Tournament Won Quotes

Then, since you have never even been part of a super-tournament, what makes you qualified to be here today? Why you and not someone else?” I swallow. “I just . . .” Nothing. I got lucky. It’s a mistake. I’m not good enough and— “Man”—Nolan snorts into the mic—“she literally won the qualifying tournament to be here. Keep up, will you?

What had his life meant? All his success, all the tournaments he'd won...they were like dust and ashes. Meaningless. Without Gisela, his life was meaningless.

What had his life meant? All his success, all the tournaments he’d won … they were like dust and ashes. Meaningless. Without Gisela, his life was meaningless.

That reminds me, why were you letting Braga beat you?” “What do you mean?” “I saw you fighting when we first came up. Your stance was defensive, your strokes all parries and blocks. You never once attacked.” “I was frightened,” Hadrian lied. “Braga has won so many awards and tournament competitions, and I haven’t won any.” Pickering looked puzzled. “But not being noble born, you aren’t allowed to enter a tournament.” Hadrian pursed his lips and nodded. “Now that you mention it, I suppose you’re right. You’d best see to your wounds, Your Lordship. You’re bleeding on your nice tunic.

Resisting her hold over him, the vampire yelled to the crowd, “Mark me, and listen well! I’ve won this tournament. . . . No one here can deny my victory. . . . I’ve won this crown”—he pointed his bloodied sword at her—“and Bettina as my wife.” Claws digging into his chest, lungs failing, he bellowed, “I forsake you both!

[The skeet tournament] It's a competition that I've entered – and won – every year since I was thirteen. And here's the thing – it really pisses them off. All these hunting boys and their daddies show up decked out in camo gear, determined to beat the girl who has the audacity to challenge their masculinity. And, okay, I'll admit it … I like to needle 'em just a bit. I purposely wear the girliest outfit possible – little flowery sundresses with cowboy boots, most years. Drives 'em nuts. If they're going to be beaten by a girl, they'd rather it be some tomboy wearing overalls and a flannel shirt, you know? Stupid sexist pigs.---(Jenna Cafferty)

My mother doesn't even notice, she's jovial and curious and delighted and oblivious to snottiness. She's a bit loud because of her mild deafness and she laughs a lot and has questions about everything and no embarrassment in asking. In her mind there is no reason she and a group of beautiful film students hanging out at the Communist's Daughter could not party together every night of the week. She is the antithesis of what the Queen West crowd would like themselves to be. She's comfortable in her XXL pink cotton shorts and the T-shirt she won at a Scrabble tournament in Rhode Island. She would like to engage these pale, thin retail workers in conversation, she'd like to get their story, she'd like to know where the products come from, how they are chosen, how does one wear this, how does it wash, she's trying to learn more about her new home and to become acquainted with her new world, which makes their cold bony shoulder treatment of her that much more heartbreaking.

Speaking of your eyeballs, dear brother,I overheard some girls talking about you in the restroom at the tournament hotel. Apparently rumor now has it that you won’t allow anyone to see your eyes—ever. In fact, according to this knowledgeable source, you even sleep and shower with your glasses on in case someone unexpectedly walks in...one of them said she’d seen your eyes for herself two years ago and could only describe them as 'ferocious and roving,’ and ‘burning white-hot with a primal, raw wildness.

Archie Henderson has won no awards, written no books and never played any representative sport. He was an under-11 tournament-winning tennis player as a boy, but left the game when he discovered rugby where he was one of the worst flyhalves he can remember. This did not prevent him from having opinions on most things in sport. His moment of glory came in 1970 when he predicted—correctly as it turned out—that Griquas would beat the Blue Bulls (then still the meekly named Noord-Transvaal) in the Currie Cup final. It is something for which he has never been forgiven by the powers-that-be at Loftus. Archie has played cricket in South Africa and India and gave the bowling term military medium a new and more pacifist interpretation. His greatest ambition was to score a century on Llandudno beach before the tide came in.

We spilled onto the court to celebrate, but most of the guys were confused about how excited they were supposed to be. I mean, sure we won the tournament, but at the end of the day it was the NIT and being the best team in the NIT is like being the most attractive Michigan cheerleader.

She dreamed about knights in armour and glorious quests, and sometimes in these dreams she was a knight and sometimes she was a lovely lady who watched a particular knight and hoped that, when he won the tournament, it would be she to who he came, and stooped on bended knee, and...and sometimes she dreamed that she was a lady who tied her hair up and pulled a helmet down over it and over her face, and won the tournament herself, and everyone watching said, Who is that strange knight? For I have never seen his like. After her mother fell ill and she no longer had time to read, she still dreamed...

What do men need? #1 need: to be fulfilled (including sexual fulfillment) #2 need: to be respected (your wife’s respect is the highest priority) #3 need: to be needed (what self-respecting guy wants to come home to a wife who is determined to do everything on her own and doesn’t seem to need him?) What do women need? #1 need: affection (cuddling for the sake of closeness) #2 need: communication (she needs words, sentences, and whole paragraphs when you get home from work—not grunts) #3 need: commitment to family (she needs to know you’ll be there at your son’s soccer tournament and your daughter’s ballet recital, and she won’t have to wonder if you forgot)

I lost my second judo tournament. I finished second, losing to a girl named Anastasia. Afterward, her coach congratulated me. "You did a great job. Don't feel bad, Anastasia is a junior national champion." I felt consoled for about a second, until I noticed the look of disgust on Mom's face. I nodded at the coach and walked away. Once we were out of earshot she lit into me. "I hope you know better than to believe what he said. You could have won that match. You had every chance to beat that girl. The fact that she is a junior national champion doesn't mean anything. That's why they have tournaments, so you can see who is better. They don't award medals based on what you won before. If you did your absolute best, if you were capable of doing nothing more, then that's enough. Then you can be content with the outcome. But if you could have done better, if you could have done more, then you should be disappointed. You should be upset you didn't win. You should go home and think about what you could have done differently and then next time do it differently. Don't you ever let anyone tell you that not doing your absolute best is good enough. You are a skinny blonde girl who lives by the beach, and unless you absolutely force them to, no one is ever going to expect anything from you in this sport. You prove them wrong.

You can donate marrow for her, Alice Faye, you can’t cure her. You can win a poker tournament, but that won’t make her want to live. So I’ll ask you again: Who are you, and what are you doing here? Because Munny sure doesn’t want you to be her, and she wants someone to be out in the world living since she’s got the market cornered on dying right now.

With all my demons, and my mum away, and dad away, and the drink and drugs, the kids, the maintenance, the keeping fit, the obsessions, the depressions, in between all that I’ve managed to win four world titles, four UKs and four Masters. I don’t know how. I’ve won 24 ranking events, 10 Premier Leagues, more than 50 tournaments altogether. It’s not bad going for such a fuck-up!

There was once a little girl who wanted to play ball with the boys, but they wouldn’t let her.” She made sure she had his full attention before continuing. “So she went home and cut all her hair off.” “Why would she do that?” “So she could pretend to be a boy.” Jay stood up and grabbed a ball to bounce. “She then played and won the tournament for them.” “Did they find out?” He let the ball bounce away to stare at her. “Yes,” Amisha said. “And she was no longer allowed to play. The team struggled to win another tournament, and that’s when they realized they should change the rules.” “But, Mummy, girls still can’t play sports,” Jay said, his young mind confused. “No, they can’t, but if they’re not allowed to do things, we’ll never find out what they can do.” She tapped him on the nose to lighten the mood. “I am so lucky to have three smart sons.” She set the strap of his satchel over his young shoulder. “Maybe one of you will help to change our world. What do you think?

The idea that ‘The profits of production must be reinvested in increasing production’ sounds trivial. Yet it was alien to most people throughout history. In premodern times, people believed that production was more or less constant. So why reinvest your profits if production won’t increase by much, no matter what you do? Thus medieval noblemen espoused an ethic of generosity and conspicuous consumption. They spent their revenues on tournaments, banquets, palaces and wars, and on charity and monumental cathedrals. Few tried to reinvest profits in increasing their manors’ output, developing better kinds of wheat, or looking for new markets.

Thank you, it is exciting. My first,” he says. “It’s thrilling,” I say. “I remember my first one.” “You have won before,” he says. “Ten times,” I say. “Yes.” “Hm,” he says. “But it is three sets.” “Excuse me?” “The match is best of three in the women’s. We play best of five. The men’s tournament.” “Right.” “So it’s not comparable, is it?” I see Gwen coming to meet me. I look Jadran right in the eye. “I assure you,” I say, all smile—fake or not—gone from my face, “if I played you two out of three or three out of five, I would drag you across the court and murder your—” “All right, that’s it,” Gwen says as she hooks her arm into mine and hauls me away.

In fact, the fourteen programs submitted in the first round of the tournament embodied a variety of complex strategies. But much to the astonishment of Axelrod and everyone else, the crown went to the simplest strategy of all: TIT FOR TAT. Submitted by psychologist Anatol Rapoport of the University of Toronto, TIT FOR TAT would start out by cooperating on the first move, and from there on out would do exactly what the other program had done on the move before. That is, the TIT FOR TAT strategy incorporated the essence of the carrot and the stick. It was "nice" in the sense that it would never defect first. It was "forgiving" in the sense that it would reward good behavior by cooperating the next time. And yet it was "tough" in the sense that it would punish uncooperative behavior by defecting the next time. Moreover, it was "clear" in the sense that its strategy was so simple that the opposing programs could easily figure out what they were dealing with. Of course, with only a handful of programs entered in the tournament, there was always the possibility that TIT FOR TAT's success was a fluke. But maybe not. Of the fourteen programs submitted, eight were "nice" and would never defect first. And every one of them easily outperformed the six not-nice rules. So to settle the question Axelrod held a second round of the tournament, specifically inviting people to try to knock TIT FOR TAT off its throne. Sixty-two entrants tried-and TIT FOR TAT won again. The conclusion was inescapable. Nice guys-or more precisely, nice, forgiving, tough, and clear guys-can indeed finish first.

The conditions for the evolution of cooperation tell what is necessary, but do not, by themselves, tell what strategies will be most successful. For this question, the tournament approach has offered striking evidence in favor of the robust success of the simplest of all discriminating strategies: TIT FOR TAT. By cooperating on the first move, and then doing whatever the other player did on the previous move, TIT FOR TAT managed to do well with a wide variety of more or less sophisticated decision rules. It not only won the first round of the Computer Prisoner’s Dilemma Tournament when facing entries submitted by professional game theorists, but it also won the second round which included over sixty entries designed by people who were able to take the results of the first round into account. It was also the winner in five of the six major variants of the second round (and second in the sixth variant). And most impressive, its success was not based only upon its ability to do well with strategies which scored poorly for themselves. This was shown by an ecological analysis of hypothetical future rounds of the tournament. In this simulation of hundreds of rounds of the tournament, TIT FOR TAT again was the most successful rule, indicating that it can do well with good and bad rules alike. TIT FOR TAT’s robust success is due to being nice, provocable, forgiving, and clear. Its niceness means that it is never the first to defect, and this property prevents it from getting into unnecessary trouble. Its retaliation discourages the other side from persisting whenever defection is tried. Its forgiveness helps restore mutual cooperation. And its clarity makes its behavioral pattern easy to recognize; and once recognized, it is easy to perceive that the best way of dealing with TIT FOR TAT is to cooperate with it.

But there were problems. After the movie came out I couldn’t go to a tournament without being surrounded by fans asking for autographs. Instead of focusing on chess positions, I was pulled into the image of myself as a celebrity. Since childhood I had treasured the sublime study of chess, the swim through ever-deepening layers of complexity. I could spend hours at a chessboard and stand up from the experience on fire with insight about chess, basketball, the ocean, psychology, love, art. The game was exhilarating and also spiritually calming. It centered me. Chess was my friend. Then, suddenly, the game became alien and disquieting. I recall one tournament in Las Vegas: I was a young International Master in a field of a thousand competitors including twenty-six strong Grandmasters from around the world. As an up-and-coming player, I had huge respect for the great sages around me. I had studied their masterpieces for hundreds of hours and was awed by the artistry of these men. Before first-round play began I was seated at my board, deep in thought about my opening preparation, when the public address system announced that the subject of Searching for Bobby Fischer was at the event. A tournament director placed a poster of the movie next to my table, and immediately a sea of fans surged around the ropes separating the top boards from the audience. As the games progressed, when I rose to clear my mind young girls gave me their phone numbers and asked me to autograph their stomachs or legs. This might sound like a dream for a seventeen-year-old boy, and I won’t deny enjoying the attention, but professionally it was a nightmare. My game began to unravel. I caught myself thinking about how I looked thinking instead of losing myself in thought. The Grandmasters, my elders, were ignored and scowled at me. Some of them treated me like a pariah. I had won eight national championships and had more fans, public support and recognition than I could dream of, but none of this was helping my search for excellence, let alone for happiness. At a young age I came to know that there is something profoundly hollow about the nature of fame. I had spent my life devoted to artistic growth and was used to the sweaty-palmed sense of contentment one gets after many hours of intense reflection. This peaceful feeling had nothing to do with external adulation, and I yearned for a return to that innocent, fertile time. I missed just being a student of the game, but there was no escaping the spotlight. I found myself dreading chess, miserable before leaving for tournaments. I played without inspiration and was invited to appear on television shows. I smiled.

The day-to-day horror of writing gave me a notion of tournament time. Writing novels is tedious. When will this book be finished, when will it reveal its bright and shining true self? it takes freakin’ years. At the poker table, you’re only playing a fraction of the hands, waiting for your shot. If you keep your wits, can keep from flying apart while those around you are self-destructing, devouring each other, you’re halfway there. … Let them flame out while you develop a new relationship with time, and they drift away from the table. 86-7 Coach Helen’s mantra: It’s OK to be scared, but don’t play scared. 90 [During a young adult trip to Los Vegas] I was contemplating the nickel in my hand. Before we pushed open the glass doors, what the heck, I dropped it into a one-armed bandit and won two dollars. In a dank utility room deep in the subbasements of my personality, a little man wiped his hands on his overalls and pulled the switch: More. Remembering it now, I hear a sizzling sound, like meat being thrown into a hot skillet. I didn't do risk, generally. So I thought. But I see now I'd been testing the House Rules the last few years. I'd always been a goody-goody. Study hard, obey your parents, hut-hut-hut through the training exercises of Decent Society. Then in college, now that no one was around, I started to push the boundaries, a little more each semester. I was an empty seat in lecture halls, slept late in a depressive funk, handed in term papers later and later to see how much I could get away with before the House swatted me down. Push it some more. We go to casinos to tell the everyday world that we will not submit. There are rules and codes and institutions, yes, but for a few hours in this temple of pure chaos, of random cards and inscrutable dice, we are in control of our fates. My little gambles were a way of pretending that no one was the boss of me. … The nickels poured into the basin, sweet music. If it worked once, it will work again. We hit the street. 106-8 [Matt Matros, 3x bracelet winner; wrote The Making of a Poker Player]: “One way or another you’re going to have a read, and you’re going to do something that you didn’t expect you were going to do before, right or wrong. Obviously it’s better if you’re right, but even if you’re wrong, it can be really satisfying to just have a read, a feeling, and go with it. Your gut.” I could play it safe, or I could really play. 180 Early on, you wanted to stay cool and keep out of expensive confrontations, but you also needed to feed the stack. The stack is hungry. 187 The awful knowledge that you did what you set out to do, and you would never, ever top it. It was gone the instant you put your hands on it. It was gambling. 224

Jennings, who came in second, added a personal note on his answer to the tournament’s final question: “I for one welcome our new computer overlords.” He later elaborated, “Just as factory jobs were eliminated in the twentieth century by new assembly-line robots, Brad and I were the first knowledge-industry workers put out of work by the new generation of ‘thinking’ machines. ‘Quiz show contestant’ may be the first job made redundant by Watson, but I’m sure it won’t be the last.

I thought about Gobi and her sister and the way it had all come unraveled. I thought about my dad. When you’re young, you think your father can do anything. Unless he was this severely abusive person and beat you or got drunk and smashed things, you probably worshiped him. At least most of the guys I knew were like that. They might not have used those exact words, but they all have some cherished memory of something they did with their father, even if it was just a shiny, far-off moment. I remembered being eight years old and making a Pinewood Derby car for Boy Scouts. Dad had brought out a gleaming red Craftsman toolbox that I had never seen before and helped me carve the car out of a block of wood, and we sat at the kitchen table painting it silver and blue with red flames up the side. I drank Pepsi and he sipped a beer. When we finished, the car didn’t weigh enough, so we put lead weights in the bottom and sprayed lubricant on the wheels until it rolled freely from one side of the table to the other. I won third place, and he said, “I’m proud of you.” I remembered going fishing with him up in Maine, taking a little motorboat out across the foggy lake until it was too dark to see our bobbers. I remembered him teaching me how to tie a necktie on the morning of my cousin’s wedding. I remembered seeing him in the stands at my first junior high swimming tournament, standing next to my mom and cheering. I remembered waking up very early in the morning and hearing him downstairs making coffee before slipping out to work. I remembered the first time I ever heard him swear.

I firmly believe in my heart that the U.S. must lead women's soccer and create change on the field and socially.' But, referring to American coaches, he said, 'The whole men's side doesn't respect the women's game,' believing it to be on a level of teenage boys. 'There may be some jealousy,' he said, adding that the men's national team was competing against 200 other countries, most with superior soccer cultures, while the American women were competing 'against five other countries.' This was a frequently made, but entirely specious, argument against the American women. First of all, only seven countries have ever won a men's World Cup, and only 11 have ever reached the finals in 70 years of competition. The power in the men's game is just as concentrated as it is in the women's game. A lack of competition was used to diminish the achievements of the American women, but of course it was a double standard. No one complained about the weak tournament fields when UCLA began its basketball dynasty or when the San Francisco 49ers won a handful of Super Bowls after playing against execrable regular-season competition in the NFC West division.

When dusk fell, my family, along with what appeared to be all the citizens of Hytanica, gathered at the military training field, where the Captain of the Guard’s body had been placed on a litter above a stack of firewood, ready to be burned, his soul already committed to God by our priests. Soldiers had stood guard around the site all day, and people had been coming in a steady stream to pay their respects. Many of them had left tokens of esteem at the base of the pyre--weapons of various types, coins, embroidered handkerchiefs, trophies won in battle or at tournaments, military medals and insignia. Even small children came forward, laying flowers, notes, toys and other items that had some special meaning to them among the other gifts. It made me both sad and proud when Celdrid walked forward and added his sword to the growing mound of mementos, the one that had originally been given to Steldor by our father, to be passed on by Steldor to my brother. It was perhaps Celdrid’s most coveted possession. He looked to Steldor as he came back to stand by us, and our cousin gave him a salute. When all the individuals who wanted to do so had paid homage to the captain, everyone stood in silence, the stillness of the large crowd itself a potent tribute. Grief could be a powerful, uniting force. Off to the side, separated from the masses, stood Steldor and Galen, their faces stoic, both wearing their military uniforms and holding lighted torches in preparation for setting the wood ablaze. King Adrik finally broke the silence, stepping forward as the appropriate representative of the royal family to say a few words. Queen Alera had not yet returned from Cokyri, another source of worry for the subdued throng. The former King cleared his throat and then began to speak, his deep voice easily carrying across the field. “We come together to honor a man of duty and devotion, strength and compassion, courage and wisdom. A man who put kingdom and family before all else, but who included within his family every citizen in need. A man of unwavering allegiance who steadfastly served his King and Queen for over thirty years. A man whose legacy will live on in his son and in every life he touched. A man I was proud to name my Captain of the Guard and to call my friend. And who, while serving the kingdom he loved, made the ultimate sacrifice. Let us celebrate his life this night, and may his funeral pyre burn as a bright beacon of hope in the darkness, letting the entire Recorah River Valley know that Hytanica is free once more.” Cheers went up from the crowd, then Steldor and Galen stepped forward and touched their torches to the pitch-soaked firewood. With a roar, flames shot into the air, befitting the man who had lived with an equally fiery passion.

Just think what will happen when the tournament is over and all the visitors have gone. The residents of Moscow, crowded by the housing crisis, will flee to your magnificent city. The capital will be transferred automatically to Vasyuki. The government will move here. Vasyuki will be renamed New Moscow, and Moscow will be Old Vasyuki. Leningraders and Kharkovians will grind their teeth, but they won't be able to do a thing about it. New Moscow will become the elegant cultural center of Europe, and soon, of the whole world.

As he came out from behind the counter, he walked with the help of a cane that had the name “Harry” written on its barrel. “I thought your name was Reggie,” said Rio. “It is,” said the man. “Then who’s Harry?” Rio asked, pointing at the name. “Harry’s the cane,” Reggie explained. It took a moment, but Paris was the first to get the joke, and, when he did, he laughed hard. “You named your cane after the footballer?” “Indeed I did!” Reg shot him a wink and smiled. “We’re called the Three Lions for a reason.” The hotel was named after England’s national soccer team, which was nicknamed the Three Lions because of the lions on the crest of King Richard the Lionheart, which they wore on their jerseys. Harry Kane had been the captain of the team during the 2018 World Cup and won the Golden Boot as the tournament’s highest scorer.

Continuing her slow spiral, Lexis surreptitiously reaches into her belt. The pouch is there, like it has been from the moment her father gave it to her. She digs her fingers in. One pinch will help you sleep. The powder is bitter and gritty on her tongue, her chest twisting in the way she won’t let show on her features. Double that and they’re not waking up. She quickly takes the second pinch, grinding it between her teeth with determination.

I’m Anastasia, and I’m one of the tournament officials,” she said. “Because Dae-jung is ill, he has to forfeit his match to you. That means you won’t play this morning, but you’ll still have a match this afternoon.” Paris processed this for a moment and answered, “No.” “I’m sorry?” Anastasia said, surprised. “I believe you’ve misinterpreted the rules,” he said. “In what way?” asked Anastasia, slightly peeved. “Dae-jung only forfeits if I show up but he fails to,” Paris answered. “Which is exactly what has happened,” she replied. “Except I have to be in the players’ hall when the match is set to begin,” he explained. “That’s five minutes from now. If neither of us is here, then the match is ruled a draw.” Even amid all that was happening, Mother, Jia-Hui, and Jin-sun were all touched by this declaration. Anastasia, however, was baffled. “Do you realize that if you simply stay in the room, you will win the game and with it will be the champion of the tournament?” Paris stood up straight and looked right into her eyes. “Do you realize that I have absolutely no intention of winning anything that way?

In fact, software and hardware have progressed so rapidly that by 2009, chess programs running on ordinary personal computers, and even mobile phones, have achieved grandmaster levels with Elo ratings of 2,898 and have won tournaments against the top human players.

Just Cause is a specific vision of a future state that does not yet exist; a future state so appealing that people are willing to make sacrifices in order to help advance toward that vision. Like Vavilov’s scientists, the sacrifice people are willing to make may be their lives. But it needn’t be. It can be the choice to turn down a better-paying job in order to keep working for an organization that is working to advance a Just Cause in which we believe. It may mean working late hours or taking frequent business trips. Though we may not like the sacrifices we make, it is because of the Just Cause that they feel worth it. “Winning” provides a temporary thrill of victory; an intense, but fleeting, boost to our self-confidence. None of us is able to hold on to the incredible feeling of accomplishment for that target we hit, promotion we earned or tournament we won a year ago. Those feelings have passed. To get that feeling again, we need to try to win again. However,

The winner of that particular honor is an algorithm called Comparison Counting Sort. In this algorithm, each item is compared to all the others, generating a tally of how many items it is bigger than. This number can then be used directly as the item’s rank. Since it compares all pairs, Comparison Counting Sort is a quadratic-time algorithm, like Bubble Sort. Thus it’s not a popular choice in traditional computer science applications, but it’s exceptionally fault-tolerant. This algorithm’s workings should sound familiar. Comparison Counting Sort operates exactly like a Round-Robin tournament. In other words, it strongly resembles a sports team’s regular season—playing every other team in the division and building up a win-loss record by which they are ranked. That Comparison Counting Sort is the single most robust sorting algorithm known, quadratic or better, should offer something very specific to sports fans: if your team doesn’t make the playoffs, don’t whine. The Mergesort postseason is chancy, but the Comparison Counting regular season is not; championship rings aren’t robust, but divisional standings are literally as robust as it gets. Put differently, if your team is eliminated early in the postseason, it’s tough luck. But if your team fails to get to the postseason, it’s tough truth. You may get sports-bar sympathy from your fellow disappointed fans, but you won’t get any from a computer scientist.

Do your people ever have tournaments like this?” Shea thought about it. “I don’t think so. They’re mostly focused on training. Once an apprentice passes the last test, they’re assigned to a village or their next posting. It can be years before they circle back to the keep again.” She tilted her head. “Some of the towns have festivals where there are occasional competitions, like who can toss a rock the farthest.”   Shea had never been very interested in attending those, not understanding the interest in comparing whose throw had the longest reach.   “There are events like that, but most test a skill. My favorites have always been hand-to-hand combat or tests of horsemanship.”   Shea would have liked to see him compete in one of those. “And how many of these have you won?”   He gave her a wicked smile. “Every single one.”   She lifted an eyebrow. “Every one? Even your first?”   “I’m a legend. Haven’t you heard?”   She snorted. “You’re something all right.

I was at the Manhattan Chess Club watching the tournament. Bobby Fischer won his adjourned game with Weinstein in fifty-eight moves. Larry Evans drew with Kalme and Reshevsky drew with Mednis.

There are national championship banners, Final Four banners, ACC Tournament championship banners, ACC regular season championship banners, NCAA Tournament banners, NIT banners, and “honored”—not retired—numbers. It appears that about half the players who ever put on a Carolina uniform are “honored.” Valvano looked at all the banners and pointed at one that said “ACC Champions” in huge letters. “What’s that writing at the bottom?” he asked. “I can’t read it.” The writing at the bottom said “Regular Season Tie.” “So let me get this straight,” Valvano said. “They tie for a regular season title and they put up a banner?” When this was confirmed, Valvano smiled. “Okay, now I’ve figured out what I’m going to do. I’m going to put up a banner for 1985 that says ‘National Champions!’ Then at the bottom, in tiny little letters, I’ll put ‘almost.’ After that, I’ll do the same thing for 1986. Damn, I just won my third national championship…almost.

A tournament with the ability to change everything. Until I won, and it freed me. Or I lost, and it damned me.

Based upon my detailed betting records and additional records provided by the sources, here is a snapshot of Phil’s gambling habit between 2010 and 2014: He bet $110,000 to win $100,000 a total of 1,115 times. On 858 occasions, he bet $220,000 to win $200,000. (The sum of those 1,973 gross wagers came to more than $311 million.) In 2011 alone, he made 3,154 bets—an average of nearly nine per day. On one day in 2011 (June 22), he made forty-three bets on major-league baseball games, resulting in $143,500 in losses. He made a staggering 7,065 wagers on football, basketball, and baseball. Phil didn’t let his playing in PGA tournaments get in the way of betting. Indeed, according to the 2010–2014 betting records, he made 1,734 wagers on games during twenty-nine events. This included seventy separate bets on baseball and preseason pro football during The Barclays tournament in August 2011 where he shot 8-under and tied for 43rd (he won $415,000 in bets that weekend).

Despite the focus and intensity that he was feeling, the song always made him smile. ‘We’re one big performance away from doing it and lifting the trophy,’ he reminded himself quietly. It was fifty-five years since England had won a major international tournament, but here they were ahead of their final test against a strong Italy team. At last, there was the clatter of studs ahead of him and the line was moving. He heard the booming stadium speakers announce that the teams were on their way and, seconds later, he emerged onto the Wembley pitch with roars coming from all corners of the stadium. After all the preparation, with the goosebumps from the national anthem and the energy surging through his body, Declan tried to stay composed. England boss Gareth Southgate and the coaching staff had made that point again and again: don’t let the big occasion take you out of your usual rhythm. Declan squeezed in a couple more stretches

Based upon my detailed betting records and additional records provided by the sources, here is a snapshot of Phil’s gambling habit between 2010 and 2014: He bet $110,000 to win $100,000 a total of 1,115 times. On 858 occasions, he bet $220,000 to win $200,000. (The sum of those 1,973 gross wagers came to more than $311 million.) In 2011 alone, he made 3,154 bets—an average of nearly nine per day. On one day in 2011 (June 22), he made forty-three bets on major-league baseball games, resulting in $143,500 in losses. He made a staggering 7,065 wagers on football, basketball, and baseball. Phil didn’t let his playing in PGA tournaments get in the way of betting. Indeed, according to the 2010–2014 betting records, he made 1,734 wagers on games during twenty-nine events. This included seventy separate bets on baseball and preseason pro football during The Barclays tournament in August 2011 where he shot 8-under and tied for 43rd (he won $415,000 in bets that weekend). On February 11, 2012, a busy college basketball Saturday, Phil blew himself up by running his betting losses to nearly $4 million, according to the gambling sources familiar with Phil’s other bets. Even so, he displayed an incredible ability to compartmentalize. He shot 64 the following day to win the AT&T Pro-Am at Pebble Beach while playing with, and demolishing, Tiger Woods, by eleven strokes.

After we win this whole tournament, I’m gonna give that guy a piece of my mind.” “Don’t do it, Jimmy,” Tina said. “You won’t have much mind left.

you need to wrap up your tournament now,” said the Ender King. “We have more important things to do.” Herobrine, Harold, and Bob stopped playing. Harold looked at a piece of paper on the ground near his foot. He added up the tally marks. “Bob won twenty-five rounds, Herobrine won eighteen rounds, and I won fourteen.” “Can I have that piece of paper?” asked Bob. “I want to put it in my scrapbook.” Harold shook his head and rolled his eyes but handed the paper to Bob. Bob stuck it into his inventory. (Yes, chickens do have inventories. They’re very small.) “So, what did Notch tell you?” asked Herobrine. “He couldn’t tell us much. He said that the bedrock prison is basically a flat world made of bedrock with a bunch of redstone torches.” Herobrine nodded his head. “Clever. No place to hide. Lamashtu and her dark ones will see us coming,” said Herobrine. “But … we will be able

Argentina has one of the most successful national soccer teams in the world, and the country has won the World Cup twice, in 1978 and 1986. In this year’s tournament, the team ranks among the most formidable competitors, with Brazil’s coach, Luiz Felipe Scolari, even predicting a final showdown with Argentina.

habit Phil Ivey is one of those guys who can easily admit when he could have done better. Ivey is one of the world’s best poker players, a player almost universally admired by other professional poker players for his exceptional skill and confidence in his game. Starting in his early twenties, he built a reputation as a top cash-game player, a top tournament player, a top heads-up player, a top mixed-game player—a top player in every form and format of poker. In a profession where, as I’ve explained, most people are awash in self-serving bias, Phil Ivey is an exception. In 2004, my brother provided televised final-table commentary for a tournament in which Phil Ivey smoked a star-studded final table. After his win, the two of them went to a restaurant for dinner, during which Ivey deconstructed every potential playing error he thought he might have made on the way to victory, asking my brother’s opinion about each strategic decision. A more run-of-the-mill player might have spent the time talking about how great they played, relishing the victory. Not Ivey. For him, the opportunity to learn from his mistakes was much more important than treating that dinner as a self-satisfying celebration. He earned a half-million dollars and won a lengthy poker tournament over world-class competition, but all he wanted to do was discuss with a fellow pro where he might have made better decisions. I heard an identical story secondhand about Ivey at another otherwise celebratory dinner following one of his now ten World Series of Poker victories. Again, from what I understand, he spent the evening discussing in intricate detail with some other pros the points in hands where he could have made better decisions. Phil Ivey, clearly, has different habits than most poker players—and most people in any endeavor—in how he fields his outcomes.

Eventually I became captain of the cricket and football elevens, won the racquets, tennis and billiards tournaments, and felt that the world was mine.

The time after I won the title of Grandmaster brought with it my first experience of the aftermath of obsessively chasing a goal. I was suddenly left without a purpose. I felt empty and bored, almost listless. All this while, I had been solely fixated on a singular pursuit. But once I got to my destination I kept looking back rather than at fresh peaks. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Tournaments and scores didn’t excite me any more, and my results took a beating. For six months I was caught on a conveyor belt of despair. It was through my interactions with other Grandmasters on my travels for overseas tournaments that I realized this was a normal phase and one that almost all players experienced. Sometimes, a goal can be such a big deal, such an all-consuming theme in our lives, that we just don’t know what to look forward to any more after we’ve achieved it. Gradually, I managed to pull myself back together, just in time for the next phase of my life as a chess player to begin.

According to her, cursed aren’t magick’s natural state. You need to twist the power into that shape, and it will do everything it can to resist you. So you have to mean them. Death curses especially. If your command is weak, the curse won’t work—or worse.” He gave her a pointed look. Isobel nearly rolled her eyes. Meaning a curse was pointless. The sort of idea a villain would fancy. Crafting enchantments was a neutral art. But she wouldn’t tell him that. She was completely powerless in the lair of the tournament’s most infamous champion, alive based only on his mood swings. Survival meant swallowing her insults and forcing a smile. “Maybe you can help, then,” she said, as though she’d offered him the page he’d grabbed from her. He scoffed. “I can’t teach you how to be wicked.

For years he had watched her skate and grow into her potential.  She was a natural and had won several world and national championships in addition to the silver medal from the last Olympics and a bronze in Turin.  For most skaters, that would be enough.  Not for Kerri, though.  She was a fighter who loved competition.  Her coach, Petra Baranski, told him what Kerri was going through and what she wanted when he saw Petra again at the Grand Prix tournament in Oslo two weeks ago.  Jake knew that this was his chance.  He didn’t know if another one with Kerri would come, and he wasn't going to let this one go by.  He was the kind of man who reached for what he wanted and was not the kind who let things just happen in the hopes that it would work out in his favor.  The plain and simple truth was that he wanted Kerri.  He wanted her. After he stepped away from his window, he crossed the hotel suite and sat down on the white, leather sectional sofa located in the sitting room.  Then he leaned back, pulled his legs up onto the chaise sectional, and set his cup of tea on the side table.  Once he picked up his cell phone again, he pressed the button that would connect him to the person he most wanted to talk to now.  The phone rang several times and was eventually answered by one of the servants in his home.  He spoke in rapid Japanese to the woman and then waited patiently at his end.  It didn't take long before the female voice he most wanted to hear came on the line.  Jake grinned broadly as she spoke, and he leaned back on the chaise to listen to her tell him about her day.  His heart lifted with each of her words.  But all too soon the conversation ended, and he switched his phone off and prepared for bed.

Sports Soccer, or football, is the most popular sport in Italy. Children play soccer in squares, on streets, and in fields. Almost every community has a soccer team, and when local teams play on Sunday afternoon, everything else stops. The Italian League, which has existed since 1898, is regarded as one of the toughest in the world. Rivalries between towns can be bitter and raucous, and sometimes even violent. In Rome, the two main competing teams--Roma and Lazio--play their home games in the same stadium, Stadio Olimpico, which holds more than eighty-two thousand spectators. Every four years, national soccer teams from around the globe compete in the World Cup, the world’s biggest soccer tournament. Italy has won the World Cup four times, in 1934, 1938, 1982, and 2006, making the country’s team second only to Brazil’s in number of wins.

Shortly after their arrival, her father and brother played in a father-son golf tournament, which they won. They came off the course with wide grins. Fine cotton shirts, polished shoes. Sloane looked at these men and suddenly couldn’t get it out of her mind that when she weighed forty pounds less than she did now, when she was a skeleton in a skirt, they hadn’t said anything. That when she’d run the sink disposal at a house they rented in the Carolinas, her brother’s wife had screamed at her as if at a dog and nobody said a word. She could remember only physical impressions of their presence in her childhood. Pearl shirt buttons, gifted ties, the period of time during which she and her brother wrote their names in bubble letters.

You led Shenzhen Football / You saved Shenzhen Football. " Chinese pro football soccer league (second division) Shenzhen FC recently announced a number of poems like this one. It seems like a tribute to Sven Jerran Eriksson (69, photo), a world-renowned manager who has been assigned to the club this season. But looking back, the story was different. The club said, 'We call the legend again. Let's go on a new trip together. " 믿고 주문해주세요~저희는 제품판매를 고객님들과 신용과신뢰의 거래로 하고있습니다. 24시간 문의상담과 서울 경기지방은 퀵으로도 가능합니다 믿고 주문하시면좋은인연으로 vip고객님으로 모시겠습니다. 원하시는제품있으시면 추천상으로 구입문의 도와드릴수있습니다 깔끔한거래,안전거래,총알배송,고객님정보보호,100%정품,편한상담,신용신뢰의 거래,후불거래등 고객님들의 편의를 기본으로 운영하고있는 온라인 판매업체입니다 The poem was a clearing for Eriksson. He was tortured in the club with one side on the 14th. The poem 'You' was not his, but the former director of Wang Baoshan. The Shenzhen team first announced the city verses through its homepage, and then the local media asked whether it was a change of director. ◀경영항목▶텔레【KC98K】카톡【ACD5】라인【SPR331】 엑스터시,신의눈물,lsd,아이스,캔디,대마초,마리화나,프로포폴,에토미데이트,해피벌륜 등많은제품판매하고있습니다 Sweden coach Eriksson is one of the best players in the World Cup finals. In 2001, he became the first foreign coach in England's history. He led Beckham, Owen and others to advance to the quarter-finals in the 2002 Korea-Japan World Cup and the 2006 Germany World Cup. At the 2010 South African tournament he was promoted to coach Ivory Coast. Benfica, AS Roma and Manchester City also led the pros. It was in June 2013 that Eriksson, who became a world class soccer player, started his career in Chinese football. He was appointed to the first division of Guangzhou Puri in China with an annual salary of about 3.5 billion won. It was a bad condition for him to spend the last years of his life as a leader. After failing to sign a new contract, he became a manager of the Shanghai Sanggang, subject to an annual salary of 6 billion won by the end of 2014. After two years of hardship, he moved to China 2nd Division League Shenzhen FC. But here, the duration of the bust was shorter. Eriksson's lead has been in fourth place in the league since he lost five consecutive wins in the league in eight consecutive wins (five and three losses). The club, aiming at promoting the first division, has been pushing out Eriksson in six months because of the atmosphere. Early exits such as Eriksson can be found easily in Chinese football world that pours a lot of money into directing shopping. Only Lee Jang Soo (Changchun), Choi Yong Soo (Jangsu) and Hong Myung Bo (Hangzhou) have left the team during the season due to poor performance.

ON JULY 1, 2006, Cory Booker officially took office as the new mayor of Newark. He’d gained fame in the late ’90s as a city councilman who would sleep in a tent at city housing projects, hold hunger strikes and live on food stamps, patrol bad neighborhoods himself and physically confront the dealers holding down their corners. His victory was the first regime change in two decades, and it happened only after six years of near-bloody battling between the young, charismatic, light-skinned, Stanford-Yale-Oxford-educated upstart and the old, grizzled, but equally charismatic incumbent. The tension between Cory Booker and Sharpe James had been national news for most of the ’00s. The 2002 election, which Booker lost, was documented in the Oscar-nominated Streetfight, which between talking head interviews showed intense footage of the predominantly poor, black constituents who ardently supported James’s altercating with the working-class whites and Puerto Ricans who fought for Booker and his eloquent calls for public service and revitalization. The documentary was a near-perfect picture of a specific place and time: the declining city at risk of being left behind, the shoulder-height view of the vast number of problems in play, and the presentation of two equal and opposing paths forward whose backers were split almost definitively along socioeconomic lines. The 2002 election had been beyond combative; a riot nearly broke out when Booker showed up at a street basketball tournament that Sharpe James was already attending, and James called Booker “a Republican who took money from the KKK and the Taliban . . . who’s collaborating with the Jews to take over Newark.” When James—who was constantly being investigated for various alleged corruptions—won the election by a margin of 53 percent to 47 percent, his victory seemed to cement Newark’s representation of “permanent poverty,” a culture of violence and corruption (at least if you subscribed to the New York Times).

It’s all right,’ said Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. ‘Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.’ ‘I didn’t cheat,’ said Harry sharply. ‘It was – a sort of accident that I found out.’ Moody grinned. ‘I wasn’t accusing you, laddie. I’ve been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won’t be. They’ll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.

For the prediction of football matches, it is possible to use Bet9ja vip, that is, to provide a data analysis program with as much information as possible and variables that allow a prediction to be made that is closest to the actual result. They are bookmakers, sports television channels, sports newspapers, sections of this area of printed and digital newspapers, and the same soccer teams, who make predictions of football matches and tournaments using Bet9ja vip and analytical programs, through the use of a predictive mathematics that is based on a very extensive menu of data that is processed once obtained. The data used are the variables that combine to define possible outcomes: team history, evaluation and soccer background of each player, statistics of wins and losses, results of teams as visitors and locals, technical, mental and emotional evaluation of each player, figures of results with teams that a team will face, strategies and tactics with which it has won and lost, climatic variables of the places where it is played, characteristics of each stadium including the behaviour of the people, political and economic variables of the countries where a team will play (in case of international games), among others. The combination of these variables makes it possible to predict football matches and tournaments, in particular of a football world cup where 32 teams face each other and where it is possible to apply the stated variables with a margin of error of approximately 20%; that is to say, that the use of Bet9ja vip to predict a Football Tournament has between 70% and 80% probability of hitting. All in all, the variables of a match and an international soccer tournament, the most important on the planet, that is, a World Cup, are so wide and diverse that we are only in conditions -from Bet9ja vip, analysis programs and even Machine Learning- to partially predict them. So to the question: is it possible to predict who will be the World Cup champion? we can answer that not absolutely and safely, and yes in a tendential and approximate manner; that is, if we use the Bet9ja vip correctly to predict each of the matches of the Tournament and predict who will be the champion of the same, we have between 70% and 80% margin to avoid mistakes. Therefore, when placing your bets, even when you rely on Bet9ja vip to perform them, bear in mind that there are variables that cannot be predicted, so there is no science that predicts with complete certainty their behaviour; finally human actions, in particular a game like soccer, are full of surprises and contingencies that we cannot control or predict yet.

And I would cheer you on at all of your quiz bowl tournaments. I’d bring handmade signs and brag to everyone in the audience that I was your boyfriend. When your team won, I’d jump up and scream FUCK YEAH.” “And then you’d get banned from attending all future quiz bowl tournaments.” “It’d be worth it.” I would be the biggest quiz bowl groupie in history.