 3 1 2 0 0 0 .500 SS Arcia 3 0 0 0 0 1 .143
LF Pollock 2 1 0 0 0 1 .200 2B Hiura 3 0 1 0 0 1 .167
PH Pederson 1 0 0 0 0 0 .000 RF Taylor 3 0 0 0 0 2 .000
2B Hernández, K 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 3B Urías 2 0 1 0 1 0 .500
C Barnes, A 3 1 2 1 0 0 .667 C Nottingham 2 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Narváez 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000
C Freitas 1 0 0 0 0 1 .000
LAD IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA MIL IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Kershaw 8.0 3 0 0 1 13 93-67 0.00 Woodruff 4.2 5 3 3 0 9 86-53 5.79
Graterol, B 1.0 1 0 0 0 0 17-12 0.00 Hader 1.1 0 0 0 0 2 19-11 0.00
Houser 2.0 1 0 0 1 1 34-21 0.00

Scoring Plays

Inning Event Score
B5 Austin Barnes singles on a ground ball to center fielder Avisail Garcia. Chris Taylor scores. AJ Pollock to 2nd. 1-0
B5 Mookie Betts doubles (3) on a sharp ground ball to left fielder Christian Yelich. AJ Pollock scores. Austin Barnes scores. 3-0

Highlights

Description Length HD
Clayton Kershaw gets Christian Yelich looking in 1st 0:10 HD
Mookie Betts smacks a two-run double in the 5th 0:14 HD
Austin Barnes plates Chris Taylor in the 5th 0:15 HD
Clayton Kershaw fans Keston Hiura for 11th strikeout 0:10 HD
Brandon Woodruff is tossed for arguing a pitch 0:19 HD
Clayton Kershaw gets David Freitas for his 13th K 0:22 HD

Decisions

Winning Pitcher Losing Pitcher Save
Kershaw (1-0, 0.00) Woodruff (0-1, 5.79) Graterol, B (1, 0.00)
Game ended at 12:04 AM.
Remember to sort by new to keep up!
submitted by BrewersBot to Brewers [link] [comments]


2020.10.01 03:10 DodgerBot Game Chat 9/30 - NLWC Game 1 - Brewers (0) @ Dodgers (0) 7:08 PM

Brewers (29-31) @ Dodgers (43-17)

First Pitch: 7:08 PM at Dodger Stadium
Pitcher TV Radio
Brewers Brent Suter (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN WTMJ
Dodgers Walker Buehler (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN 570, KTNQ (ES)
MLB Fangraphs Brooks Baseball Reddit Stream Discord
Gameday Game Graph Strikezone Map Live Comments /baseball Discord

Pitcher Notes

Team Notes
Brewers Suter will start a bullpen game for the Brewers in Game 1, functioning as the "opener" because Milwaukee's starting rotation has been thinned by injury. In 16 appearances (four starts) this season, Suter posted a 3.13 ERA over 31 2/3 innings, with a 29.4 percent strikeout rate.
Dodgers He has pitched only four innings in three weeks, but the Dodgers are confident enough that a blister is healed to give the Game 1 start to Buehler. He has the repertoire to dominate. He will be pitching on five days’ rest.

Line Score - Game Over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E
MIL 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 7 0
LAD 2 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 4 6 1

Box Score

LAD AB R H RBI BB SO BA
RF Betts 4 1 2 1 0 1 .500
SS Seager, C 3 2 1 1 1 0 .333
3B Turner 4 0 0 0 0 0 .000
1B Muncy 2 0 0 0 2 1 .000
C Smith, W 3 0 0 1 1 1 .000
CF Bellinger 4 0 1 0 0 0 .250
LF Pollock 3 0 1 1 1 0 .333
2B Hernández, K 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000
DH Rios 3 0 0 0 1 1 .000
LF Taylor, Ch 3 1 1 0 0 1 .333
LAD IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Buehler 4.0 3 2 2 2 8 73-51 4.50
Urías 3.0 3 0 0 0 5 52-37 0.00
Treinen 1.0 1 0 0 0 1 11-8 0.00
Jansen, K 1.0 0 0 0 1 1 16-9 0.00
MIL AB R H RBI BB SO BA
LF Yelich 5 0 2 0 0 2 .400
RF Braun 2 0 0 0 0 2 .000
RF Taylor 2 0 0 0 0 1 .000
1B Gyorko 4 0 0 0 0 1 .000
DH Vogelbach 4 1 1 0 0 2 .250
CF García, Av 4 0 3 0 0 0 .750
SS Arcia 4 1 1 2 0 3 .250
3B Sogard 3 0 0 0 1 0 .000
2B Hiura 3 0 0 0 1 1 .000
C Narváez 1 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Nottingham 2 0 0 0 0 2 .000
PH Peterson 0 0 0 0 1 0 .000
MIL IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Suter 1.2 3 3 3 5 0 51-21 16.20
Yardley 2.1 0 0 0 0 2 26-18 0.00
Topa 2.0 1 0 0 1 0 27-17 0.00
Peralta, F 1.0 1 1 1 0 1 18-12 9.00
Rasmussen 1.0 1 0 0 0 2 21-13 0.00

Scoring Plays

Inning Event Score
B1 Will Smith walks. Mookie Betts scores. Corey Seager to 3rd. Max Muncy to 2nd. 1-0
B1 AJ Pollock walks. Corey Seager scores. Max Muncy to 3rd. Will Smith to 2nd. 2-0
B2 Mookie Betts doubles (2) on a sharp line drive to center fielder Avisail Garcia. Chris Taylor scores. 3-0
T4 Orlando Arcia homers (1) on a line drive to center field. Daniel Vogelbach scores. 3-2
B7 Corey Seager homers (1) on a fly ball to center field. 4-2

Highlights

Description Length HD
Dodgers lineup announced before Game 1 0:16 HD
Mookie Betts lines an RBI double to center field 0:13 HD
Mookie Betts' double leads to 2 runs in the 1st 0:25 HD
Orlando Arcia belts a two-run home run to left field 0:33 HD
Corey Seager belts a solo home run to center field 0:15 HD

Decisions

Winning Pitcher Losing Pitcher Save
Urías (1-0, 0.00) Suter (0-1, 16.20) Jansen, K (1, 0.00)
Game ended at 10:26 PM.
Attendance Weather Wind
85°F, Clear 7 mph, In From LF
HP: Mark Ripperger, 1B: Quinn Wolcott, 2B: Jim Reynolds, 3B: Alfonso Marquez, LF: Chris Guccione, RF: Lance Barrett
Remember to sort by new to keep up!
submitted by DodgerBot to Dodgers [link] [comments]


2020.10.01 03:10 BaseballBot Game Thread: NLWC Game 1 ⚾ Brewers @ Dodgers - 10:08 PM ET

Join us on Discord!

Brewers (29-31) @ Dodgers (43-17)

First Pitch: 10:08 PM at Dodger Stadium
Pitcher TV Radio
Brewers Brent Suter (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN WTMJ
Dodgers Walker Buehler (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN 570, KTNQ (ES)
MLB Fangraphs Brooks Baseball Reddit Stream IRC Chat
Gameday Game Graph Strikezone Map Live Comments Freenode: #reddit-baseball

Line Score - Game Over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E
MIL 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 7 0
LAD 2 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 4 6 1

Box Score

LAD AB R H RBI BB SO BA MIL AB R H RBI BB SO BA
RF Betts 4 1 2 1 0 1 .500 LF Yelich 5 0 2 0 0 2 .400
SS Seager, C 3 2 1 1 1 0 .333 RF Braun 2 0 0 0 0 2 .000
3B Turner 4 0 0 0 0 0 .000 RF Taylor 2 0 0 0 0 1 .000
1B Muncy 2 0 0 0 2 1 .000 1B Gyorko 4 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Smith, W 3 0 0 1 1 1 .000 DH Vogelbach 4 1 1 0 0 2 .250
CF Bellinger 4 0 1 0 0 0 .250 CF García, Av 4 0 3 0 0 0 .750
LF Pollock 3 0 1 1 1 0 .333 SS Arcia 4 1 1 2 0 3 .250
2B Hernández, K 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 3B Sogard 3 0 0 0 1 0 .000
DH Rios 3 0 0 0 1 1 .000 2B Hiura 3 0 0 0 1 1 .000
LF Taylor, Ch 3 1 1 0 0 1 .333 C Narváez 1 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Nottingham 2 0 0 0 0 2 .000
PH Peterson 0 0 0 0 1 0 .000
LAD IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA MIL IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Buehler 4.0 3 2 2 2 8 73-51 4.50 Suter 1.2 3 3 3 5 0 51-21 16.20
Urías 3.0 3 0 0 0 5 52-37 0.00 Yardley 2.1 0 0 0 0 2 26-18 0.00
Treinen 1.0 1 0 0 0 1 11-8 0.00 Topa 2.0 1 0 0 1 0 27-17 0.00
Jansen, K 1.0 0 0 0 1 1 16-9 0.00 Peralta, F 1.0 1 1 1 0 1 18-12 9.00
Rasmussen 1.0 1 0 0 0 2 21-13 0.00

Scoring Plays

Inning Event Score
B1 Will Smith walks. Mookie Betts scores. Corey Seager to 3rd. Max Muncy to 2nd. 1-0
B1 AJ Pollock walks. Corey Seager scores. Max Muncy to 3rd. Will Smith to 2nd. 2-0
B2 Mookie Betts doubles (2) on a sharp line drive to center fielder Avisail Garcia. Chris Taylor scores. 3-0
T4 Orlando Arcia homers (1) on a line drive to center field. Daniel Vogelbach scores. 3-2
B7 Corey Seager homers (1) on a fly ball to center field. 4-2

Highlights

Description Length HD
Dodgers lineup announced before Game 1 0:16 HD
Mookie Betts lines an RBI double to center field 0:13 HD
Mookie Betts' double leads to 2 runs in the 1st 0:25 HD
Orlando Arcia belts a two-run home run to left field 0:33 HD
Corey Seager belts a solo home run to center field 0:15 HD

Decisions

Winning Pitcher Losing Pitcher Save
Urías (1-0, 0.00) Suter (0-1, 16.20) Jansen, K (1, 0.00)
Game ended at 1:26 AM.
Remember to sort by new to keep up!
submitted by BaseballBot to baseball [link] [comments]


2020.10.01 01:10 BrewersBot Game Chat: 9/30 - NLWC Game 1 - Brewers (0) @ Dodgers (0) 9:08 PM

Brewers (29-31) @ Dodgers (43-17)

First Pitch: 9:08 PM at Dodger Stadium
Pitcher TV Radio
Brewers Brent Suter (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN WTMJ
Dodgers Walker Buehler (0-0, -.-- ERA) ESPN 570, KTNQ (ES)
MLB Fangraphs Brooks Baseball Reddit Stream IRC Chat
Gameday Game Graph Strikezone Map Live Comments Freenode: #reddit-baseball

Line Score - Game Over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E
MIL 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 2 7 0
LAD 2 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 4 6 1

Box Score

LAD AB R H RBI BB SO BA MIL AB R H RBI BB SO BA
RF Betts 4 1 2 1 0 1 .500 LF Yelich 5 0 2 0 0 2 .400
SS Seager, C 3 2 1 1 1 0 .333 RF Braun 2 0 0 0 0 2 .000
3B Turner 4 0 0 0 0 0 .000 RF Taylor 2 0 0 0 0 1 .000
1B Muncy 2 0 0 0 2 1 .000 1B Gyorko 4 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Smith, W 3 0 0 1 1 1 .000 DH Vogelbach 4 1 1 0 0 2 .250
CF Bellinger 4 0 1 0 0 0 .250 CF García, Av 4 0 3 0 0 0 .750
LF Pollock 3 0 1 1 1 0 .333 SS Arcia 4 1 1 2 0 3 .250
2B Hernández, K 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 3B Sogard 3 0 0 0 1 0 .000
DH Rios 3 0 0 0 1 1 .000 2B Hiura 3 0 0 0 1 1 .000
LF Taylor, Ch 3 1 1 0 0 1 .333 C Narváez 1 0 0 0 0 1 .000
C Nottingham 2 0 0 0 0 2 .000
PH Peterson 0 0 0 0 1 0 .000
LAD IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA MIL IP H R ER BB SO P-S ERA
Buehler 4.0 3 2 2 2 8 73-51 4.50 Suter 1.2 3 3 3 5 0 51-21 16.20
Urías 3.0 3 0 0 0 5 52-37 0.00 Yardley 2.1 0 0 0 0 2 26-18 0.00
Treinen 1.0 1 0 0 0 1 11-8 0.00 Topa 2.0 1 0 0 1 0 27-17 0.00
Jansen, K 1.0 0 0 0 1 1 16-9 0.00 Peralta, F 1.0 1 1 1 0 1 18-12 9.00
Rasmussen 1.0 1 0 0 0 2 21-13 0.00

Scoring Plays

Inning Event Score
B1 Will Smith walks. Mookie Betts scores. Corey Seager to 3rd. Max Muncy to 2nd. 1-0
B1 AJ Pollock walks. Corey Seager scores. Max Muncy to 3rd. Will Smith to 2nd. 2-0
B2 Mookie Betts doubles (2) on a sharp line drive to center fielder Avisail Garcia. Chris Taylor scores. 3-0
T4 Orlando Arcia homers (1) on a line drive to center field. Daniel Vogelbach scores. 3-2
B7 Corey Seager homers (1) on a fly ball to center field. 4-2

Highlights

Description Length HD
Dodgers lineup announced before Game 1 0:16 HD
Mookie Betts lines an RBI double to center field 0:13 HD
Mookie Betts' double leads to 2 runs in the 1st 0:25 HD
Orlando Arcia belts a two-run home run to left field 0:33 HD
Corey Seager belts a solo home run to center field 0:15 HD

Decisions

Winning Pitcher Losing Pitcher Save
Urías (1-0, 0.00) Suter (0-1, 16.20) Jansen, K (1, 0.00)
Game ended at 12:26 AM.
Remember to sort by new to keep up!
submitted by BrewersBot to Brewers [link] [comments]


2020.09.29 18:56 lunarlina10 Is it worth going to a lower-ranking university over a Russel Group?

I am hoping to apply within the next few weeks, to study Agriculture. My predicted grades will likely be around A* (Geography) A (Biology) and A-B (English Literature), and I live in West London, hoping to move to Buckinghamshire with my boyfriend next year. I currently have 6 universities narrowed down: - Reading - Harper Adam's - Nottingham - Aberystwyth - Newcastle - Edinburgh
I know I haven't been offered any places yet, but assuming I will get offers from most, I would like to know if it's worth applying to Reading considering it's not a Russel group uni like some of the others, and it's not as highly ranked for the subject. However, going to Reading has a lot of pros: I wouldn't have to pay for accommodation, I get slightly shorter term dates than average (I could travel more), I really like their course modules and their campus seems nice. However, some of the other courses seem like they would offer me better opportunities, as Reading's employment rate isn't very high, and I feel like the other choices are more exciting and ambitious, with much nicer campuses and higher employment rates. I'm not sure about applying to Edinburgh despite the lower fees (EU), considering it's so far, and I'd love to see my boyfriend from time to time lol, plus the 4 year course seems too stretched out.
Can anyone advise me on what the best choice would be for me?
submitted by lunarlina10 to 6thForm [link] [comments]


2020.09.27 19:20 bravo_delta_bot Game 58: Milwaukee Brewers (29-30) @ St. Louis Cardinals (29-28) [Sunday, September 27, 2020; 2:15 PM CT]

Linescore 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E LOB
Brewers 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 2 5 2 8
Cardinals 0 0 4 1 0 0 0 0 5 7 0 3
Brewers Lineup
  1. Avisail Garcia (R) CF -- .238/.333/.326
  2. Christian Yelich (L) LF -- .205/.356/.430
  3. Ryan Braun (R) RF -- .233/.281/.488
  4. Jedd Gyorko (R) 1B -- .248/.333/.504
  5. Daniel Vogelbach (L) DH -- .209/.331/.391
  6. Keston Hiura (R) 2B -- .212/.297/.410
  7. Orlando Arcia (R) SS -- .260/.317/.416
  8. Luis Urias (R) 3B -- .239/.308/.294 --- Eric Sogard (L) PH-3B -- .209/.281/.278 --- Tyrone Taylor (R) PH -- .237/.293/.500 --- Jace Peterson (L) 3B -- .200/.393/.356
  9. Jacob Nottingham (R) C -- .188/.278/.458
Pitchers Used:
Cardinals Lineup
  1. Kolten Wong (L) 2B -- .265/.350/.326
  2. Tommy Edman (S) 3B -- .250/.317/.368
  3. Paul Goldschmidt (R) 1B -- .304/.417/.466
  4. Dylan Carlson (S) LF -- .200/.252/.364
  5. Yadier Molina (R) C -- .262/.303/.359
  6. Paul DeJong (R) SS -- .250/.322/.349
  7. Dexter Fowler (S) RF -- .233/.317/.389
  8. Harrison Bader (R) CF -- .226/.336/.443
  9. Tyler O'Neill (R) DH -- .173/.261/.360
Pitchers Used:
Stats: BA/OBP/SLG
Links
Scoring Plays

FINAL: 5-2 Cardinals

Decisions
submitted by bravo_delta_bot to Cardinals [link] [comments]